Do you know what the most common question I’m getting right now is? “How’s Noah?” I keep telling people that if they are worried they should ask him and not trust my reporting. It doesn’t matter if I say he laughed.

I could be lying you know. Ok, so he leaves comments here when I say something he disagrees with so I probably couldn’t get away with huge lies. But if they were funny Noah might let them slide.

What is love anyway? I have spent a lot of time wondering. So do most people, near as I can tell.

I don’t think that love is the same thing as wanting to rub sticky bits together. Is love that feeling where you want them to be as safe and happy as possible–even if that means not-you doing it?

Sometimes I say that I don’t fall out of love. I’m having a problem with my former Owner. He’s… he is the kind of guy who is prone to telling jokes that are a problem for me. It’s not that he’s a bad person. It’s that I can’t have men walking past my scenes yelling, “Hit her harder” because that creates a culture where treating me like that is acceptable. You can’t model that behavior in front of strangers. It’s not ok. If I didn’t like him I’d chew him a new asshole and move on with my life.

The trouble is, I love him a lot. I don’t know how to effectively communicate what I need without exploding because my feelings about him are all so intense. My response on day one of this was to kick him in the shins. Hopefully he will be more amenable to a conversation next time?

You can’t encourage casual public disrespect of me. Nope.

I don’t give a shit how much I love you. Nobody talks to me like that.

I don’t want to stand up to him. He was my Owner. He was my first Daddy. He was my best friend for many years. I want to just gaze at him adoringly like a puppy forever. But those fucking stupid jokes.

Fuck.

Come on motherfucker.

What does it mean to love people? I think about this so much. The way I love Jenny is not how I love Sarah is not how I love Kira is not how I love my submissive is not how I love Noah is not how I love my Daddy’s.

I even love all of my Daddy’s differently. They provide different kinds of nurturance to me. Different Daddy’s pay attention to different parts of me. They care about my physical or emotional health differently.

What does love mean?

Does it mean that you want to have connection with people because you believe you have something to give them or does it mean connection because you need to receive from them? I don’t know.

I have spent most of my life feeling guilty because few relationships are reciprocal. They instead usually go in one direction or another and then you need other relationships to balance the rest of your needs. I feel so bad about the relationships where people mostly give to me. I feel like a user.

But I know that I have lots of relationships as the giver. Where is the balance? I’ve always had relationships where I receive, I’d be dead without them. But I don’t feel good about them. I always feel ashamed.

I’m having complex feelings about what my submissive wants to give to me. I don’t understand it yet. I can’t see it. I can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t understand someone being that focused on giving to me. I don’t have any understanding of what it is going to look like.

I get the sex. The everything else confuses me. If what we were doing was just me beating the shit out of him because that is fun I’d get it. I’d feel like it was about something I had to give. It isn’t about that though. That’s part of it. He wants that. But it is something different too and I don’t know what it is.

I want it. Whatever it is, I want it.

“How is Noah?” I feel like I should make personal cards for Noah just so I can give his contact information to the people I’m fucking so they can check in on their own since they are so paranoid.

He doesn’t want to write publicly about how he is doing. I can’t make him. It’s uncomfortable but he’s riding the waves.

He’s waiting to see what will happen. I am too.

I’ve been listening to this Reba song a lot.

NRE (New Relationship Energy) is a potent drug. I’m sipping deep. It’s better for me than almost any other kind of drug.

Danger Will Robinson. Danger.

I’m not afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of running out of connection to people. I’m not afraid of being alone. Sometimes being alone is the best thing. Even when I’m alone I want to feel loved. Hell, if I’m alone in a room with a computer and an internet connection I’m never alone.

How much of loving people is just wanting to keep seeing them in the world doing whatever it is that they want to do?

I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to be like you so that I can adore you. I do adore you.

I’m feeling scared of loving people. I want it and I’m afraid.

I am afraid of loving too much or not enough. Does love mean wanting to hurt someone? Does love mean wanting to hear all the stories about them parenting because that tells you so much about how they care for people around them?

The older I get the more someone being a good parent is a ridiculous turn on. It isn’t that I want to make babies with you (Factory is closed) but the fact that you have that kind of love to give… can I touch you?

That’s coming up in a few places with a few people. I’m getting ridiculously into parents. I don’t think it is just my impregnation obsession. Good parents are good people.

Years ago my shrink told me that you can’t tell if someone is a good person based on what their friends or their coworkers say. Find out what their kids think of them. I think about that often and I’m trying to ensure that I make sure my kids see the best I have to offer in this life.

What does that leave left over for Noah, my submissive, the deity, other people who want a piece of me…

But what about me? What about what I want? I want 9 day weeks and 30 hour days. I want everyone I want to fuck to live within walking distance of my house.

Sigh.

More than once in the past week I’ve had a sad thought about this phase of promiscuity. I’m going to hit a wall: the driving will kill me. Shit.

Oh I’m getting old. The biggest thing preventing me from getting laid more is that the driving hurts my back. suck

Not that I need to get laid more, exactly. Frequency isn’t the problem. (Thank you Noah.) It’s the difference. It’s the different conversations. It’s the different kinds of permission. Noah gives me permission to be or do anything he can think of. The only trouble is the limit of his imagination. Other people think of different things.

Other people want different things so they think of them. So they suggest them to me. I like that kind of cycle.

I want to be so many things. I hope that in the fullness of time even my unpredictability will become predictable.

Goodness. Speaking of love. And because I am shallow. I have the fancy dress I will wear for the rest of my life. Apparently I like the Regency period. So the fancy gown is almost kinda like this style  because it has a green silk under skirt that is a full slip with a sheer over gown. The over gown is sheer and separate so I can wear it as the sole piece above the corset dress because being able to see the corset dress through the sheer mock up was so hot that the dress maker said, “Oh it’s a shame you can’t wear it like that later” and I said, “…… Could I?”

We talked. Yes. Yes I can. The nice man who is making my dress was a costumer for the opera house for thirty years. He went and found a nice Regency pattern to follow. The back is entirely lace up so that as I go up and down in weight (like I do) I can wear this pretty much for the rest of my life.

And the petal skirt… oh the petal skirt will be so pretty.

I’m a dork but I’m really excited about this. It feels like picking the costuming I want to have represent me. This is going to be clothing I wear a lot forever. I am paying too much money for this to be something I don’t use much. I need to get several decades of hard wear out of this for it to be worth the money.

I really like it. I like that it can be worn in many ways. Corset dress. Green silk slip dress (which may be wearable on its own). Sheer over dress (oh the sleeves are so pretty… and it trails just a touch in the back). Petal skirt (which can be worn over the corset or over the over gown). Then the jacket. The jacket is gorgeous.

So red. So “Hi. I’m here.” Red. Red. Red.

Noah wanted me to get married in red. I compromised. The jacket is red. The rest of the outfit is white and green and red. Because I’ve got this Wonderland garden thing.

I’ve gotta say, when I was looking in the mirror at the corset dress… the first thing I thought was, “Oh I’d fuck me.”

lol

I’m funny. Seriously though. I corset well. I cinch down to a 14″ difference between my waist and hips without effort. That’s hot.

I didn’t pick this body. But if I’m stuck with it I will find things to like about it. I am going to have to practice how to walk in the corset dress. So far I’m stiff and awkward. If I want to look graceful it will take effort. Just like I’m practicing with this damn red lipstick. I’m getting better.

I should… go do stuff.