Noah is hawt. Like, ridiculously meltingly hot. I say this because he woke up when I came back from my middle of the night pause and we started talking and then of course we had to have sex cause that’s pretty much how we work when we are alone in a room talking.

Sigh.

This was an unusually good conversation. Noah was very brave telling me about things he is interested in. Most of the sex was narrated by how he would hunt this person in his life. (Whoa. That man has words.) We would giggle at moments when “Oh that would totally work” and strategize “what if x happened at y juncture?”

Not many lovers of mine have been happy to do this. Usually it creeps people out.

I’m all, tell me tell me tell me how you bang other people. Pleeeeeeeeeeease.

But no. Sigh. What is up with you bastards not wanting to kiss and tell? That shit’s lame.

It is nice when Noah feels comfortable telling me stuff because I know he is insecure. I know he’s really scared. I know this, as he tells me, because he thinks that the way to manage his insecurity about me leaving is to ensure that I have a deal so good I won’t leave. This is a situation where his insecurity is very much to my benefit. Which is mixed.

I need to not take it for granted that he is more insecure than me so it is ok to be an asshole. He has limits too.

We talked about the ups and downs of my sex drive and managing it. Breeding has been rough. We talked about what we want and need.

It is kind of tricky that I fill most of Noah’s needs. But I have a lot of needs he… really isn’t up for. It makes sense. No one should ever be hit unless they want to be hit. No one should ever allow themselves to be degraded unless they choose it.

And frankly, it is sometimes hard that Noah wants to transition from bdsm to sex so fast. My body doesn’t process the separate experiences as one very well. I get really overwhelmed and freak out and have to stop everything.

I like rough sex. I like bdsm. I like doing a scene and then having sex. I don’t like doing scene-level-playing in the middle of fucking as much. That’s hard for me. Being hit involves a lot of bracing. Fucking is a lot of taking in. I can’t do both at once.

I can fuck someone else and beat the shit out of them, so I get the appeal of that. But if I’m getting fucked and beaten, no.

I keep having this thought bubble up in my consciousness every so often… two people are having blood testing done this week so we can do blood play. You really don’t know how hot that is to me. I haven’t actually done that much blood play. I’m kinda shocked that it is coming up so fast in these ways. But thrilled! It’s been a long time!

My previous lifetime hardest biting experience was when I was young and stupid. I didn’t understand how much power a jaw had. I was fifteen. I was going to Rocky Horror Picture Show and doing my best to do the whole cast. (I totally failed. Most were wise enough to not fuck minors.) One of the cast members liked to walk the line pre-show and bite the necks of virgins. I told him that he had to let me bite him back.

Oh. Apparently you have to be careful. Whoops.

I have only made one other person drop to their knees that fast in my life and it was on purpose the second time.

A bloodcurdling scream of fear and pain combined with iron in my mouth. I got very little blood, but I nicked him. He was a guy in his 30’s? I think he was uhm, not expecting that. When I pulled back he looked at me like I might be a rabid dog. Then he shook everywhere and said, “hot.”

I have not since bit someone hard enough to draw blood. I felt super weird and bad. At this point I am looking forward to biting someone until they bleed. Things change.

And he’s self conscious about his bruises in the locker room. Well isn’t that sweet. You might want to get some bike tights honey so you can put your regular pants on over them to not show off the marks. You may be colorful for a whole long time to come.

I have a whole lot of want-to-hurt built up in me.

I’m really looking forward to playing with Sarah again. As she points out, we haven’t played since before the bad house-break-up. That time was a bit strained. It’s going to be really nice to make more good memories about how much fun we have playing together. We giggle and laugh and tell the stupidest jokes you can imagine in between me pounding her. It is joyous.

Every masochist is different. I am not like Sarah. I do not giggle and wiggle and laugh when I’m hit. I go for catharsis. I go for suffering. I go to sob like a snot nosed little kid. I go to get out the internal pain I can’t get out other ways.

Sarah can play darker too, but it isn’t our style together.

Together we are kinda like when Pippi Longstocking and Lyra Silvertongue grow up and have really rough sex. Over the top lies and silly stories and but but… you’ve just gotta.

It’s so much fun.

I’m feeling really guilty about the amount of complaining I did about my female friends yesterday. I feel like I’m being ungrateful.

You all give me what you have going spare. It really isn’t your fault that I am a bottomless pit.

I really like talking to the same people many many many days in a row. Months if I can swing it. Not many women have space like that for me in their lives. I know a number of men who do. I have a fairly isolated life, but I am a deeply communal person. I just have issues living communally because I’m a highly traumatized person with all kinds of baggage.

I am so fucking annoying.

Sarah, Pam, K, & J are the women who have gone through intense periods of contact with me over the last few years. They are all busy. They can’t center their lives around me. I’m not mad. I’m just lonely.

I don’t think these guys are going to center their lives around me. But they have more bandwidth for talking to me right now.

I’m at this point where I recognize that I just literally can never resume the driving schedule I had. It is too hard on my body. I know some people handle it fine–great for you. We have different bodies.

My closest friends are totally GU (Geographically Undesirable) but I love them anyway.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what love means. I love a lot of people. I love messily and chaotically and devotedly and absentmindedly. I tend to love forever. It’s a lot of why I’m not always graceful after breakups. I still want you. Even if I broke up with you because of 3,562 incompatibilities, I still want you.

I wish I never had to give anyone up. But I’m usually the one who ends relationships because I’m ready to change some aspect of myself and other than Noah I have never experienced other people to be all that supportive of change. People don’t want to change how they treat you or think of you. In order to get them to do so you have to go off and change while they aren’t looking and come back so demonstrably different and demanding about it that they have to change.

This is why I can’t move to Portland. Too many people I met at 19. This last visit was extraordinary in that they are finally recognizing that I have changed… but shit dude it has been 15 years and I’ve been different in stages all the time. They are just now being dragged into not being able to avoid seeing that I am different.

Ugh.

This one dude… at a munch when I was 19… he tried to pull my top off. In his defense my shirt said something horrible like, “If I’m still wearing this shirt you aren’t doing your job” but still! We were in a coffee shop!

He finally knows not to touch me without permission. 15 fucking years later.

I have to believe that consent is the beginning and the end of “what is ok”. If people can agree to doing something it is ok. By definition. Doesn’t matter how other people feel about it.

If I want to ask the Professor to find all the darkest stuff he’s been hoarding up for a long time and use it up on me, and my husband is ok with it and the Professor says yes… it is ok.

Even if I feel squishy and weird and a little weird and guilty/ashamed about flipping the