If you look at Noah, Stephen, and Tom the main thing they have in common is that they are all very silly, very into juvenile humor, and they were all intensely motivated by the things they liked to the point where they were inconsiderate to the people around them.  When I talk about my assholes, I generally mean the casual, shorter relationships.  Stephen was emotionally available, but he had absolutely no idea where I was coming from, not really, and he did not know how to deal with my life circumstances.  I can’t hate him for that.  I didn’t know that my life circumstances were that much different from other people then so I didn’t know how to translate.

Tom loved me.  I think Tom loved me to the extent he can love someone.  He just didn’t want the same things from life that I did, so I had to keep looking for someone who did.  If I had been willing to spend the rest of my life doing exactly the same thing I did for the four years we were together, it would have been a permanent relationship.  I wanted to change and he didn’t.  That’s ok.

Noah is my chameleon.  He is alternately one of the biggest assholes I have ever met and probably the sweetest and most considerate.  He loves me enough to try to intuit my moods and give me what I need on a given day.  It’s been a while since I wanted him to be an asshole.  We are trying to figure out the vanilla thing.  He’s doing a good job.

What I mean by asshole: someone who wants what they want so much that they don’t pay much attention to what the people around them want.  This is useful because I have really intense desires and I want to be able to say just a few words to get someone else going and have them run the fuck.

Do you know how hard it is to get a nice guy to run a fuck?  I always have to do it.  I don’t want to.  I sleep with assholes because they are the ones with developed enough interests that they can direct me.  I really like being directed.  The problem is that the assholes tend to be motivated by how much pain they can inflict before I tap out.  That’s what I’m done with.

I’m really glad that I’m married.  I’m really glad that I’m set with a partner who likes me.  Hunting is hard.  Hunting means being vulnerable about the fact that I’m a very particular taste.  Not many people are really going to like me much or feel comfortable with me.  Once you have this kind of life, and you tell people about it, they pull back.  They know they aren’t like me.  I don’t really want to spend my life only with people who set the far edge of the bell curve on abuse.  It’s rather lonely.

I feel lonely.  Even with Noah and Sarah and Shanna and Calli.  I feel like I should give up on going out of my house forever.  I will always be wrong for people.  The more of my story I tell the more people are going to recoil from me.  Except Noah.  Thank God for Noah.  He can read my story and still look at me.  He doesn’t look at me with pity or horror or disgust.  He just loves me.

What am I even hunting for.  I like getting to know people.  I like feeling interesting.  I like feeling desired.  I’m kind of tired of the rut I am in with assholes.  I’m tired of being hurt.  But other people tell me they aren’t assholes, so they won’t work for me.

What would it be like if a “nice guy” had the nerve to really pursue me.  I think the closest I ever came was Stephen.  And he was too conformist.  He wanted me to become like him.  I can’t meld into anyone else’s culture at this point.  Too late.  I feel like I should stop hunting.  I don’t have the confidence.  I don’t think I am interesting enough.  Well, I’m only interesting to a small segment of people I’m not sure I want any more.  This is really frustrating.  This is why people are monogamous.