Noah is very opposed to thinking of this as a jubilee. That makes it sound (to him) like “Congratulations on suffering through ten years of sex with Noah. Your reward is fucking other people.” For some reason Mardi Gras (for him, near as I am able to parse) is working out to mean: “I have followed rules for ten years and I need a break from rules.” That is feeling less scary? If this is more about my impulsivity and less about needing to be rewarded for something…. I don’t know exactly.

But I’m kinda guessing. Don’t trust me.

Medicating. That’s a lot of why I write so much. I keep myself company while I medicate.

Although I should go work on the calendar.

doo dee doo

Ok, all the people who have asked have been added. All the hangout hours I have until the cruise are posted. That’s not all my babysitting time, but the kids don’t want me inviting people over during babysitting time much this summer. They told me so. I’m going to negotiate for only three days a week of no people/going anywhere in the fall. We’ll see if I win or I have to compromise.

And I had breakfast and it’s time to have a day now.

Other than the remodeling situation I really shouldn’t complain about my life. I’m having ups and downs, yeah. But my life is so fantastically good.

I was reminded today when I dropped by a party with folks I’ve known for more than half my life. Things are good. I can’t complain. There are things we are working on, but… I can’t complain.

Do you know what my big personal problem is? When I’m an asshole to Noah sometimes there are consequences in the form of him being hurt.

Yup.

He’s not locking me down. He’s being hurt. And he’s talking to me and trying to find ways for me to hurt him less while still getting my needs met.

No complaining, wench.

I love bleeding. The second day of bleeding is blissful. I don’t feel so psycho and depressed and anxious and suicidal.

At the same time, I sat in the shower today and counted on my fingers: July, August, September, October… maybe November… hopefully not December…..

I am a fantastically lucky woman. I really am. In this year Noah is letting me have the lovers I want and the baby I want.

Holy shit my life is blessed.

I went through and revamped a calendar that existed for the household anyway. I’ve added the folks who said, “I want to know when I could theoretically drop in” so far. If you want to be added tell me.

I will… update it over the next few days. There’s only one date on it so far. I can probably figure out which days are available for the rest of the summer in just a few minutes since the kids want 5 days a week at home with no guests.

But I need to look at Google calendar and the white board and the written calendar. My life is complicated. It’ll take a few days.

Especially given who popped up and said “Oh do it!” Yes. I’ll do it. My platonic friends want permission to drop in? Yes. Yes. Yes. Noah doesn’t have the same feels about y’all. Yes. You want to come over, Oh yes.

Platonic friends are awesome friends because then I can’t be told I’m ditching all my friends for lovers.

Yessssssssssss

(I don’t want to actually ditch my friends for lovers and I really don’t want to be accused of it. I just went and spent a weekend with Sarah. P came to dinner. I AM STILL SEEING FRIENDS, DAMNIT.)

I saw lots of friends today. See. I can do it.

I saw folks I have known for almost twenty years. Way more than half my life now; we reflected how happy we are about that fact.

As always I feel gross about medicating. I feel guilty about the time spent. I feel gross for how much I smell. Oh man.

But I need to sleep hard tonight. With luck it’ll be a good night. Tomorrow is semi-restful then my Bonus Kids come over. Wheeeee. Wednesday we will head to Santa Cruz after my Bonus Kids are picked up. Tonight’s sleep matters.

Because I’m still using this space to be honest with Noah… I’m still talking to the Quiet One a lot. He hasn’t been scared off by our various drama yet. No one else is frequent. Everyone else is kinda getting scared off, I think. But I’m guessing and I shouldn’t pretend I can read minds. The Professor gets mad at me when I do.

We’ve only been talking for a month. We’ve had a few make-out dates and that is as far as it has gone.

I like him. He’s another one my shrink is going to flip out about when I come clean. My shrink is now happy that “Deity seems to have such great respect for my marriage.” Sigh. I could wish for a hair less respect. Well, not less respect. But… never mind.

Fuck. Not less respect. Just… I’m a greedy bitch. He’s hot. Noah was describing his perception of the visuals of me having sex with Deity. Apparently it is distinctive how much I enjoy it. Even to someone who is my absolute favorite person to have sex with. Even to someone who has seen me have sex with a lot of people.

I could wish Deity had more enthusiasm. But you take what you can get.

I think I understand why. But I’m… being me and filling in the blanks with what I’m guessing and that’s always fraught.

I mean… I am right sometimes.

I feel really guilty for how good it feels to be talked to this much. I’m trying to figure out the boundaries around it. There are going to be more boundaries. I can tell. But right now I’m still doing that tiptoe into someone’s personal space before I’ve hit the spiked wall… It’s… exhilarating.

His boundaries aren’t where I am used to them being. I’m wrong about every assumption. Shit. My mental model is going to grow slowly. I hope I am not too awful in the process.

I am so weary. But right this minute I feel blessed beyond all comprehension. Noah you are being generous beyond any expectation of generosity. Clearly… you love me. Or you wouldn’t be putting up with what you are putting up with.

Thank you, my love. Thank you for everything.

Seeing friends today was an interesting case study is oxytocin flooding from various sources. I hugged many old friends. Only kissed Noah, and I think barely. I did get an oxytocin boost. But it was nothing like a makeout session. Even just thinking about a makeout session is more flooding.

Kissing kissing kissing kissing.

There is a problem I’m going to have soon that I’m looking forward to. It is going to be a bit of a problem but I’ll just deal. It’ll be fine.

Ahem. *cough*

Somehow I suspect my sex life is going to be massively impacted by having guests in the next bedroom. Sigh.

This trip may be a chance for me to rest up for Mardi Gras. I keep telling Noah: Mardi Gras only lasts for a day… maybe a week depending on how you look at it. Not a month.

He wants me to do it for a month. Whatever I want. Whoever I want. Whenever I want. Uhm, following obvious prohibitions around kid boundaries. Any votes for how explicitly I document?

I now know my babysitting windows for that whole time period.

Ok I need sleep. G’night.

Every so often I catch up on Noah’s private writing. Mostly my rule for myself is I’m not allowed to get upset about what I find when I snoop. I totally failed yesterday.

Noah calls it “going limp”. I call it going to the dark place. All I can see is how bad I am. How much I hurt Noah among many other people. I can’t see why I should be allowed to continue to live to hurt people. It’s really hard for Noah when I do this.

I lashed out at more than one person yesterday. In more than one big, dramatic way. I am so sorry.

I’m hurting Noah. And part of that is because we are both choosing to be hurt by things that are scary.

Choosing to be hurt. Oh that makes me sound like a douche. But I’m hurt by Noah’s actions too. I’m not just saying it about Noah.

We want enmeshment without jealousy. How is that even possible?

I don’t know. But yesterday when I read that Noah thinks the enmeshment is just already dead because of what I have done… I lost it. I’ve already killed our marriage?! Then what in the fuck are we going to do? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

He has since revised his commentary and said, “I was really angry”… which isn’t something I’m in a position to judge. He has also told me that I am dumb for wanting to just end relationships over him saying that. Ok he didn’t say dumb. But unwise to the point where he sent an email to someone I’m dating saying that I’m over reacting and please don’t take it too seriously.

Shit.Noah and I both have scared feelings about the future. We both want to make big dramatic gestures to fix things now. Guess what? That doesn’t work so well. I did email the therapist and say maybe waiting a month before our first joint session is dumb. We’ll figure it out sooner, somehow.

I am at the point where I basically think that if I have to lock down to monogamy again we probably shouldn’t have another baby because my big kids don’t deserve to have the weight of depression dropped on their head the way it would happen if I had another super isolated pregnancy. I don’t do well being alone and feeling trapped. It’s a horrifying feeling for me and I get so god damn sick. I’m going to need company this time.

Thank you Rose for the offer of Krissy sitting. I’ll take you up on it. I’ll take anyone up on it this time. I have to. I’ll have to tell the kids that they get their summer of 5 days a week off from people but when I’m pregnant… I get guests as much as I want.

If I want to get through another pregnancy with as much of a good mood as I manage most of the time with my kids… I need help. I am incompetent to manage such an emotional/chemical state alone. I am not truly a loner. I am not an introvert. Too much alone time eats me like a flesh eating bacteria. It hurts.

I know it isn’t fair how quickly it feels true. I know it isn’t fair how selfish I am once I start feeling this kick in. This is existential for me. This is at a soul level. I am so afraid of being alone.

But I do like my alone time. Ahhhhhh. But not too much.

Just enough to get my thoughts together. Then, more people please. I know this is hard on Noah. Noah wants allllllllll my energy. Sorta. Only then I overwhelm the shit out of him. We are both so very jealous. He’s working hard to get me to understand that he is about as jealous as I am he is just better at managing it.

After reading his journal entries I believe it a whole lot more. That’s an angry, sad man. I am so sorry, my beloved. I am so sorry that I am hurting you so much with my behavior.

I am saying that I want to not do x and then doing x right away. It is true. That isn’t your imagination. That’s happening.

I said I wouldn’t date anyone else who wasn’t willing to do group play. Then someone fell into my lap. It feels like a direct slap in the face to Noah. Cupid was supposed to be the only person I was seeing who didn’t want group play. Sigh.

But I don’t know how to turn down someone meeting me and seeing me as a delicious challenge to help manage. I don’t know how to say no to someone who says, “She seems crazy high maintenance and I’m here for it” to Noah. Yeah. I am. I am crazy high maintenance. And if you want to help, fuck yes.

I know you are cute and all and you are offering to do it platonically. Because you think that would assuage Noah’s or my nervousness. Awww, aren’t you cute. No that’s not going to help. Because it is how much I think about you. It is about the fact that even if you feel like you are sated because you get enough sex so you can have platonic relationships with people you are attracted to…. I don’t know what sated feels like. I want more sex. Even though sometimes I physically have to stop because I’m worn out. I still wish I could be having more. I curse the delicacy of my tissues.

Ahh, speaking of the delicate tissues. I started bleeding. Which would be enough by itself to explain going nutty yesterday. My hormones hate me so much. Yesterday was a “I should cut myself to shut up so I don’t drive out to the ocean and go for a permanent swim” day. PMDD sucks. It’s a known problem. For 5-10 days before bleeding there is intense urge to self harm and/or commit suicide. I tend to go back and forth with remembering to ignore my urges or thinking “But I’m thinking this because of LIFE SITUATION and that is different! See, I am a terrible person and I should be punished.”

Crazy high maintenance. And you want to sign up for that? Other folks are backing away slowly. It feels like they are smart to do so. I am a walking time bomb. Hopefully I will mostly hurt myself. Sigh.

I feel really bad but I don’t want monogamy any more. It was too hard. It was too isolating. I know it would be different with you working from home but it is a different kind of subtle rejection all day long. You are there and I can’t talk to you or I’m a problem.

Muh. That sucks.

I have to let you work. I know that you think it is shitty that I am so jealous of your working hours but … it’s not jealousy exactly. It’s me trying to figure out how to deal with my fucked up chemistry in all the hours you aren’t available. I still have to deal with me during that time and it’s hard.

I know that dealing with me is hard.

I know that I’m going to have to learn how to accept things changing in a lot of directions. I’m not the only one who needs support.

I know.

I’m prepared for it to hurt. And I need to get a whole bunch of plans in place for how to deal with my self harm urges.

I did reach out to a fellow self harm person and talked about it instead of doing it yesterday.

Where are my cookies?

Where are my chips for days abstinent? I didn’t do it because of a higher power. I’m trying to change this coping method because frankly I’d rather have connection than need to cut myself to remember that connection isn’t for me.

I’d rather have connection.

Thank you, Noah, for sending that email. Thank you for wanting to be nice to your pet even though I am bringing more strife into your life. I am.

You have trusted me for so long because I treated “I try” like “I will kill myself to get this done.” Since I started dating other people things haven’t gone like that. “I’ll try to only date people who want group play” didn’t last a week. Yes, that has been true of thing after thing. I’m being terrible about keeping my word. I am being so impulsive it is a serious problem.

You keep telling me that obviously I need this or I will die. I’m scared it is true. I am scared I need people available to connect with me more hours of the day than you have available. I use my friends for this as much as I am able. There are still gaps.

This is about me. This is about the caverning gaping maw of need in me. I need to be loved. I have a lot of not-being-loved to make up for. Decades. I know you do too Noah. I know you weren’t much more loved than I was, heck maybe less. I have always been able to inspire it in small ways from strangers. You grew up being universally loathed. You have learned to just not need anyone but me and the kids.

I haven’t. I need.

I hunger. I ache.

I want.

I want to feel worthy of being taken care of and right now I reject offers with a spiked mace. I have to change this aspect of myself. I don’t know how. But I have to figure it out anyway.

With luck I will be typing less for a while for good reasons. In just a few hours I go pick up a friend for a long visit at my house. They’ll be here 19 days and I bloody well hope I won’t be online much. But usually me going offline signals bad stuff and people get nervous and start pinging me. So, let me warn you.

Breakfast is almost ready. I didn’t completely wreck things yesterday. And today brings the promise of a new perspective to listen to. A completely different change of things to think about. I’m so happy.

I get to bring my friend to Wonderland. What a gift.

Noah is going to wait till September then start looking around for folks to see solo. Because neither of us really want him going through another period of intense depression if I stop wanting sex.

I’m really scared of this. I deal with Noah dating by hiding in a small space and crying and cutting. Because it is so existentially terrifying to me. No, this isn’t responsible or adult. But it is how I have been coping since I was a small child and it is only fairly recently I have admitted that this is the long-term pattern so I’m not open to being shamed as a “manipulator” because this is how I handle my feelings.

I’m broken. But that doesn’t mean I’m trying to manipulate people. I’m just trying to get through the best I can. I wish my best was better.

I am very grateful that at least three people have already specifically said that if Noah dates they can be Krissy-sitters. Which could help. I have not traditionally had the umph to schedule such things. I’d rather stay home, feel rejected, and hurt myself. Why ask other people to make me feel good when my expectation of life is that I will be rejected and I should be hurt because I am unworthy of being alive.

This isn’t about Noah or the people he dates. Not really. This is about me. This is about my mom. This is about intrinsic worth problems.

I’m thinking a lot about sex vs attention. I think I have mostly always treated sex as attention. The kind I could get.

I was shocked when Deity told me he would be ok with non-sex dates. Aren’t you dating me because you want to get laid? It is weird for me.

Know what I’m noticing? Mostly my folks are people who I pursue. I initiate contact. I ask for dates. I ask for time. I’m the one makes sure we have a relationship.

Someone is pursuing me. And not really for sex. Ok, sex might be nice at some point. But sex isn’t the goal here. Clearly.

You know how you aren’t supposed to compare people? I’m noticing what it feels like to have someone initiate contact with me the way I usually do with other people. oh goodness that’s nice.

I am not sure I have ever been pursued like this in my life. This is by someone who isn’t demanding/pushing for sex. I think there was one person who would have been like if I let him but he had already abandoned children in multiple countries so I told him to fuck all the way off. And he wanted to do it because of sex. He wanted to be having sex for 2-4 hours/day and I could keep up so he wanted to keep me. But no. You abandoned your kids. I don’t want you.

Noah was really distracted at the beginning of when we first dated. He pursued me hard, but he didn’t have a lot of time free. It wasn’t daily. And it was always sex focused. Then I dumped him. Then he showed up and asked me to marry him. Which is a lot of pursuing, and not all of it about sex.

Ok, I know that asexuality exists. But I don’t grok it. I know that you can have romantic but not sexual feelings… but I don’t grok it. I know that someone can theoretically get to a point where they are having “enough sex” and they still want companionship… but I don’t grok it.

Do you know when I don’t want sex? When I’m having hormone problems, my children are present, or I am too torn up to manage.

Otherwise I want sex. I don’t understand this not wanting sex.

Ok, so like I don’t want to frantically bang all the folks I’m friends with from the homeschool group. No. That’s not how it works. I do have blinders where there are non-sexualized people. But I don’t have romantic feelings for them. I have intense affection. I want their company. I think they are lovely people to model off of.

It’s romantic/companionship sans sex I don’t get.

It’s kind of funny. I see Eldest Child manage this. She has romantic feelings without any hint of sexuality. I watch what that looks like. It is….

Whoa.

At her age casual like meant I should have sex with someone let alone intense romantic feelings.

Every day I wonder who I could have been if I would have had a different life.

I’ll never know. Just keep walking.

Last night at bed time all of a sudden I got really giddy. We are going on a cruise! And I will feel beautiful! And people will be there just because they love us and want to support us because otherwise they sure as shit wouldn’t do something like that. Ha!

I know that going on this cruise doesn’t mean that these people love me more than anyone else. It means they have the disposable income and time available. It isn’t about how much other people love me. This is a big big big big big big hurdle.

You don’t have to jump this hurdle to love me. I don’t believe that even a little bit. I’m loved by a lot of people. I know that.

But I’m really excited that there are people who think that the Krissy & Noah Show is worth this much effort. We will try to make it a fun experience. My trip to Florida last year is going to seriously pay off. I know exactly where to go in the Keys. I want to take everyone. We will need to rent two minivans.

Let me show you some of the most beautiful parts of this country before it disappears. Miami just might disappear in our lifetime. At the very least it is going to be damaged worse than New Orleans at some point. Come see it now. It is beautiful.

Thank you for coming with us. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

No. This cruise isn’t a necessary part of proving you love me. But it’s a pretty dramatic showing from a few special people. Jenny is my oldest friend. My Bonus Family is coming. And one unexpected delightful additional family. I didn’t know you were going to be so important to me when I met you. Gosh I’m glad Noah met you at work. That was serendipity.

I look fucking hot in the bikini I bought for the trip. The kids are looking forward to wearing their Miami bikini’s.

Noah should get a full body modesty suit and he hasn’t yet. Ha.

I have uhm done clothes shopping. I do shopping for and on trips. Most of my clothing I bought for the trip to Scotland. I don’t need a lot for this trip so I’m probably done. Maybe I can find my way to Santa Cruz and find some new bloomers though. Mine died an ignoble death.

What a blow out. Sigh.

I even got some miniskirts for Noah’s sake. Eek. My preference is ankle length (or at least cover the knee). Clearly I am a giving and loving wife. Even though I’m not real big on the trophy wife thing…. heh… once in a while I’ll be generous and wear a damn miniskirt.

It’s the little things that make a marriage happy.

I don’t really like it when Noah is depressed because I’m physically incapacitated and I have nothing to give. Which kinda makes it sound like I need to get over resisting what we know combats his depression.

I don’t like reality very much. Reality is a shitty place with horrible things that burst the bubble of my feeling of safety that my glittery hoo haw will make it all come out ok.

Nope. I failed. LIke I fail at so many things. That’s life. I am inadequate. Yup. That’s true. Will I be able to find the courage to ask for help dealing with my resulting bouncing feelings this time? Every other time I have retreated alone to hurt myself.

It’s not because I am trying to manipulate anyone. It is because that is what I think I should do when I have let someone down by not being enough. I don’t know that I have enough ask in me to deal with this. That’s the problem. Because people are busy. Because I’ll suck up my courage and ask that one person and…. they can’t. So I will sit home and cry and hurt myself.

Because I am a terrible burden that no one deserves to have thrust upon them. Because I have never been anything but a terrible burden. I have really already received far more than my fair share of help in this life. Whatever help that exists should go to someone better.

I should just shut the fuck up.

I never seem to manage that part, do I?

I wish I could. I wish I could just hurt myself and shut up about it. But this is part of the record so that my kids will be able to look back some day and go “You were weird around (dates/ages) what was going on?” and I will be able to honestly tell them. But I won’t tell them now. As children all of this has to happen off screen. But someday they will want answers and I don’t want to rewrite history. It is what it is.

I want to be as honest as I can be. Besides, the more honest about it I am with myself the more I can treat it like a fungible problem. I like that word. Fungible. It means replace it with another. That’s kinda what I do with myself. I play games and I move around the goals. I try to figure out how to replace bits and pieces of the game with other bits or pieces.

Can I find a way to replace terror with security?

Fuck if I know. I got turned down for yet another PTSD study. I’ve already done too much work. I’ve tried too many therapies. I’m too motivated.

We have some couples therapy time coming up. It is a long and inconvenient drive and location. So whee. It’ll work out. There’s some stuff we need some outside help with. We can’t listen without shutting down and being defensive. We can’t be open to what the other is really saying we are locked into our fear. We need some help. I’m scared it won’t be enough but it is the next step in trying. We aren’t close to divorce or anything like that. But we aren’t being nice to each other and we want to be. I’m not hearing what the most important pieces are to him and I’m running rough shod over some of the things he cares about and pussy footing around things I don’t need to and I don’t really understand which is which. I need some help breaking this down.

I am not always the best listener. Sometimes I’m sorta a self involved asshole. A little bit.

We need to make this work. We need to find a way or make a way. There is no way out but death and I’d rather not commit suicide right as he finally let me meet the third child I’ve been longing to meet for half my life.

Breakfast time.

I like having lots of friends with benefits and lovers. So many that I really kinda have to be a comet. I can’t be regular or consistent. It works when it works.

I think bdsm stuff is going to go closer to back to that box. I just don’t have the drive when I’m pregnant. (Although I just had the most intense mental picture of pegging my submissive while pregnant. That was quite a thing to just jump into my head. Well hello there.)

I don’t want to break up with people, not really. But I do want to… loosen the expectations of frequency. Maybe you won’t beat me again for a few years but it’ll happen again.

There is this one friend/occasional play partner. She was the third person I ever played with and the first person I played with in the munch/party crowd I spent years in intensively. We have never played often. But we do sometimes. Not every year. Just when it works. And that’s been happening since I was 18 years old. In August I asked her if we could do a 16th anniversary scene. She said yes. I’m thrilled.

But that kind of occasional is important to me. I like the trailing end of love that comes with it. “Ok I know it’s annoying that I’m not up for play more… but when I am it’s great!”

In some of my interactions the breaks come mostly from me and in others it comes from the other side. I can cope.

My Sarah has a phrase she likes for an important person in her life: “Once and Future Sweetie” and I love it. (I also love the man she attaches it to–he’s good people.) But I feel like that with folks. I don’t actually get done done done with people that much. But I may run out of drive to force a relationship and if you don’t ensure it is ongoing it just won’t exist.

So much of my life is about me pushing relationships on folks. I’m an asker. But it takes a toll. I run out of ask sometimes. I feel too ashamed.

I feel ashamed of wanting so much more than other people. More intensity. More conversation. More sex. I feel like I’m always trying to tone it down so I don’t bother people too much. More time spent. More work done. More more more. More attention. More stimulation.

I really wanted to go to Friday Night Waltz tonight. It sounds fun. But I’m so tired and I need to spend my energy on painting. We have house guests arriving on Sunday. They stay for 19 days. I need to have the work done in the house more than I need bonus exercise at bedtime.

fuuuuuuuuuck remodeling.

I am going to ask them if they want to go to the 4th of July party we would like to go to. I have friends visiting one Wednesday. Hopefully my Bonus Kids will come over, even though it’ll be a zoo. It will be a joyful zoo. And the Bonus Mama would really like my friend. So I’m crossing my fingers.

Beyond that… I have no dates or socializing planned for the 19 days. I need to pay attention to my friend.

It hurts me very much that I have traveled all the way across the country and people who profess to love me a lot paid no attention to me whatsoever. My goal is for my friend and her two sons to leave glowing with love and attention. I need to not spread out what I have to other people. I need to keep it home. They need the infusion pretty badly. I mean, don’t we all. But this mama needs to feel love a little more than average. I want to fill her bucket.

And they are used to a very quiet retreating life with very little socializing. They don’t travel like this. This is all my initiation. Ha. Come visit me. I miss you. I want to pay attention to you.

But everyone else can wait. I’m not going to do what that dude in NYC did to me. I flew across the country to see him and he had a first date with someone else while I sat in the room and waited for him to be done beating and fucking her.

I sure know how to follow around folks who aren’t that into me. I’m over it. I’d like to be worthy of better fucking treatment.

Noah acts like I am.

Or my other friend in New York who declined to put pants on and walk three blocks to see us because that was too much trouble. You know what? I find visiting people in New York to be horrifyingly awful and I’ll never do it again. I find that visiting people in New York means I go from liking someone a lot to not liking them as much because they treat me like shit.

I’m not bringing New York habits home. Fuck. That. Shit.

I’m not sure why I’m feeling pissy about that just now.

I’m thinking about how I want to be treated. I both want someone who is comfortable saying “I would like to see you, scheduling?” and comfortable hearing “Good god not this week/month.” Which is hard.

I want someone who wants to kiss me so badly that they don’t walk past opportunities but they have excellent boundaries about keeping their hands and lips to themselves when my kids are around. Well, even keeping hands to oneself isn’t really the same. I hold hands with my friends in front of my kids. Always have. I hug my friends in front of my kids and I don’t want that to change. My kids see me climb into fully dressed piles of adults and snuggle lots of people.

I’m comfortable with that.

Because in their head there is a difference between sex (what they know I do with their dad) and snuggling/dating.

They don’t understand what the difference is yet, but they have a fuzzy perception.

I like that my kids are comfortable with physical boundaries with people. They are comfortable asking for and giving hugs when they want to and when they aren’t in the mood they are clear about that. They have no baggage around owing anyone anything. When someone tries to wheedle affection all of us are harsh. “What part of setting a boundary is hard for you to hear?”

I feel good about how this part is going.

Do you know what I did for the first six months of having a baby? I sit in a chair and nurse and play with my computer. Because I didn’t have anyone but Noah to talk to and he’s busy a lot.

It was ok once. It was hard a second time. I can’t do it a third time. I can’t. I have to be too emotionally consistent with the big kids this time. I can’t be as variable. The pressure continues to mount. Shit.

Oxytocin. That has to be the way.

Maybe when the baby comes Noah can work a little bit more on the weekend so that his ignoring-Krissy-time overlaps better with when other people are available. I don’t know. Maybe?

I bet you that if it were on a Saturday I could talk my submissive into picking up a weekly shift where he comes over and talks to me and reads with the big kids and maybe rubs whatever part of me is most achey that day. I betcha. But it would have to work around his schedule which is more demanding than Noah’s is these days.

I’d be happy to wear out the hands of as many people as I can during pregnancy and the year after. I hurt. Noah has limits. He does a lot. I’d be up for as many volunteers as I can get.

I’m an opportunist.

Do you know what I feel intensely secure about? If I can figure out how to do it so I feel ok my submissive will adapt to any and all boundaries I set even as they move up and back and sideways and forwards. He’s already been through this roller coaster once with him and I didn’t even let him in as much as I will this time. No, I won’t be the sadist of his dreams for a while. But that’ll come back too.

I don’t think I’m over wanting to carve him up. I’m not over wanting to kiss him or fuck him. I’m just… scattered and tired.

I know I’m not over wanting to kick him in the nuts. That is one of the most satisfying, awesome feelings IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD. It is just a sometimes treat.

Right now the idea of doing a kicking scene makes me need a nap. I’m so tired.

Am I a user? Do I give back to the people I take from? I don’t know. I really don’t.

All I know is I have acupuncture in 3 hours and a phone call with a couples therapist in 6 hours. See, we are all proactive and shit. There’s stuff we need some help to figure out how to discuss. What do you do when you need help? You go find some fucking help.

This isn’t our first rodeo and it won’t be our last.

We’ll make sure of that.

I have so much to do.

Why do I persist in bringing up super hard topics on two hours of sleep. WTF? I have 20 minutes to write. I need to make a few notes.

Needs, wants, desires, obsessions, compulsions, religion, kissing, pain, masochism, dominance, sex, circumcision.

I’m not interested in being dominant with people because I have a specific place I want to go. I want to hear about the person I’m playing with and pick a thing and work around that.

Does it have to be troubled? When I date someone do they have to be troubled? I don’t think so. I’m dating some remarkably stable folks.

Noah keeps saying how much I need this. That not having this is going to shorten my life. He uses very different words. It’s an intense sobbing conversation and I’m not going to recount it here.

Do I really need this so much? I think I do. I think the kissing is part of it. I think that I do this because I need fairly specific kinds of demonstrations of approval on a regular basis from other people because I just don’t know how to manufacture that feeling within myself on my own. I need it from a lot of people and I need it in a lot of ways. Sex and kissing is part of that. I need to feel like people want to kiss me. I spend a lot of time being very afraid people are kinda humoring me because there is some reason they don’t want to hurt my feelings.

That would be me projecting because I’ve had an awful lot of sex for that reason.

I don’t need to be someone’s pity fuck. I’ve got it at home. I fucking need that feeling of being wanted or it is really hard to stay in a plucky fucking mood all the god damn time.

I’ve made this life where I have to be plucky. Almost 24/7 minus babysitting. The babysitting is adding up these days. It’s still nothing like if my kids went to school… but it’s improving! I’m gaining independence!

And…. we want a baby.

Yeah. We both do. We both want a baby so bad we ache.

And we have to figure out the nonmonogamy thing. Noah points out that a big part of what I really want … is to have the checking in on life between dates. I want the kissing. I don’t really need to just be a fuck buddy. That’s something I’ve done a lot of. I can have a few dates and then stop if I don’t get much in between… but I am not good at sustaining contact with folks who want access to sex without talking to me much in between.

I just… yeah. No. I’m here for the approval because I need it like I need oxygen. It’s not like I need constant attention. But when I start feeling guilty and ashamed and like I’m bothering you when I want to talk to you because jesus christ straightening your stereo wires would be a better usage of time than talking to me…

I don’t pull away because I don’t want you. I pull away because I don’t deserve you and I’m afraid of asking and asking and asking and asking and hurting people again.

It hurt so much when I called my friend every day for a very long time and then she started ducking my calls because she needed a break. She didn’t tell me. She just started not answering the phone.

That broke my fucking heart and I’ve had to work to get past it. But I’ll never be able to call her like that again. I’ll never be able to ask for that kind of contact from her again.

And even though I want to have people want to talk to me every day… I don’t think I deserve it. I am too hard. I need to be a sometimes influence.

And I feel like I have to manage that by pulling away. And when someone doesn’t do much chasing… that means I should go.

It’s time to back the fuck off and expect this to be a once in a great while thing. Because I blew it. I was too high maintenance again.

When Noah says that he thinks I need this or I’m going to die…

I’m afraid he’s right.

Not having a family eats at me. The fact that so many people have told me that they were my “chosen family” and in reality they were friends for a little while as it was convenient and then I’ve never heard from them again…

Only Jenny and K said they had to be there at the cruise to be there as my family. And Dad is going on sixteen fucking years of help and support and comfort and approval–with and without the sex.

So I hate chosen family and I need them so much. I think the problem is that I’m partially learning that my chosen family still isn’t perfect. Those fuckers still aren’t available very often. None of them have that much to give me and distance is a huge factor.

But people who like to fuck me are uhm a more attainable resource.

Let me just say Thank You Very Much for that.

Five minutes to go.

The date with Sweet Boy made my socks roll up and down and I don’t have time to write about it.

My husband is the reason I want to get up in the morning and stay alive and do things with my life so that he will keep looking at me like he is proud of me. His approval is fucking everything. And yeah, this transition is hurting us both.

I’m a masochist, yeah… but a masochist with massive chronic pain problems and a boat load of mental health problems. That means I can’t show up once a week to be hit. I need to be hit sometimes and I need a lot of other things the rest of the time. Mostly lots of kissing. Because, quite frankly… then I hurt less.

All three layers of the dresses I was wearing this weekend have big holes in them but if I layer them you can’t tell. Ha.

It was very hard to hold the dresses up without a corset and by the end of the parade with the standing and the not eating much and sleeping two hours on the floor…

Yeah. I was glad when a float tossed me a tshirt. Ok dinner. Family time. Board games and Noah reading. Sounds great.

My psychiatrist told me that she could handle any problem I have/had because she worked in the Tenderloin in San Francisco for years. I think my problems are often not much like those she is going to face in the Tenderloin.

Most people who live in the Tenderloin and seek counseling for drug addiction aren’t there because of fractured personalities from moving so much as a child that they didn’t go through normal personality formation. They may have other developmental problems from moving too much, but I seriously never met a single person who comes close to my moving issues. I’m relatively confident that most people move around within an area and don’t develop the issues I had going from rural desperately poor Oklahoma to Los Gatos, California (rich as fuck) to Compton, California to to to to to.

My instantaneous rejection of things that will not be something I change into is because I’ve been put in so many settings… I know how I adapt.

I have had far more privilege than the average person in the Tenderloin and that’s going to change how we need help. The travel I’ve done. The security I’ve had in the last ten years… these things change the approach a lot.

Other than pot, I don’t consider myself an addict. I don’t bury my problems in cocaine or meth or alcohol. I just do more work or I self harm or I find sex.

Why nonmonogamy? Because I can’t get the intensity of connections I want without it. I need to figure out more about bonding with people. I need more practice figuring out how to love and have boundaries and this is part of that for me. Because I need to learn and this is one of the best vehicles for my education. Because it is so close to my native life experience. It is so primal. It effects so much of my entire nervous system.

Because sex means life. I know I have plenty of sex with Noah. Novelty matters for me.

Because if I wrapped all my tentacles around Noah and said give me attention give me attention give me attention as much as I want attention he’d…not like it as much as he thinks. When I’ve tried it… it was very mixed.

I have a lot of need for intense connection.

If I had a mother I don’t think I would need this. But I don’t. So I need something major to shock my system into believing that yes I do deserve love too. I’m not just bad. This is a life giving act. Even if I’m not making life with the vast majority of my partners, I understand the purpose of sex is to make life. That is why it happens. It feels like creating connection and intimacy and love in the world.

I like it.

If I had a mother I could connect with the way I connect with my kids when I feel insecure I think I would be a different person. But I don’t.

And, being slutty makes me feel cocky and that’s fun. Not much in my life makes me feel cocky. (Hey L–remember when I climbed the tree at the home school park day just because all the moms were flipping out about how dangerous it was? That worked too.)

I don’t feel cocky about my parenting. I strive for humility. Hubris would be fatal. I don’t have it all figured out. I need to live with doubt. I need to live with constant questioning of my motives and my methods.

Why nonmonogamy? Because a fantastically cute boy just emailed me to tell me that he’d like to take it a step further and have sex on Saturday. Oh shit. Excellent. It is tentative. It is maybe. It is we’ll see.

Krissy, Krissy, Krissy what are you doing?

I’m spending time with people. Because I feel like I need it really badly. Because my ability to chase the women in my life is at a very very low ebb. I need to feel loved and I can’t bang on doors to ask for it right now. They are all busy. They mostly have children and jobs or at least just very consuming jobs. It is appropriate. I just… I’m just feeling out of chase. I do that.

Boys… chase.

Why nonmonogamy? Because being slutty makes me feel good in my body better than anything else in the whole world and I spend so much time feeling so bad in my body. Do you want me to live for a long time? I need to feel good in my body sometimes.

I do get it in other ways too. But slutty sex is like a water cannon of joy slamming into me.

I can’t help but feel this is tied in with being “good” in terms of what my biological father taught me. He wanted me to be sex crazed. He’d be proud. I… have feelings about that.

I tell Noah what I do. And Noah doesn’t shame me. So I don’t feel ashamed. I feel confused because it is hard on Noah that this is as good for me as it is. But we put up with other annoying things from one another.

Cause if Sweet Boy is all, “I’d like to take it to the next step” I’m all “Hell fucking yes.” I mean. We’ll see if it happens. Ahem. As the grown up here. I told him we will need to talk in person about limits and absolutely stick to them in scene and we’ll see if sex is really what he wants. If he doesn’t really want it before the scene starts… we aren’t doing it in scene. Because I won’t renegotiate as we go. So lots of talking to go.

Oh I love talking.

Why nonmonogamy? Because I have to learn how to deal with a lot of my deficits. Noah has learned work arounds for many of the ways in which I fail. When I go out into the world and deal with other people… I lose my crutch. I have to grow. Or I will fail.

I was just itching for more suspension. I’ve been wanting to do suspension for a long, long time and no one has seemed interested. So. He asked. That means I get to want it with him. I mean, I know I could go find a generic person to suspend if I advertised. But I’m not really that much of a top and… I don’t know. I’ll top when someone switchy comes to me and asks. And I like my submissive. But he doesn’t like rope.

I want to make someone dance in the air who will appreciate it. It’s been a long time and I think I will get the chance on Sunday. I’m excited. I really want to do this. I don’t know why. To prove to myself that I still can? That I haven’t forgotten the physical techniques? Really I’m being kind of an asshole. I should torture myself with months of floor bondage again first. But I tie knots all the damn time! I’m not out of lashing practice.

Just not with bodies.

(Lashing is when you tie things together.)

I feel cocky when I feel like, “Yup I’m a bad ass who can do this.” But I’m kinda over feeling like, “Well a long time ago I was a bad ass who could do that.”

I want my identity to be present tense. And I want to see what happens to his face while he dances. Oh goodness I want to see. He has such a beautiful face. He’s so shy at first. Then so expressive.

And my cunt is ripped to shreds. If I’m not healed by Saturday I should say no anyway. Sad face. Feck and Drat and Dagnabbit.

Uhm, it doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday? But it’s still not great. AHHHHHHHH No fair. Ok. Off to a day.

I couldn’t find my cat for about 20 minutes and she was quiet. She’s never fucking quiet. She’s a geriatric Siamese. Sometimes she talks in her damn sleep. But she was quiet tonight. WTF.

I’m medicating to try and lower my adrenaline to go back to sleep. Five hours isn’t enough for the night.

To “calm down” (ha) I’m thinking about what to wear on Saturday. It is rainbow themed, of course. But I’m not sure I have uhh attractive rainbow clothing. Or not much of it. Hm. I have red and black and white for cute stuff. I’m kinda boring. Red and black with rainbow socks. Do I even have rainbow socks or did they get a huge hole? I think they wore out. They were like 12 years old…

Hm. I have no idea. I have a pink skirt and a blue skirt… but they are both long and matronly. The blue one is part of Jenny’s Ren Faire costume that I wear all the time. Like I have since I started borrowing her clothes when we were teenagers. Thank you for leaving them with me when you went. I really wear the skirts a lot. I even wear the other pieces. I think of you. I feel loved.

I could ruck up the blue skirt, wear a purple tank top, red underwear, I’ll wear the most colorful socks I own at this point, and I have to wear a corset. Just have to. Because. Because if I’m going to get pregnant again I want to use these bastards while I have them.

Choices:

• (least likely) Victorian high back/high front in a beautiful reddish/goldish brocade.
• (also slightly unlikely) Sweetheart cut (meaning over my boobs but not a high back) in purple with goldish
• (maybe) White and black leather waist cincher. The few thick black stripes run vertically and provide nice definition
• (maybe) black leather waist cincher. It has pretty laces for decorations.

I feel like there is one more but I can’t remember. That is how luxurious my life is. Once upon a time I had a fetish wardrobe to knock your damn socks off. These days… I still have bits. I’ve had professional dominants tell me that I have more fetish clothing than them. I felt a little weird about that.

First corset: I got the high back one (it is custom and comfy) for working Dickens Fair. My second oldest. I saved and saved and saved for this. I wanted it so bad.

Second corset: A friend of a friend flew from the east coast out to San Francisco to see Avenue Q with me and my husband. He stayed with us and as a thank you he bought me a corset. As it turned out, I was about two weeks pregnant with Eldest Child and I didn’t know it.

Third corset: The oldest. I’ve had that since I was with my Owner. I bought it (on massive sale) not long before Noah bought me the most beautiful black leather ball gown. So it came into my life in the transition period as I was leaving my Owner. (I don’t know why I care about this kind of chronology… but I do.)

Fourth: I bought this between pregnancies when I ventured out to Folsom Street Fair by myself. I felt pretty in it and I was happy to feel like I had made it and I could just go buy a corset.

The purple shirt just came from target. The pink skirt I mentioned above I bought on a day trip with Sarah. I had a lot of fun.

This is what I mean when I say that I associate things and people very strongly. I have narratives running through my head all day long about how the things I use are connecting me to the people who love me. They are talismans I use to try and deal with my pervasive belief that I am bad and I am only going to hurt people. See, they love me and they left me with this so I wouldn’t forget them.

I don’t want to forget them and I’m very scared I could. I’m scared I could absolutely get to the point where I just couldn’t remember that people loved me if I didn’t have such a constant influx.

Mental illness is a real problem. The reality I perceive and the reality that is are not always the same and they overlap and confuse each other.

The reality I perceive mostly doesn’t have room for people loving me. So I ignore that and I set deliberate intentions around living in a reality where I’m loved and adored and taken care of and I go out and I interact with people and then I sit back and I weigh and measure the fuck out of every interaction.

I lean on the paranoid side. I’m skittish. I’m always looking for signs I should go. But when I get, “No really, come here” I explode with joy.

MY PERCEPTIONS ARE WRONG, MOTHERFUCKER. THIS BRINGS ME GREAT JOY.

Unlike many of my friends (ha ha ha) I’m well aware I’m not rational. But I’m doing the best I can. I mean… I’m sure my friends are doing the best they can too. But I do it while admitting I’m irrational as fuck.

I don’t think I am the only one who is irrational. But those are my judging pants.

/me steps out of her judging pants

Ok.

Oh! Noah and I were really good tonight. I initiated sex because I wanted sex to help get back to sleep after I woke up. We got started and it just hurt. That happens to me. Sometimes I’m torn and it just burns like a mother fucker and it hurts and hurts and hurts and if I keep it up I will hurt all day.

I told him it hurt.

He pulled out just about right away.

That’s… that’s actually a big deal for us. We don’t stop until he’s done. I cry and grit my teeth and get it over with and tell him to hurry. I endure it.

Tonight I didn’t. *pat self on back*

Learning how and what your volition means is hard. I’m trying. So of course we did lots of other fun things and got him off. He told me it was practice for pregnancy. I said it is practice for the rest of our lives because I need to stop having sex when it hurts. I didn’t try to get off. I just… didn’t care by then.

(Then I couldn’t find the cat. Anyway.)

Of course I know that pieces of the volition conversation are my fault. I know I don’t speak up enough. It’s hard. It’s scary. Even now it doesn’t feel that safe. And that’s hard. I’m not sure that it is Noah’s fault I don’t feel safe enough. I think it is me.

Noah told me that in order to make this work going forward he is going to have to trust me a whole lot harder than he has been. Even though I fucked up big. Cause I did. I hurt him. I was really inconsiderate. I was really hurtful. It has been hard to get me to listen to how he really feels because I have preconceived notions about him not being sensitive. Yeah well, he’s sensitive to some fucking things. Especially when it comes to fucking. Makes sense. Me too.

And I need to trust Noah more. I do as my mother taught me. I do what I want because asking for permission means you might get told no. But Noah is a trustworthy partner and he doesn’t tell me no without a good reason. If I tell him I’m hurting in a bad way he isn’t going to get mad and punish me for that. He is going to acknowledge that we’ve had a really tremendous lot of sex lately and that wears me out.

I am a breakable toy.

It is hard to ask someone to stop. I feel guilty for not putting out. I feel very bad about myself for not delivering on sex when someone wants it. I owe sex.

I keep picturing R glowering at me and saying with great heat and force, “You don’t owe him shit.” I needed to have an inside voice telling me that. Thank you so very very very very much for popping up right when you did and saying it how you did, that venom was beautiful. So fierce.

I’ve been talking to a lot of women about their cunts lately. How do you feel about your cunt? It’s interesting having these chats. It is interesting being the kind of person who can just ask such questions.

I’m an asker.

There is this huge conflict in my life. I have a huge, massive, really powerful Reality Distortion Field. I can convince people to believe what I want them to believe, mostly. I mean–I think this is because I pick a version of reality to back up with facts and figures. I research like fuck and then I say, “Ok this is the reality I want to believe in.”

Noah and I get into heated philosophical conversations where we both feel frustrated. He wants to talk about “how the world is” and I want to talk about what the world needs to be and he just… gets frustrated with me.

Reasonable. Notice the disclaimer of irrationality.

I don’t fucking care how hard it is going to be to change. Let’s get on it, motherfuckers. Hard work is what life is all about. At least this is good work.

This is a huge conflict because I have a massive, pervasive believe that I am a toxic piece of shit who poisons people by existing.

I’m one of those dirty stinky homeless people who offend people just by breathing too near them.

God I don’t know how to get past living in more than one time at at time. That has been my life. It’s not a fantasy or a worry or a projection. It is body memory of the shame and horror of being so disgusting to people.

The next time you want to recoil from a dirty, gross person because they smell bad… imagine it is me.

I was reminded why I use pot. We went for a walk. After the breakfast I made and served to Noah in bed because the kids wanted me to. I didn’t have time to smoke.

I was a Negative Nancy. Whine. Bitch. Moan. Complain. Nothing is good enough. I’m never satisfied.

We talked about birthday stuff. For the past three years I’ve just… not been home on my birthday. That way I don’t get mad at Noah for doing nothing. I don’t like getting mad at Noah. I’d rather avoid him on days when I think I’m going to be mad pretty much no matter what he does.

I need to let it go and try again. I’ve really punished Noah long enough.But there were several years in a row of not so much as a card or a flower or a cupcake. Just, “Oh. Happy Birthday.” And that was back before he cooked for me like he does. I bet he’d get more elaborate in his meals now.

I need to try again and not be pissy and not hold on to bitterness. He made some mistakes and he bloody well knows it. I think he’d prefer that I not have a fourth birthday in a row of avoiding him.

1. Disneyland with the kids 2. Camping by myself (this was great) 3. Road trip–we were with Mitty in Georgia.

It does matter that it is the day of my actual birthday. Doing something on a different day isn’t the same. It isn’t that I need a huge party or anything.

I’m nice to people. Sometimes I stop and recognize that I am nice. And part of my sharp edge is my sadness about the ways in which I have not gotten that back.

The older I get the more I see that it isn’t that folks were that mean to me. Not Noah, not my mom. But I often don’t know how to feel love from them and that is functionally mean in my brain.

And of course I’m crying because today is Father’s Day. I have a lot of Dad’s and Daddy’s that are… I guess nice to me. Noah commented that Dad is proof that I can give someone second chance after second chance after second chance if they really show up for me over the long-run. Dad and I have had some issues. I keep coming back and so does he because of a lot of investment of energy and work and love. I’m not sure what he would have to do to run out of chances. Hurt my children. Beyond that… I’ll figure out how to forgive him because he has loved me when other people really didn’t show much sign of that. He showed up and took care of me when I needed it. He is taking it seriously to be in my children’s lives. He is appropriate with them. There are no grooming behaviors.

But none of these people were part of my life as a child. These are all people with whom I am trying to re-parent/fix damage. So. Much. Damage.

I think I am so fucking pissed at Noah’s parents for not wanting to go because it feels like they could have been my shot at having a family and they are opting out because they don’t give a shit. Because I won’t let them set all the terms. So fuck me.

Come to Texas. Kiss their ass. Or get…what she feels like shipping sometimes as she cleans out her god damn attic.

It’s not about the money they have never had jobs in their lives because they are rich.

So. It’s a choice. It’s a fuck you choice. And I wonder how much I sorta love that and hate that and hold it against Noah and give him brownie points for it at the same time.

Shit.

I am in my feels.

I feel kind of ashamed of myself that I only get motivated to really pursue my friends when I feel some specific “ok” signal is given and interest in sex is the strongest and easiest. It doesn’t have to. Obviously I maintain platonic relationships. But the… length of time in between when I can ask for a visit is long. I feel like I’m imposing and offering little.

I feel like like I have so very little to offer anyone.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Right this minute I feel excited with dashes of giddy and elated. Where to even begin?

Friday was Noah’s birthday. Lots of play and sex was had. It was lovely. We had more intense talking. What is a date anyway? It was lovely. I felt seen. I felt important. I was nice to Noah. We had a good time. I’m really glad I get to spend all of these years with Noah.

Yes, sometimes I complain about play and sex stuff. When I’m complaining the stuff I’m complaining about feels SO IMPORTANT and it is… but it isn’t the biggest chunk of our relationship. Those complaints are small pieces of a very big picture. They are important and they need to be addressed… but we don’t need to act like our relationship is mostly bad. It isn’t. It just isn’t perfect because nothing is.

He’s about as perfect for me as I’m going to find.

Saturday morning we did some chores and snuggled and had more sex (because we are us). I sorta wonder how much the jump start in my libido is about the kid-free time as much as the nonmonogamy. We’ve had sex a dozen times in the past five days. That’s not including my extra sex.

It was a nice day. It was mellow and lovely. Then we started transitioning towards what we would need for the afternoon and evening. Deity came over at 2 for our first group date. Then the three of us went up to San Francisco so I could play with the nice person I bought at the auction a little while ago.

Ok…. group date: A++++++++ Would do again. Please. Soon. Holy. Shit. For. Shoe. Shine. That was awesome. Next time I won’t intersperse it with a play date with someone else (not complaining!) but logistically it gets crowded.

God it was fun. Fun. Fun. Even though I started bleeding just a few hours into this group date. (After the first round of sex.) No one cared. We have towels.

Oh how I love my life.

I feel so relaxed. So happy. Blissful. I feel like there is joy and happiness in the world.

Sex is the best drug ever.

Yes. More of that. Please. Please. Please. Oh that was wonderful.

It was charming figuring out how to do things at the same time and how to share and where to be and… I felt enchanted by how sweetly courteous and deferential the boys were. “Oh would you like to go next?” I giggled and blushed and it was all delightful and so much fun. Love love love love love love love love love.

I may stop giggling next year.

After the first round of glorious sex and showers we went to dinner and had meat and more meat and more meat and it was glorious. Then we stopped at Wicked Grounds for a milkshake (my purchased date was going to be a bit late) and talked.

Have I mentioned how much fun it is to talk to these two? Of course a lot of the time I just listen because they share interests I don’t share. But I like hearing their voices. It feels comforting. I feel welcomed even if I don’t feel included if that makes sense. I’m not going to be included in some of the geek shit. I’m just not. But I’m welcome anyway. I’ve been a girlfriend/groupie all my life. I appreciate the feeling of welcome.

To prepare for my hot date with the Sweet Boy I bought at auction I looked at his profile. He listed that he was curious about bondage and suspension. I felt a distinct metaphorical schwing when I saw that. My submissive isn’t big on being tied up. And I’m really not big on doing things to people when they don’t enjoy it. I’m not that kind of dominant/sadist.

I can’t really remember suspending someone since Portland Boy at Kinkfest in 2006. The weekend before Noah asked me to marry him. I know I have suspended myself since then….  No! I did a performance with Lee at a New York conference when I was engaged. So, also in 2006 I did another suspension.

I both feel like I must be forgetting something and I feel like I’m not…

Anyhow. I was looking forward to playing with Sweet Boy. He told me he wanted to feel used and he was… fairly expansive in how he wanted to feel used. Expansive in that “I’ve been in the scene since March so I don’t yet have preferences carved in granite” sort of way. Other than three-to-five minute demos at Leather Alley events I haven’t played with someone this new… oh in over twelve years?

I was a little nervous. I am afraid of newbies. I’m afraid I will hurt them. I’m afraid I will cross their boundaries. I’m afraid they don’t know where their boundaries are so they can’t defend them even if they want to. I’m afraid of being the monster that breaks them. Newbies are hard.

But this Sweet Boy flirted with me during the groping preview. Just a little. In a demure, non-pressuring sort of way. He looked so young that I had to ask him how old he was. There is discrepancy in what he said that night and in what his profile says, but in any case he’s over thirty. Ok…. that’s… young but I can cope. He is younger than me.

Honestly that is part of what made me think of Portland Boy. One of the only other times I’ve ever played with someone younger than myself. And Portland Boy is a lot taller/bigger than me so I had to learn some logistical stuff with him.

I think of these things! I think of how to generalize information from previously stored models. It isn’t that people are the same. It is, “Ok most of my experience tying people up is on women or men who are my height/weight. It is different with men who are taller/possibly heavier and what do I need to do to strategize that?” I don’t have that much of that kind of experience and it is important to me for me to consciously go through the lessons I have learned before I try another experience.

I don’t want to fuck up in the same way twice.

But beyond the most basic of weight distribution considerations nothing about the scenes were very similar. Sweet Boy is not a SAM. (Smart Assed Masochist for those of you who are not in my acronym-land.)

Sweet Boy may be one of the sweetest, most accepting, melting people I’ve topped. I was surprised to find that in a casual scene. The simple ardor, the surprised expressions of delight, the subtle changes in facial expression and body language…

It was like listening to an enormously complicated symphony while eating a rich and varied meal and drinking a glass of complex full bodied wine at the same time.

An absolute bombardment of the senses.

Topping is so awesome.

Especially for me it was very non-sexual. I stayed fully dressed, he kept his underwear on. There was no genital contact. Barely any kissing and that was mostly of the kissing his shoulder variety. There was no tongue or anything like that.

It didn’t need it. It was sweet by itself. It was gentle and careful and here is how to have safe experiences with boundaries. I didn’t want to take more than was good for him. I don’t know him. I have no idea what would be good to take from him. So I need to default to a very conservative guess.

It was charming that he protested coming down from the suspension because we just got started after more than an hour. It was almost an hour and a half and he was getting wobbly. “I’m not wobbling! I’m just… moving…”

Oh Sweet Boy. I have no idea how you handle having your blood pressure drop. Let’s take care of you. Even if you would rather keep being used. It is more important to make sure that you can take care of you later. You are bigger than me. I am going to be cautious as we learn because hurting you would be a terrible thing.

Well, I mean really hurting you. Beating your feet with canes isn’t hurting you. Punching you until you groan and turn red… that’s not hurting you. You seemed to have a lovely time. The laughter encouraged me on. My laughter and your laughter, really. Even when I was the only one laughing it just made me want to hit harder. The glee.

I get to do this…. I get to do this….

YAY!

It was a fantastic experience. After I took him down from the partial suspension (I left a foot on the ground almost the entire time) he was sending signals that he was sad that the scene was over so soon. So I pulled him to a bed and hog tied him and spent some time caning him some more. Because I’m a giver.

And because he was really hot and really sweet and he made the best noises.

Swoon.

I stopped mostly because I felt two hours of waiting was about what I could ask of my darling Deity (who had never been to a dungeon before) and my ever patient husband. So. Snuggling commenced and then we all talked for a while.

Deity and Noah of course made sure I knew that the three of us came to a dungeon together. Then we came home and snuggled.

I’m finding it fascinating to manage a lot of my feelings about Deity. On a frequent basis he will adjust part of my body, I suppose to make himself more comfortable? Most of the time I feel a spark of rejection. I have to consciously choose to take his indication that he wants 1″ of space as literal instead of going for here have a foot.

I’m finding this interesting because I suspect this happens often with lots of people, but in this case I can see it so clearly and starkly as it is happening. I don’t think I usually notice why I have the aversion feeling and move away.

Establishing boundaries is important, necessary, and absolutely terrifying.

Kids are here.

This weekend was supposed to be energetic. But my back huuuuuuuuuurts.

It is fascinating negotiating with folks. Some folks are fine with group bdsm play but not sex. Some like group sex and group bdsm. Some like just group sex. Some are fine playing one to one near a group but not having anyone else involved…..

My life over the next few years will be entertaining. I tell you that.

Today is Noah’s birthday. He’s 40. I made him French toast for breakfast. That and a date night are what he gets.

Birthdays are a thing yo.

Wow. Completely out of the blue I just got this out of body feeling like I was at the grief ritual and I was screaming I don’t want to die. Stop telling me to come with you. It doesn’t matter if you want me. I don’t want you.

Yeah. I will be going back to grieve more.

I have a lot more to say to my piece of shit ancestors.

White guilt. Ha. How about Everything-that-touches-everything-I-come-from-guilt.

How can anything that springs from such a dung heap have any value?

Isn’t that the entire point of compost?

Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country. You have no value if you are not a tool.

I am a tool. Do I have value? Do I have value because I’m a tool?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

Do I have value because I have this hole? Because I am good at cleaning house?

Because I can go through this elaborate pretense of being nice and civilized and happy even though I’d like to go behind closed doors and beat my head on concrete until I can.never.think.again.

I don’t care that you want me to hate myself. I don’t want to do what you told me to do. I want you to leave me alone. Stop fucking haunting me you son of a fucking bitch.

I was created to be a weapon. A weapon with which to hurt my mother. She didn’t want another baby, another burden.

But here I fucking am. I do not burden her any longer. You know what? I’d put a lot of fucking money on the notion that my mother is very burdened by my absence.

I do not do this to punish you, nor to punish me. I do this to save my children. Everything that springs from that well is poison. I need to feed them something different. I need a new way.

Even if it involves decades of faking it.

What is real? What is faking it?

Faking what?

Don’t ask.

I’m sorry. I’m not sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not sorry.

I’m dysregulated as fuck. I’m on day 32 of my cycle. My “average” cycle length is 34 days. (But I vary dramatically.) I know that my emotions are raw before I bleed.

I sorta hope bleeding waits till Monday. Cause whoa this weekend.

This weekend will be fantastic. Maybe I’ll tell you about it. Maybe. A lot of firsts.

The punching last night managed to work out some deep muscle pain I had. Thanks!