Category Archives: my life is your porn

Control, sex, identity

I’ve been a kinky motherfucker all of my life. I officially entered the bdsm community at 18, but I was doing kinky stuff before then. I’ve been giving oral sex for 31 years. I’ve been having PIV (penis in vagina intercourse) by choice for 22 years. This summer marks 16 years of my life in the bdsm community. In two more years I will have been in the bdsm community (to some degree or another) for half of my life. I feel very confident saying that being a pervert is part of my identity. Part of my identity I’m thoroughly comfortable with.

But things shift over time. The kind of pervert I am changes. The kinds of things I like has drifted considerably, especially since having kids.

In all these 16 years I have resolutely shied away from pursuing any kind of ongoing interaction where I was to be Dominant. That’s been a line for me. I like being toppy. I’m sadistic as fuck. But I’m not a Dominant. Nope, that’s not me.

I’m a serious control freak and I manage a lot of that by being the submissive/bottom/slave because then I’m the one who does the vast majority of the work and it goes how I prefer. I date lazy tops. Perfect.

But my life has changed a lot. I feel like I have changed.

There are a lot of people and situations in my life where I could railroad people and control the shit out of them. I’m home schooling my kids. I could micromanage the fuck out of them. I could require them to be submissive to me. Legally I have the right. Yesterday I read this post that reminded me of why I really don’t want my children to be submissive to me in any way.

I don’t know about you, but I fall into being a bully real easy. I have to be careful not to control people inappropriately. I have big opinions and big feelings and people who aren’t rock solid in themselves like being influenced. I could be a serious problem for a lot of people.

I try so hard to not be that. I keep my boundaries fiercely. I don’t boss people beyond very specific, small, limited places where I ask for consent. “Hey we want to organize this event, can I boss people around to get things done quickly?” At this stage of my life 9/10 times when I ask that people gratefully say, “Oh please do.” I’m good at figuring out a plan. I’m good at bossing people.

But I’m scared of it. I avoid it. I don’t seek it out in an ongoing way. I do not want a job where I have that kind of control over people. I am not stable enough. I am not kind enough. I make such bad assumptions.

I act without thinking and I hurt people when I do too much of that.

It isn’t safe nor appropriate for me to be too bossy with any of my friends or family members.

But lately I want to boss. I want to control. I want to have influence in an ongoing control-tastic way.

I got this email from my friend. The one I topped the other night. The one I’ve been thinking about a lot for a while now. The one who likes the really super intense play that I like.

I’m thinking about him way more than is good for my overall balance of life. Holy shit. What do I want from him?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So much. So little. Such specificity. I don’t want to try to meet all his needs. I want to negotiate a very small slice of his soul and control the ever loving shit out of that. As I hurt him really badly.

Anyone who tells me they really want to see me come up from biting them with blood dripping down from my mouth?

Shit. We need to get tested.

Cause I can’t draw blood until we have both been recently tested. I have kids. I have to care. I have too many friends who have contracted Hep C.

Cause if you have been dreaming for years about having me hurt you like that and I have been dreaming for years about hurting you like that and my husband doesn’t mind and your partner thinks it is hotter than the sun?

Uhm…

Why not?

I have worked very hard to cram all of the “me” that is a pervert into a very small box that I keep in the closet. I take it down for very rare special occasions when my kids are far away and kept safe with someone I trust completely.

I know that many people in the community are ok with somewhat fuzzy boundaries with their children. I am not comfortable with that. I need boundaries between them and my sex life constructed with steel beams and concrete reinforcement. This is a no-information/no-fly zone kiddos. Nope.

No, I won’t swing in the house with the kids.

Just no.

Not because I’m judging you. Because I’m trying to deal with the body and brain I have. I’m trying to deal with the highly traumatized DNA sequence I passed down.

Why does sex with Noah behind a closed door feel fine as long as we are quiet? Because I’m really thrilled that my kids think that sex is a natural part of growing up and finding a partner. I’m ok with modeling that.

I can’t model promiscuity. Not given my background.

You know what? My kids have flat told me they don’t want me to date. They know that we have friends who date outside their marriage. They don’t care about what other families do. They told me flat out that they don’t want to give up more time with me.

They are little for such a short time. I’ve already been a pervert for so long. I have already been a slut for so long. Those things will still be there when my children no longer want me like this. I have one shot in this lifetime to nail the kind of parenting relationship I want to have and that means giving my children far more than I want to give. It means giving up things I want really badly for a while.

Life is always about choices.

Noah could tolerate a lot more promiscuity and boundary pushing and dysfunction. But then I’d be teaching it to my kids.

No.

It isn’t that I think that modeling dating is inherently wrong. I truly don’t. Other people have very different lives.

I think I don’t know how to model long term stable relationships. I like picking up strangers and fucking them once or twice and moving on.

I don’t want to model what I like.

Even if I don’t want to stop liking it. I just don’t want to like it in front of them.

This feels so complicated. I don’t like being in the closet. I don’t like feeling like a liar. I don’t like feeling like I am being anything other than 100% brutally honest.

You know what? I am with my kids. I still have boundaries. They sometimes ask probing questions about my history or my experiences and I will either say something matter of fact like, “Yes I dated lots of people before I got married because I wanted to figure out what things were important to me” or “That’s something private that I will not discuss with you during your childhood. You need to grow up without having that information in your brain. You can find it out later.”

So I’m not… lying… but I only answer selectively.

Part of how I have kept these divisions is “I did a lot of stuff in the past I’m not doing now and I have no shame about any of it” and “Right now I’m doing the mom thing.”

But the “mom thing” isn’t all of who I am. Even the (incredibly hot) sex I have with Noah feels like part of the mom thing and…

It isn’t all of who I am.

I’ve gone through a lot of evolution of perception of self. Especially with regards to the word whore. (Small disclaimer in case anyone is new: I’m not talking about sex work. I’m talking about personal associations from formative abuse. Specifically I have to figure out how to get my brain to work around shit my father did. It’s complicated. I’m not knocking anyone or any careers.)

I’m going to need some way to refer to this person I’m playing with. I will need a code name. I’m not ready to make one up yet so this is awkward. I have blanket permission to write about him, but he values his privacy.

For a long time I genuinely saw myself as a kind of sacred whore. I had sex with a lot of people, many of whom… weren’t getting a lot of other play. I feel like there is a lot of emotional healing that comes through sexual intimacy and you can absolutely experience that with strangers. There is a validation and affirmation that doesn’t exist in other kinds of connections in my experience. But it only happens with a highly, highly experienced partner who knows how to read intricate body signals and ask the right questions.

I’m really good at it. I’m told. By an exceptionally long list of people. So I have to believe it is true.

This person I’m playing with likes a lot of degradation with his submission. He wants to be called a whore and I get that. There isn’t a lot I find hotter during sex than having someone grind into me and call me a whore… so I get it. Better if I’m being hurt while they are calling me a whore and fucking me. I’ll usually come right there.

I’m having big feelings about degrading him. He asked me a lot of specific, leading questions leading to his desire to be degraded. Oh my.

I want control so badly right now. I want to be able to boss someone around a lot. I want to really play with someone’s mind. I want to headfuck someone until I can tell them that down is up and up is down.

I know how.

I’ve taken lots of classes. I’ve practiced with lots of people who are considered experts. I trained for this.

But I’ve never actually gone and done it. I’ve always been terrified of this. I don’t have the right. I was a Wiccan too early in life. What you put out there comes back to you times three. Be very careful what you wish for and make happen in your life.

I want to crawl into someone’s head and change parts of how he feels about himself. Not in bad ways. I don’t want to hurt him. I want to… tweak him. Because it’s hot. Because controlling people is so fucking hot.

I don’t want to hurt his life. I don’t want to interrupt his relationship with his partner or his kids or his job or his other play partners or…

I just want this. This piece of control. That I can’t explain yet. I don’t know what it is I want so god damn badly right now.

Thinking about the fact that he has to wait for a letter in response to his email because I feel like making him wait …. I’m going to masturbate quite a few times today. This is hotter than fuck.

(Yes I have appropriate boundaries around it. Don’t worry, I can come quick. I only need like three minutes of privacy.)

The email he wrote me is earth shatteringly hot and I can’t quite quantify why. The depth of longing. The number of years this longing has been sustained for.

I met him when I was 19. He likes to say that I had him from, “And who the hell are you?” Apparently that was the first thing I said to him and he was done.

You know…

I feel like this is a bad rom com justification for intense longing wearing people down.

In this moment I all of a sudden understand one of my friends much better. She has a marriage in which they do not discuss politics because they are on opposite sides of the fence. This man and I… have very differing views. We are going to need a hard and fast rule that if one of us notices that we want to have an argument because it is veering near politics we will need a Shiny Change Of Topic. Because…. I know his views. I know his views about a lot of things don’t align with mine for very complicated and diverse reasons.

He isn’t someone I could have married and had kids with for a laundry list of reasons. Guess what? That role in my life is filled and I’m fucking thrilled with how it is going.

But there is this stuff that I really fucking like to do that I can’t do with my husband because holy shit is he not interested.

Noah’s ok with some biting and scratching because it indicates enthusiasm and he likes that. But he is not a masochist and he has decided limits and he gets mad if they are crossed. It isn’t hot.

He has offered, over the years, to do some bottoming if I feel like I just absolutely have to do it and I just… can’t hit him. Not like that. He doesn’t like it. I topped him once because he wanted to feel what it was like to go through a hook pull and he needed help from endorphins and it sucked for him.

I can’t ever do that to him again.

But I really really really like hurting people and it is much easier to control that impulse on a regular basis if I have occasional times when I get to feel like, “Yes, This Is The Right Time And Space”. It is easier to understand what boundaries feel like when you get to have lots of them in different places at different times for different reasons.

I’m horrified by the idea of putting mild pornography in front of an unknown vanilla audience. But I will take all my clothes off in a room full of strangers, crook my finger at a person I don’t know and proceed to fuck right there. I will go to Folsom Street Faire and tie up any person who wants to get tied up because I know I am safe and competent and I won’t hurt them and they will get to have a sensual experience.

Boundaries, motherfucker.

Some time ago one of my children was being friendly with a random other child while we were waiting in line somewhere. The kids were going to have to just stand there for an hour or more. After a few minutes of Eldest Child trying the mother looked at me and said, “Your children have no boundaries, do they?”

Whoa.

What a global statement. We are friendly in a way that is highly unusual outside of California. We are enculturated to being part of a place that treats everyone warmly and like we could be best friends and we just don’t know it yet.

This is where we have always lived. This is how we know how to be. It isn’t that we have no boundaries. I’m wary about going into peoples houses. The kids have a lot of boundaries around going into secured spaces with people they don’t know. They are only allowed to be taken in the cars of very specific people and we have passwords around that.

No boundaries, holy fuck.

We like to pass the time in line by being friendly. Some of those random chats have turned into beautiful friendships. You know what? On the road trip we stopped in Michigan to visit with a man I met in a grocery store. Because he was wearing a pervy t-shirt and I needed to ask him to join the Mountain View Perverts Society. (We weren’t a real thing, but there was a shocking density of pervert households in a small area; we knew each other.) At worst it usually means standing in line is less tedious.

No boundaries. Jeeez.

You know what? My husband neither wanted nor asked for sexual fidelity when he married me. Nor did I.

I said I would be faithful to our relationship. That doesn’t mean anything about who I fuck or beat. If I am faithful to what Noah wants from me… You know what? I’m better able to be present with Noah if I have other needs met by other people. It means I spend less time being frustrated with him that he completely fails to be a queer masochist. I mean, what the ever loving fuck did I do wrong in this life to end up married to a hetero top?

But you have to take the hand you are dealt. He wanted me. He wanted to do the kids and home schooling thing. He has been up for everything I want to do in life. He isn’t someone who has as much strong direction as me. He’s thrilled to have someone with a stronger rudder around.

But I can’t control him. I don’t boss him. And I can’t hit him.

I have someone I like, someone I love even, walking into my life and telling me that they want me to hurt them as much and as deeply and as harshly as I want to because they think I deserve to have that release in this lifetime.

Holy fucking shit. God that’s hot.

What do I mean when I say I don’t want to date? Because clearly that means something to me. I think it means: if my children have already known you as the kind of person who comes to one big party a year and maybe one dinner a year… that’s probably where it is going to stay. I don’t take much time away from my kids. I need a lot of alone time and that dominates the time I take away from my kids. If I start seeing someone else on my own time frequently… it would cut into how present I can be with my kids and that’s not ok. But I want to see him so much.

And I’m making him wait for letters before we negotiate more. Oh, he’s probably reading this. But that’s different, you know? There are a lot of things I’m not saying here. A lot of things that are going to be private negotiations and may not ever be written about because I’m not 100% sure I want my kids to be able to find that in the archive.

I want to do some pretty fucking evil things.

And he really wants to let me.

Why is that so bad?

I don’t know.

I’m having a hard time talking myself out of it. I don’t want to talk myself out of it. I want to ………

Oh god.

Yes, when we played last weekend it was not anywhere near what we’ve talked about so far. Yes it was sexier. Yes it was more gentle. I was trying to not squick the vanillas, ok?!

Boundaries, motherfucker.

God. This scene is going to be so hot I should sell tickets.

Hey, maybe it would be a way to get enough money to pay to rent a play space during a time when my babysitter is actually free… Ha.

No pictures though. He has privacy concerns.

Yes. I want to take you. Yes. I want to take you.

God the sex is complicated. I think…

I think that is going to have to be part of what makes this so fucking hot. I think my pussy won’t be involved. I’ve never had a stone relationship before. I have never before in my whole slutty life been interested in having a stone relationship. I don’t know what the fuck this means.

It isn’t that I think I won’t have sex with people other than Noah. He kinda holy-crap enjoyed the swinger thing and… yeah I can do that.

It isn’t “what I want” in the same way. But it is close enough and fun enough and sure.

I want to use you and use you and use you and fuck with your head and build you up and help you feel a whole lot more cocky about how wonderful you are with everything you have to offer. I just want this tiny piece of it. But I’ll talk a lot about how much I enjoy all the other parts of you. I want you to be whole.

I want you to be a whole you. I think I can feed part of you.

I think you have already given me something.

I’m sleeping a lot better.

I told the woo Dr I need a month off from these supplements. I need to figure out how my body is doing after what we have been doing.

A lot of my pain issues are improving. I can feel that most of my current ache is because of current unfamiliar strenuous labor. My hands are getting wrecked. I really ought not be typing.

But I can’t say all of these things to Noah. And I need him to know that I’m thinking them. Because I need to be as absolutely transparent with Noah as I can be and in most of our lives… we just can’t talk about this stuff.

I don’t want to “date” in the next ten years. I want my kids and Noah to take up pretty much all of my time. I need that safety. I need it. I don’t know how much time I can carve away from that in order to come out with the relationship I want to have with my kids.

Don’t worry, I’m going to launch these puppies. Then I’ll have more, ahem free time. But a lot of that will go to Noah as his reward for supporting me and providing for me so well for so long.

I don’t know what is left.

I kinda want to find out.

I feel so alive.

But I like the telling part…

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I went to a party last night. The kind of party where you aren’t supposed to talk about what you do. But how much do I respect those boundaries? Only by the skin of my teeth. Which has no skin. So I totally don’t get that expression.

It was hot. I had a lot of fun. It was interesting to manage my feelings and expectations. Noah had more uhm contacts than me (this was intentional) and we both left feeling like we had a really positive experience.

I do have explicit permission to write about one of my partners. He has given me blanket permission to write about him. But that’s complicated. You see, a lot of folks I know… also know him. I’m having big feelings. They come in waves and layers and they impact many different aspects of my life.

Who am I? What do I want? Am I good or am I a monster? Can’t I be both? Is it ok?

I’m not sure I want to stop being a monster. What I want to do is go bite him right on top of the bruise he has from me biting him last night. That’s what I want to do.

He said that for that night it was a 9 but in the future I can treat it like a 7 because he really wants to let me do what I want to do.

So. Hot. Explosively. Hot.

Well I had my first fuck since Muse. Not with my friend I am hurting. Why not?

Why not?

Why not?

Why do I need that to be a boundary? I’m still thinking about it. It’s complicated. It has to do with a sense of obligation, about boundaries, about my own limits around energetic output, and of course it’s about the fact that when I’m being super slutty… I wanna bottom.

Even though it is explosively orgasmic to fuck your throat, it is hard for me to turn around and say, “Ok now I want you to fuck me like this and like that and do it this way and harder and…”

When I’m fucking I want to drop like a rock.

That was part of the trouble with breaking the rule in Portland. I wanted to break so many rules. I wanted to cheat. Because he likes flipping people.

That’s where I get in trouble. My friend, who lets me hurt him so exquisitely, has absolutely no drive or desire or impulse to flip me. Not an ounce. None. I’ve looked in that well. I’ve dug out the bottom praying for brackish sips of toppy energy.

I love you so much. I want to drop when I fuck.

I feel bad for wanting that and I don’t want to feel bad for that.

I can do enough feedback to tell a stranger how to avoid land mines and encourage them to hit the tempo I want. That’s easy. I can’t tell a submissive how to fake being forceful enough to fuck me. I know folks who can. My hat is off to you. Sounds fucking hot. I can’t do it.

That was the thing with my Owner. He liked to submit to me. But when he was done he wanted to flip the table hard and have me go down.

I like that.

If I don’t feel a strong challenge, if I don’t feel like someone kind of wants to crawl inside me to eat my neck from the inside… meh. I’ll go find someone else to fuck. Don’t worry. There are more out there. Dick is the most plentiful thing on earth. As Feminista Jones recently pointed out, dick is more plentiful than drinking water.

And if what I want is someone who will fuck me like an animal then go away and not talk to me anymore?

I’m in a god damn buyers market.

This is part of why negotiating boundaries with Noah is so hard. I’m so touchy. I’m so sensitive. I need so much attention and energy and maintenance. We aren’t going to be polyamorous any year soon if ever. I have no desire to share that big of a piece of him.

But how does it work to fuck your friends? How does it work to keep people at a distance? I don’t know.

My kids are my secondaries. That sounds creepy. I don’t think we have an emotionally incestuous relationship. I think we have a lot of boundaries around what it means to be support for one another. I don’t think I am overly enmeshed or overly dependent on them. But I am really seriously teaching them how to take care of themselves. And I’m doing that by figuring it out (kinda) in front of them.

I believe with all my heart and soul that much of this journey needs to be off-screen for them. Sure, I write about it publicly and some day they may discover just how skanky their mom was/is…

I can live with that.

I believe I am allowing them to grow up in a world where sexuality is normal, healthy, private, and personal. People do it in a lot of different ways for a lot of reasons and there is no one way that is right or wrong. We have friends of quite diverse family arrangements. And I’m matter of fact and shame free about all of it. I explain why things I tried failed because of defects in my personality. It isn’t that those ways of existing are wrong.

I just can’t do them.

I don’t know why sex can be biting someone and slapping him and fucking his throat with my strap on and that’s enough. We didn’t even kiss.

But sometimes that is a complete sexual experience that needs to be respected within the boundaries that apply to it. Sex isn’t what you think it is. Sex is a lot of things.

I kissed his body. I kissed his neck. I licked him. Do you know the most contact I had with his cock? When he was wearing pants I kneeled on his crotch and jerked him off with my knees. I was still fully dressed.

Sex can be a lot of things.

Sex can be a lot of things it can’t be with Noah. That’s feeling interesting to me right now. And then the pick up sex.

Gosh. Feeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Where do these all fit in my heart, in my loins, in my life?

I asked permission for the pick up sex. Absolutely no cheating happened. This was all highly negotiated and safe and what not. Lots of condoms and covered oral sex. Ok we didn’t use gloves for fingering.

I swear to goodness driving across the country with my kids was more dangerous than fucking this dude.

Why didn’t I hunt for a woman?

Complicated.

Because there are more feelings involved. Squishy feelings. Feelings I have a harder time keeping at arms length. Because I want to fall in love with you. Because I miss women so much. Because I would want to… not have the boundaries I’m supposed to have. Because I do want to come over and bring my kids and all of us can cuddle because surely that’s not a problem, right?

A long time ago I went home with a couple after a wild drug fueled orgy. I shit you not. In the morning the three of us were lying in bed naked doing more drugs. In walked their eight year old kid.

No one blinked. This was just normal.

I left very soon after. I didn’t really keep dating them. I couldn’t do that.

My kids know I smoke pot. My kids know I have had sex. My kids see my casually naked because I genuinely see nudity as not a big deal.

My kids don’t walk in on me smoking pot with my lovers in the nude. Nope, nope, nope.

Do I think I’m better than them? No. Not really. Because you can go down a list of this for that wrong for right and… I’m not. I’m not better than anyone. I don’t have stones to throw. But I have decisions to make about where my boundaries need to be.

Isn’t judging kind of a necessary thing in life? It doesn’t have to mean someone else is in the wrong. But you have to judge anyway. You have to judge if something is right for you.

I asked very careful permission before I engaged in any sm play because this was not a bdsm party. I asked the host, I found a semi-private room. I asked the other people playing in the room for permission before I got started. When other people wanted to join us in the room I asked them if they were comfortable before things got going.

I want it to be ok for me to be in my place in the weird ass world and I want it to be ok that sometimes other people need to be protected from my baser urges. My baser urges are pretty wicked and I know that. Whoa.

I kept it light. I knew I was at a vanilla party. I’m told I only got up to a 3/4 for the hitting. The biting I got more fierce because that doesn’t scare people who are watching. Uhm, not as much?

No punching. No kicking. No serious choking.

I kept it kinda sensual mean.

aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh. I’m going to beat off like a fiend for weeks thinking about this. I need to go to a real bdsm party with him so I can fuck him up. I feel like I’m fiending like a junkie. I like this feeling.

This used to be my life. Ok, I didn’t top that much. Enough. I topped as often as other people could talk me into it. Because people who really crave being hit can tell what I have hiding beneath my smile.

How am I going to keep boundaries around this?

I’ve already loved you for way more than ten years. I’ve known you for more than fifteen years. If this changes, what will that mean? How much of me is going to go to a relationship that has been… super low key for a long time?

That’s the rub. That’s where the negotiating comes in.

Last night I was teasing him and I was teasing me. I know what we both really want and I couldn’t give it to him there. It wouldn’t have been appropriate.

See: I can be taught.

He told me, “Many years ago I decided that even if I didn’t know what you wanted from me, I want to give you everything I have.”

Danger. Danger. Danger. Soooooooooooooooooo much temptation there. That could be so much fun. So much intoxication. So much excitement.

Crap.

It’s magical. It’s appealing.

I have at least ten more years before I will consider seriously dating. Realistically I’m not sure our marriage would survive a serious outside relationship for one of us. We are enmeshed mother fuckers.

But I don’t mind when he goes and does x with someone else.

Cause it isn’t cheating. I walked into the room. I saw what was happening. I saw who it was happening with. I grinned. I walked out.

I like watching other people but I honestly don’t like watching Noah have sex with a stranger. I like watching him fuck my friends because then I can tell them both what to do and be a bossy shithead. That’s kinda inappropriate when he’s banging someone I don’t know. Boundaries, bitch.

And the very best part is when we got home he wasn’t ready to get a hard on so he put on a strap on and fucked me till he was ready to get hard again. Because I wasn’t done yet and if you aren’t hard that’s fine, we have equipment for that. I’m not done yet. And then we woke up and had frantic sex again in the middle of the early morning.

Because we feel cocky, snotty, insatiable, and completely and totally lucky that we get to come home and fuck each other.

I think it is hilarious that my shrink is shocked by how much sex we have considering how long we have been married. “Krissy, you know that people just don’t do that, right?” Meh. I know people who do. Maybe you don’ t know the right people.

It’s all about where you stand.

Noah likes to make fun of me. If I can find people who are more extreme at something I will loudly and prolifically say that I’m not that good at ________. Doesn’t matter what the topic is.

If there are fifty people alive who are better than me, clearly I’m not that good.

Uhhhh, right?

Depends on your scale. I’ve never ever tried to be a specialist. I’m a generalist. So what the fuck does that mean?

I don’t know yet.

Let’s find out.

There’s a first time for everything.

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NSFW.

A long time ago in a life I used to have I hit girls a lot. I don’t mean that I gave them playful slaps on the arms. I mean that I liked to make them scream and cry and beg me to stop. That’s kind of my thing. I don’t care how hard or how soft I have to hit you–we will be doing so until you beg me to stop.

That sounds pretty bad, right? I negotiate up front. I tell people what they are in for. I like to punch and slap and pinch and kick. I don’t like using instruments. I want to be in as much pain at the end of the scene as the person I am playing with. Ok, maybe not quite as much.

There was this one time. I was in the middle of my Cheers-period of attending the local fetish club. I went every Wednesday. I had been involved in the bdsm community for five or so years at that point. I had been broken up with my Owner for a while. I was hunting. I went out a lot.

So there was this one time I was there and a friend came. She was someone I had known for many years. We had been slaves together. We were both no longer with our former Owners. That’s complicated shit, yo. She had even been married to her Owner which is even more brutal.

One of the thing about the serialist nature of relationships in the bdsm community is there doesn’t look to be much room for depending on being interesting if for any reason you need to develop lots of limits. People with limits aren’t interesting. Newbies–fresh meat–are interesting because they say they want to try everything.

So when I saw this friend on that night we had a conversation. She and I had played a fair bit back and forth. I’m not sure that we ever crossed to what the vanilla’s would deem lesbian sex but I beat her, she beat me, her Daddy beat us both, my Owner tied us together (clothed because he’s into clothes) and “made us” kiss and wiggle for their entertainment. That sort of thing. We were friends, after all and isn’t that how friends behave?

She and I had a similar problem. We don’t safeword very well. Safewords are generally thought to be the way you signal “I’ve had too much and I need to stop.” We have both incurred physical damage because of play that has gotten too intense and we both have differently troubled psych histories. So we bond and all that. And when you bond and like someone you want to make them feel good. We were taught that the way we were supposed to make people feel good is through a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Culture is complicated.

So I don’t even know how things got started on that exact night. We didn’t play every time we saw one another–it was more sporadic than that. She mentioned that she was having trouble with her ongoing inability to safeword or something like that.

“Well… have you ever actually said “red” during a scene where that was a prearranged conditioned? Wait–no. Let’s back up. Have you ever said “no” to someone who was beating you?” (I have the background knowledge of knowing that she plays with the biggest, baddest, nastiest people in the community. Sure they are teddy bears on the inside and all that but they fuck people up.)

“Uhm… no.”

“Ok, we’ll start there. That’s what we are doing tonight. I am going to hit you until you tell me to stop.” Then I smiled and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her roughly into the play area. That was a very short negotiation. Usually I go on and on but I’ve played with her a lot and we had a history of experience to build on. I wouldn’t do that with her now. Even if it were permitted within the boundaries of my marriage I haven’t played with her in more than seven years. I don’t have the right any more. It worked then.

I slammed her really hard against the St. Andrew’s cross. I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her forward then repeatedly slammed her back again and again.

She kind of gasped and made thumping noises. Intermittently she giggled. We like to have us a good time.

I started in with light punches on her upper chest. I thought long and hard for maybe a minute about whether or not I should properly warm her up.

If you want to be nice to a masochist you start out with a series of light blows and you slowly wake the skin up and get their endorphins running. These hits don’t hurt. It’s just patting the skin. It’s a very kind gesture and all.

If you don’t want to be nice to a masochist (or if you want to be very nice to a masochist) you don’t bother and you hit them beyond their ability to read something as “strong sensation” and well into the realm of “holyfuckingshit that hurts” pretty much instantly. I may have even given ninety seconds of consideration before I started slapping her hard enough to leave large hand prints.

Upper arms, sides of hips, upper thighs inside and out/front and back, chest and breasts. Not as hard on the breasts. Cysts are bad things. Be gentle with breasts.

I didn’t even bother to take her clothes off. I wasn’t here to get her off–I’d do that somewhere other than a bar with random lookieloo’s. I was here to teach her a lesson. We all have to learn how to say no. There is a god damn first time for everything.

If you are cautious and want to extend the length of a scene then you give people time to breathe in between blows. You let them “process” the pain. Folks who are being hit usually appreciate a bit of time in between strikes. I didn’t really do that.

I beat her hard and fast. I switched off between slaps and punches. Sometimes I would pinch a section of muscle in my hand and pull her forward before slamming her back.

I could see her panic response rise.

The whole time I was doing it I was leaning in and yelling (the music was loud) as softly as I could into her face so no one nearby could hear (ha) what I wanted from her. I took her on a journey.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, then I’ll switch things up.” I do know what she likes after all. “Uhm, so are you still enjoying it?”

“Not so much ma’am, not so much.”

“Then we are finally getting somewhere!”

All of this probably only took about five minutes of hitting. I’m really mean when I want to be. In between taunting her I like to try and build her up. We had a lot of the conversation go more like:

“I think you are beautiful and I love you.” (She cries harder.)

“I think you are worth protecting. When you stop wanting this I want you to tell me to stop.” (She cries harder.)

“Please, please tell me to stop when you don’t want it any more. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you. I only want to do things to you that you want. Please please tell me when to stop. I love you. I love you.” (I beat her harder and she cries harder.)

At some point I have to back off because she is hyperventilating–I don’t want to kill her after all–and I just stand there holding her hands while she gets her breath settled down. Then she nods at me again and says the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever heard:

“I want more.”

I beat on her until my fists were bruised and mangled. The beating lasted something like forty five minutes. When I was done we were both sweaty sobbing balls on the floor.

I could see it coming. I wasn’t allowed to cry till the finish and I could feel my composure slipping and I could see her finally see that.

“Stop! Stop! Please stop.”

I grabbed her and hugged her and we fell to the floor and rocked each other and cried and cried. She thanked me and I thanked her.

When you are in a bar you can’t sit on the floor very long and “process” after your scene so we moved over to a booth. We didn’t talk we just held each other. There aren’t words sometimes.

When I think about missing bdsm what I think about is that feeling of transformation. Before that moment she had never said no. After that moment she had. If she does it once she can do it again.

I’ve learned how to say no. I have boundaries that I previously didn’t believe I was allowed to have. My life has changed.

Nothing is set in stone until you are dead. And even then the bastards keep re-writing history.

We went out.

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Last night Noah gave me what I have been literally and figuratively asking for over the past few years. We went to a play party–specifically a bdsm play party. We went early. We played soon after arriving when not many people were there. We didn’t really want people hearing us. We felt very awkward about what we were planning.

From the point of view of an objective observer I’m not terribly interested in bdsm. I am interested in being abused. I asked Noah to hurt me in ways I really don’t enjoy and get out the frustrations he has been holding in. Noah is fairly ridiculously controlled most of the time. I do rude things and watch him catch them then consciously choose not to react. Noah puts up with me being downright nasty sometimes. I am constantly afraid of when the other shoe will drop. When is he going to get sick of me? When will he take revenge for how awful I am?

So I asked him to get it over with. It’s kind of funny how I want to condescendingly say he did his best. He berated me for twenty minutes while slapping me and kicking me and punching me. It probably would look very bad for someone listening to what he said. Noah’s words were straight out of a domestic violence situation. He stopped at twenty minutes because I was freaking out and he wasn’t ok with continuing to hit me when I was that upset.

I wish I understood what this need in me is. Why do I need him to treat me that way so much? Why am I unable to go through life with a husband who is just nice to me? If I had a husband who was just nice to me I would almost certainly cheat on him and cause huge problems. Noah is nice to me the vast majority of the time. Then sometimes he agrees to treat me how I think I should be treated so I can deal with him being nice to me the rest of the time.

I told him that there is no space for atonement in my life. I know I fuck up in ways big and small all the time. He just lets it go. He is ridiculously nice to me in comparison to everything and everyone I have ever known. So I always feel bad. I always feel like there is nothing I can do to repay him.

I wouldn’t say that I have squared any of our debts in taking the beating. I may be motivated to keep my ungrateful whining to myself for a while. I feel really bad about how ungrateful I am. Most of the time Noah rushes to assure me that I am doing a hard thing–it’s not that I am ungrateful. I am grateful for what Noah does for me. I feel like a fucking asshole because I have the audacity to say that what he does for me isn’t enough. I still have needs that go unmet.

I read that highly role defined marriages are happier than marriages where people help one another and do the same tasks. I get that. The expectations are killer.

My ass hurts.

I felt weird at the party. I knew I would have to spend a while defending my monogamy. Of course. I was told that showing up at the party and refusing to play with a guy who wants me to suck his dick was teasing–and that’s not very nice.

How dare I not want to give a blowjob to some guy, right?

I am quite glad to know what is eating at Noah. This is going to be hard to think about for a while.

The difference between bdsm and abuse is that I have a large hand in scripting what happens to me. I tell him what I am up for and what I am not. I ask for these things. I think I deserve them.

Brain dump + Bonus question.

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Occasionally someone will say something to me along the lines of them being worried about Noah being supportive enough.

I just yelled at Noah for almost two hours straight about how mad I am at all men and how angry I am about the current ways of dealing with rape in larger society and I said a lot of thinly veiled mildly implicating things that were quite harsh about all men. One time he slapped the arms of his chair and had a sharp intake of breath and he stood up and took two steps around in a circle then set his face in stern lines and settled in for more listening.

And over and over he patiently explained all the flawed results of my incoherent half-plans. He wasn’t dismissive but he was insistent. I’m just not looking at the whole picture. He’s right. He wasn’t even slightly demeaning. He was measured and careful in his tone. His facial expression was carefully monitored.

And when I cried in frustration and said I don’t know what to do he shook his head and sadly said he doesn’t either.

Noah has limited capacity to support me because he is a human being. I can consciously see how he is working as hard as he can to be supportive. It’s not his fault I have this hole in my life that is supposed to be filled by other people. I can’t do anything about that either.

Shanna told me yesterday that she wants to see the Eiffel Tower some day and she doesn’t care that I don’t like Paris I will have to go with her and she will make sure I have fun. I bet you she would be right.

I don’t run in Fremont again before the marathon. I am supposed to walk nine miles in the next five days. We leave for Disneyland Tuesday morning. Piece of cake. The marathon is pretty much exactly seven days away. Nearly to the minute.

I feel disembodied and empty. Drained.

One thing Noah promised to do for me (we’ll see) is set up a website and a mailing list. I’m going to start writing again soon. I have two very specific book ideas I’m playing with and I’m having trouble deciding which to write next.

My relationship with Tom will be a book by itself. It will be incredibly graphic and highly sexual.

The other book is one that Noah is encouraging me towards: Outrunning Suicide: A Harm Reduction Approach to Life. I already have the starts of the table of contents and multiple chapters partially written. I’ll be going through and examining all the ways I distract myself from killing myself. I think it is an interesting topic and so does Noah.

What do other people think?

Busy weekend

I went up to work at Wicked Grounds this weekend. On Saturday I went up after running thirteen miles. I was tired but ebullient. BART was really full so at one point I gave up my seat so that an elderly person could sit. Even though I just ran thirteen miles, I am clearly in a better position to be standing.

When I stood up two elderly Latina women started making comments–ok, so only one of them was loud. They glared at me. The words are already fuzzy in my memory (ahhh blessed medication) but she called me trash. They expressed shock that I was that gross and a woman. Ew. I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt with the words “Rope Slut”, and a zip up hoodie mostly closed over my chest. And a dog choke collar closed with a padlock. I looked at her quite fiercely and asked, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” She turned bright red and looked down.

By contrast I ran around several blocks in San Francisco yesterday wearing a latex cheerleader outfit. It’s made with maroon and clear panels. One of the clear panels on the skirt is right over my ass crack. There is a deep clear vee in the front of the shirt. Now that I have ginormous mom nipples you can clearly see areola but not quite the nipple. It’s uhh festive. I had quite a few gay men tell me that I looked fabulous and they were proud of me for wearing it. It was… different.

Dore Alley is my anniversary. I got beaten by choice for the first time the night before Dore Alley in 2000. I was eighteen. It was my second weekend at the Power Exchange, a bdsm themed sex club in San Francisco. I had brought my sister the previous weekend and I was too afraid to play. I came back dressed in clothes I bought at Hot Topic and I asked a transwoman to beat me. I was afraid of the men, honestly. She flogged me very well.

I feel like Leather as an identity has changed a lot in the twelve years I have been part of the bdsm community. Even though I’m not active these days it still feels like my community. I have been there my entire adult life. I don’t have another community. There is no other grouping of people who will accept me for absolutely all of my fucked-up-interests.

I got to know a new person yesterday as a result of a massive faux pas. I used the wrong gender pronoun. I felt like a total fucking asshole. The woman-born-woman very bravely stayed near the cash register to tell me that I made a mistake when I said “he”. I felt so bad. (In my defense she is a very butch lesbian. Not that it excuses me in the slightest.) After that I ended up having a very long and protracted conversation with her.

It’s not every day I meet someone who says, “I know I am weird but it is because I was tortured as a child.”

Her androgynous gender appearance is the result of her father performing medical experiments on her from birth and trying to change her gender because she was born an identical twin and they wanted a boy.

We had a lot to talk about. We felt very comfortable together. We both found the bdsm scene at eighteen. She’s two years younger than me. I’m not sure how I have missed her for ten years. I do recognize her handle. I think I just have never been a San Francisco person. And City people don’t come south.

I got to sit down and have a surprise conversation with someone who I pretty much couldn’t shock. Do you know how often that happens to me? I’d put it at twice a decade. Normal people want to talk about their lives. From birth to eighteen I lived a traumatic horror show and when I turned eighteen I ran straight into the Leather community. I was embraced and adored. I still am.

I didn’t spend much time with anyone outside the Leather community for the four years I was with Tom. I was still close with Anna but Jenny and I barely spoke. We had very different lives even though we were both college students. I have rarely been like people my age. It was really amazing yesterday to find this person. I hope I can keep in touch with her. She feels like a gift.

The actual Up Your Alley Fair wasn’t very exciting. I felt pretty sad about how much it has changed. I saw far more latex than leather. Most guys were simply wearing underwear if they weren’t wearing pants. It didn’t look like a leather event. It looked like a bath house but outside with very little sex. I only saw three or four guys getting head. There used to be hundreds. I had the very strong impulse to ask the only really slutty guy I saw there (he had a line of boys) if he was willing to see if a mouth is just a mouth. I didn’t! I don’t do that any more! But I wanted to. I wonder if he would have let me. The fair felt uninspiring and if no one else was going to put on a show I might as well.

I really like this part of me. I want Noah to go to Folsom with me. Exhibitionism is big for me. I probably won’t have actual penetrative sex at Folsom but we will have to drive because I won’t be willing to make it home. The car can be put somewhere private.

I really like getting the shit beaten out of me while people watch and freak out. I like it. I really really like it. I like the energy of the crowd. I freak people out in dungeons too. I am on the far extreme edge of what is currently common. I wasn’t when I came into the community.

I found the leather community at the very beginning of the online era. People were still very paranoid about using the internet. It was harder to find parties because they weren’t advertised online. You had to get to know people still. We hung out in IRC talking all day and night together but we arranged the parties at munches. We had dungeons that were basically our community spaces. People spent a lot of time hanging around.

When I showed up as an eighteen year old it was very rare to see another person under thirty. The community was full of people who had already had full lives and then discovered something about themselves. They were people who made very conscious life choices to become the people they were.

Where I was there were a lot of older women who were very heavy masochists. Life has already made their ass hard. They have been getting hit for a very long time and they have leather butt. They can barely bruise any more. Sadists like bruises. If it gets harder and harder to bruise you… well… I guess I’ll just have to hit you with something bigger.

I got to meet someone this weekend who grew up like me. She was intensely abused and ostracized as a child and then found the same Leather community. I know all of the people she was mentored by. I don’t know how in the hell I have missed her.

I really want to write more about sex but I should go in.

{tmi} pick up play

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Fairly explicit sex stuff. Read at your own risk.

Noah would like it if I could get it up tonight. Which means I’m trying to get in the mood. Right now my favorite song is Stuck on f*cken you. It makes me happy. I’ve been thinking about what stories I want to tell in the book. On one hand this is my version of exhibitionism; on the other hand I’m not just doing a gratuitous listing of the sex I’ve had.

I have been thinking about a woman I dated for a while when I first got into the scene. Technically I dated her and her master. I was already seeing Tom but we hadn’t decided to be monogamous yet. I was out having experiences that he didn’t really want to know about. I had an interesting time hearing them talk about doing drugs and playing. That was something forbidden in Tom’s corner of the scene.

I met all of these people through an IRC channel. There was a local room. I spent a lot of time there. When I was bored late at night I would periodically ask people what they were doing. Then I would meet up with them wherever they were. This couple in particular lived in San Francisco. She was a database administrator for , a large internet company with ties to many nations. He worked at the same company in a much less prestigious position. I suspect it was partly because she was technically his superior at work that it was so fucking hot to own her and have the right to degrade her whenever he felt like it.

I remember visiting them in the office. She was babysitting something and couldn’t leave. I drove up from San Jose. She mostly worked but occasionally walked out for a fondle or a grope. The guy and I had a highly suggestive conversation. Of course we would be going to their place once she finished up for the night. While we were killing time the guy told me to walk over to the large windows at the front of the building. It was after ten at night in the financial distract–at least there weren’t many people around. When I was there he talked me through masturbating in front of the window. He was quite explicit in how he wanted to see it happen. Pull my skirt up. Move my panties to the side; don’t take them off. It’s nice seeing the cloth bunch up in the crease between my thighs. It’s dirtier. He had me fuck myself with my fingers for a while. Then I sucked them clean. I smiled when he asked me if I was a dirty whore. Only on my best days.

When we went back to their place it was interesting. The woman and I pretty much had to wrestle one another to decide who got to be in the middle. Who is more aggressive? It was clear that the boy was going to be giving most of the directions. Who had to be on the bottom of the pecking order?

Wasn’t me.

I hurt her. I hurt her a lot. I spanked her. I used a cane on her thighs. I beat her with her clothes on. He smiled and watched. They both knew I was new and he gave me occasional pointers. She was generous and accommodating with her smart ass comments designed to provoke me into hitting her harder. Eventually I got tired of pushing her around the living room and I grabbed her by the hair. I asked him where their bedroom was and he pointed. I half dragged half pushed her in an awkward position somewhere between being down on all fours and up on her knees down the hallway. I didn’t want her to get there in any kind of comfort or dignity.

We had our safety chat with her on her knees in front of me. STD prevention is important.

I lay back on the bed and pulled my skirt up and my panties off and she decided I was a low enough risk that she was happy to start licking my cunt without a dental dam. I have never managed to figure out dental dams. I feel like this is a failure in my sex life. Anyway.

After a few minutes of squirming I sat bolt upright and said, “Right!” Then I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her on to the bed on her back. I stopped and breathed a big deep breath and smiled slowly and deliberately. I knew this would be different. When I got her pants and panties off I smiled again.

“Nice clit, girl.”

She beamed at me. She glowed. She looked like it was her birthday and Christmas all rolled up in one. She bit her lower lip as she squirmed. I think she liked how I looked at her.

“How do you want me to touch you?”

She showed me.

I was fascinated. The point was not to get the biologically-still-a-penis hard and sit on it. What the hell do I do now? It was different. It was lovely. The point was making her squirm and moan. The point was alternating biting her thighs with gentle strokes on her clit. That made her fists clench and her toes curl and she had the best throaty growl/giggle.

After a while I started getting bored again but I wasn’t sure how to transition. Luckily she was a perceptive girl. “You want a dick, don’t do?”

I conceded that this might in fact be the case. She sighed deeply and reached over her head towards a drawer. I looked because I am nosy as hell. Out came a strap on harness and dildo. Oh my.

She was really good at fucking. This was back in my oh my god it all feels so good I think I’ll orgasm again, thanks stage. I miss that stage. We went through a variety of positions and eventually my head was buried in a pillow as she fucked me from behind. She alternated slamming her cock into me with slapping me on the ass to make me scream.

Her partner got tired of watching. I found this out when he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off of me. I only knew that was happening because she cried out when it hurt. Then I felt him behind me. I reached back with my hand, felt a condom, and started saying, “Yes” over and over. He fucked really well too.

I like fucking people who expect to get a show. They both wanted big reactions out of me and they were quite happy to taunt me, ridicule me, hurt me, or be sweet and loving if they had to. But not for long before they want back to hurting me and fucking me. I liked them liking me. I felt really hot.

Sometimes with slutty people I think, “Ah! You have low standards” and sometimes I think, “Ah! You are highly sought out” and it’s more fun to fuck the second kind. With the first kind it feels kind of extra dirty in the less fun way. I still do it because I have low standards. See, this is why I don’t want to do that any more. I digress.

There is a particular kind of fame that comes from being able to do the fun-to-watch performative sex well. It’s very limited in scope unless you get into porn and then it defines your life in a different way. I have never been paid as a pornographic model though I have done it for free. It’s all about fuzzy lines. I’ve never been a sex worker.

The after cuddling was almost as fierce as the sex. There is an intense bonding from violent sex. You are orchestrating an experience together that is about skirting the line of how much pain can be doled out. It’s a complicated balance. In my experience I feel a lot of bonding emotion short term and I always maintain a little bit of a connection. Sex is intimate. With them there was a lot of relief all around at finding another person who gets us. Wanting to be hurt the way we all hurt one another isn’t common in the vanilla world and we were all young and fairly new to the scene. We still had the thrill of recognition of tribe.

She is the one who told me that I shouldn’t call myself bisexual. I asked her why not. She asked me if I wanted her to pick a gender and stay there or is she allowed to play somewhere in the middle. I told her that she can do whatever she wants. She told me then there isn’t a binary gender and I’m not “bi”. I asked her what I was and she told me queer.

I remember how she raked her nails down my neck. It hurt. It burned. It felt really good. It made me gasp. I like it when my breath comes short like that–with a little squeak. I like being surprised.

I watched them have sex next. I asked them to tell me why they like each other so much. It was quite sweet hearing what they each like about the other. The beauty they find in one another. I was just a visitor–what bound them together?

I had private reservations about some of the things they said but I decided that it wasn’t my life and I could be just supportive. I focused on the good sex. How can I help you two?

Eventually I passed out on the bed. I think I ended up in the middle. I love being in the middle of multiple bodies after sex. It feels comforting and assuring. Here are these people who like me and will be here to guard my dreams. If you have the intimacy of shared sleep after group sex it is a different experience, in my experience at least.

Your early experiences form who you are.

I run into her every so often. Him too. They aren’t together and haven’t been in a long while. Life has taken them very different places. When I saw her last I told her I didn’t feel like I was queer any more and she laughed at me. She stroked my face and told me that leopards don’t change their spots. Then she kissed me. I lurched towards her to kiss her back. I would have done pretty much whatever else she wanted too.

Now I’ll never kiss her again. I don’t feel very queer any more. It feels like my orientation is “not hunting”.

But when I masturbate sometimes I think of her. I think of touching her. I think of her smile and the way she sighed. I think of the taste of her. I think of how surprising it was to have her suddenly start fucking me. I think of how nice it was when it wasn’t a surprise any more and we had been fucking for weeks and we knew the rhythm and the height and the speed. She was really good at fucking. She taught me how to use a strap on. She bought me my first vibrator and taught me how to make myself come.

Eventually the guy kind of scared me and I stopped coming around. I didn’t like finding out he was on ecstasy while single tailing me after I had been made to bleed repeatedly. I would have made a different choice.

Once you say yes once your only way to say no is to walk. That’s my life experience. It makes it hard to have ongoing relationships. I have to be very careful what I say yes to.

Time to go think about this Noah person.

aftermath

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I told Noah that I would be fairly ashamed to tell people how we are moving forward. According to my personal religion that means I am committing a sin. It’s mixed. Mostly I would say we are getting along very well. I’m not starting fights or insulting him or picking on him. Noah is his usual polite and adoring self. It’s like nothing happened except we have massively increased how much sex we are having and how degrading our sex is.

We have spent a lot of time talking about how compulsive I am about sex. About how that works in my head. We have spent a lot of time talking about how impulsive Noah is about sex. So far we seem to be at the point where we are both acknowledging that we qualify as “sex addicts” by any reasonable definition but maybe if we stick with each other we won’t cause too big of problems?

Apparently the task of the week is to see how much sex we have to have before Noah can’t handle any more. So far we have managed three times a day every day. Then I fall asleep. I feel mixed about this. He knows I feel mixed about this. Hell, I’m writing about feeling mixed about this–everyone will know. It’s hard talking about the actual needs that casual sex meets for me. I can meet some pretty fucked up needs without telling anyone what I am doing. I never have to tell my partners what my internal dialogue is. I don’t have a very high opinion of myself and my voracious need for sex.

I don’t have a very high opinion of the fact that my preference is for most of the sex I have to be quasi-consensual. Noah is well aware that a large percentage, possibly “most”, of our sex involves me not being in the mood at all. It doesn’t really matter if I am interested in sex. I am interested in being a good whore. That means I will do what I am supposed to do. I feel manifestly uncomfortable admitting that. A large percentage of the sex I have I only have because I feel like I am required to do so. That is what someone like me is good for. That is what I am supposed to do. And I’m really good at it. And I fucking live for the post-sex adulation. People I fuck tend to be willing to tell me at great length how good I am at sex. I try very hard to make sure I work far harder at sex than most women. I really really want the approval I get after sex.

I feel like something is broken in me. That I chase this so hard. Noah and I have been talking a lot lately. I don’t think I am going to sleep with other people any more. Regardless of what Noah ends up doing for the rest of his life, I need to stop buying affection with sex. I need to stop begging my friends to like me by proving that I am better at sex than anyone they’ve ever slept with. It’s not really a strategy that is working for me.

I like to pick other sex addicts and go have multiple hours of sex with them. Most of the time they are so shocked by finding a woman who is also as motivated by sex that they are willing to tell me pretty much anything I want. It’s broken. I have a partner at home who is willing to do the Jekyll/Hyde thing with me. He will degrade me and talk about me being a whore during sex. He will tell me that if I am so motivated by cock I am required to show up at 5am every day and wake him up with my mouth. And he’s pretty nice to me the rest of the time.

I feel worried by the duality of our relationship. Most of the time in most ways he really is an amazing partner. He is a good, stable provider. He is kind. He is great with our children. I have been able to push him towards mutually agreed upon improvements in behavior over the years. He’s very willing to accommodate me in just about every part of life. He bends over backwards for me in nearly every way. He will even call me names and hurt me tremendously during sex if I tell him I want him to.

There is this mythos in my head that slaves and masochists should experience no internal conflict over what they do. I have massive internal conflict. I am still upset that Noah lied to me. And my response is to tell him more and more complex stories that I am terribly ashamed of. Things that hurt me very much. And I ask him to use them against me. I want him to agree that I am just a dirty whore. There isn’t much else that someone like me is good for. But I want him to gift wrap it in a package where I don’t have to be at risk going forward.

For me to keep having the kind of casual sex that I like is for me to risk my life. It really won’t be much longer before I go back for hunting for rough, dangerous sex. Sure I’m being all loud and snotty this round of hunting because I want vanilla sex right now. That would fade. I would go back to wanting people to do dangerous things to me. I’ve already had a broken bone in the pursuit of good sex, what else will happen?

It is a lot safer to stick with Noah. He will be able to hurt me as much or more than anyone else. He doesn’t flinch from doing so. Noah has not yet inflicted as much pain on me as a small handful of other people, but he has every intention of doing so. I get the impression that some day he will be the one I have done my most intense play with. That kind of terrifies me. Because he has a high bar to reach. I have already done things that were a really bad idea. I’m sure I will do more.

If I do this instead of cutting or sleeping around or drugs or whatever other self-harming behavior I can dream up… is that better? I don’t know. I don’t know how this life thing is supposed to work. I hear I am just supposed to magically decide that I shouldn’t be harmed any more, not by anyone. Not by me, and not by random guys, and not by my husband. But I need this. I am so used to feeling shit on. I require it so much.

Noah has been nice and patient for a long time. We haven’t done intense or painful or degrading sex in a long time. He’s been more respectful than that. So I got bored and went out and slept with other people. And the thing is, it’s not enough that he does these things to me. I need people to know that these things are part of my life. I need for people to know that I am this person. I can’t have this done in secret. I can’t keep secrets.

It would be a sin if I did these things and kept them private and secret. I believe that. That is something that I have to hold on to in life. Something is only a sin if I am ashamed to talk about it. If I am talking about this now, does that mean I am released from the power of it being a sin? I don’t know. I worry about needing what I need. It’s mixed.

I can point in a straight line from events in my early childhood to what I do now. Come March, other people will be able to do so as well. Noah already can. And he stomps all over me with that knowledge. Only in ways I find hot, of course. Is that the difference? Is that the line between what we do and some amorphous “abuse”? If I tell Noah to stop doing something on a given day he does. Except by prior arrangement. Except that I know that I just don’t bother to say no when I’m not in the mood. I figure out how to let it happen. I figure out how to permit him the access he wants whether I want it or not. I don’t generally bother to communicate whether I am in the mood or not. If he tells me to do something, I do it.

It’s interesting when people talk to me about how self-assured I am. How self-possessed. How willing to stand up for myself. Ha. Only sometimes. Only in some ways. If a sexual partner is telling me to do things I frankly don’t want to do I have limited ability to communicate my wants. It depends on how I am doing emotionally and it depends on how much I am invested in the partner. I have casual sex because I can have boundaries with strangers. I have repeat sex with long-term friends because I have beaten them down in non-sexual settings and they don’t push real hard out of fear of a backlash that will never come. I don’t have boundaries with my long-term partners. I barely communicate anything about my limits beyond telling them what buttons will get them the biggest reaction today. “Today is ____ anniversary so why don’t you hurt me by doing _________.”

It’s not a sin if I talk about it. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a sin. I have decided this for my own personal pantheon of beliefs.

These needs all predate Noah. They are not because of him. Most of them are not really about him at all. These are things that were broken in me as a child. But he frankly enjoys many of the ways I am broken. He feels no shame whatsoever in enjoying what I became as the direct result of years of sexual assault. Well, maybe he feels a little shame. But not much. Not enough to prevent him from trying to behave in ways that will keep me from getting bored in the future. Not enough to lessen his enjoyment of what this deep feeling of shame causes me to do during sex. His favorite part lately seems to be that I’m really ok with him fucking my throat until he causes me to vomit. I have a fairly reactive gag reflex. I consider vomiting to be just part of serious blow jobs. I don’t think that is normal. It never feels like it is really a good time to say, “Could you back off on the deep throating?” I don’t get to set terms like that. I get to accept.

In about ten minutes I have to get up and close the computer. I will walk across the house and I will do what I was told to do. Do I want to? Enh. Not really. My throat and cunt are sore. I could use about a week off from sex to recover at this point. But I draw comfort from the fact that I have confessed so I go forth without sin. I will smile. I will encourage him. I will beg him for more, in fact. It doesn’t really matter that I’m sore. That’s beside the point. I don’t think I should go have sex with other people any more. I don’t think that is a good decision for me. He says he is going to be monogamous as well. No, let me be clear. He will be as monogamous as I am.

I fell compelled by my shame. I told him he would be allowed to sleep with whomever he wanted, forever. I promised him that. At no point did I tell him I would like it or feel happy about it. I feel like I did a bait and switch. I feel like I owe him for all the sex he will never get to have because he was stupid enough to marry someone as insecure and selfish and possessive as me. I feel guilty that I seem to have tricked him into monogamy. In turn I fell compelled to say, “Ok fine, I guess I can’t be monogamous either–go have fun.”

I sincerely believe I should stop having sex with other people. I should not act on feeling compelled to earn love and affection with sex outside my marriage. It’s bad enough that I do it with Noah. I don’t actually think I should go out and find a harem of men who will cheerfully call me a whore during sex. I don’t need that. I do enough of that all by myself.

I feel so broken. I seem to have absolutely internalized that anyone who fucks this many people is kind of disgusting. And all I want to do is increase the number so I can increase just how many people will think I am disgusting.

But Noah doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all what I’ve done or what I might do in the future. He wants me. He takes great pride in me. He loves me and adores me. He bends over backwards from me in pretty much every part of life. Except when he’s being impulsive. Oops. His friend told him, “The problem with your situation is it’s hard to know when you are cheating.” Maybe if the rules are clearer then it will be easier to figure out what to do?

I feel like I have taken something away from him. He was poly when I met him. How dare I take that away. I seem to be the epitome of what Dan Savage and Mistress Matisse warn about. That evil double crosser who promises poly and can’t hack it. I’m sorry I am so broken. I really am. I wish that I could encourage Noah to do anything he wants with anyone he wants. Hell, I do encourage him. But it hurts me when he does it. I’m sorry that is true. I really am.

Bonding

I think a lot about why I want to overshare my emotional experience while hunting. I think that part of it is, I don’t know how these things go for other people. Does everyone waffle like me? Noah says he doesn’t. Does anyone? I don’t know.

I feel like my whole life has been a weird balancing act. I have to do enough hard things to balance out the easy things. I’m not really even sure what that means. Why do I feel utterly compelled to promise elaborate sex acts to strangers? I can’t do it with people I know very well because then I feel like I have to live up to that promise all the time.

Last night I did well. I closed. Three times. Excellent. It helps that this was one of the rare times when I have taunted this person in real life previously. He was ready for some follow through. I feel giddy that I managed. It’s like checking a box on a treasure hunt. w00t. Inspired hot sex three times in one night. And he didn’t finish quickly. Excellent stamina. I feel like women are judged this way, why shouldn’t men?

Why shouldn’t I talk about sex as if it is a perfectly respectable hobby? Excepting religious reasons… no really, why should anyone care? Granted not everyone wants to hear about it, but I don’t want to hear about golf either. So? Why are most hobbies morally neutral but sex is bad? Why am I bad because I like to feel this way?

It’s not like I have devoted my entire life to it. I’m doing a few other things as well. Like writing about it.

Sarah is taking Shanna to Arizona tomorrow. I will miss them. It’s always hard for me when Shanna visits people without me.

I have a date Thursday night. I need to go to bed early on Tuesday and Wednesday if I want to be in the mood. If it was for tonight I would cancel. I’m burning too hot. I’m using too much energy and way way too much at night. I’m so tired.

I feel the kind of tired where I am emotionally raw. This is how I always came home feeling. And my mother would pick a fight. When I feel vulnerable like this I am sensitive and I easily feel shamed and unwanted. It doesn’t always happen after sex with new people and it can happen with Noah. When I feel like I am breaking taboos this sometimes hits.

I feel really bad about telling the guy last night “Maybe” when he asked for a second date. I feel like I made promises I don’t intend to keep. I kept my mouth shut about things he said or did that were complete relationship deal breakers for me because oh man is that not a battle I’m interested in. I’m not trying to hurt him. I think he is a fine individual. Just not someone I want to be in a relationship with. Oh the sex was hot though. If we run into one another at a sex party… maybe. If I’m in the mood. He certainly did most of it just right.

It feels like as a slut/whore/whatever word you want to use having those kind of preferences is kind of mean. I’m supposed to just take people as they are and like them. Mostly I do. But there’s always one thing… I know it would drive me batty. I go home and thank God that Noah doesn’t have/do/think/whatever the thing was.

This is why I don’t feel polyamorous. Not really. Only I have my boys. I do feel a connection to them. It is pretty much always more intense on their side. I have a date scheduled with my shaman. We haven’t been on a date in about six or seven years? And it was a four or five year gap between that and the previous set of dates.

I have a long cycle sometimes, apparently. It’s interesting to learn that about myself. I’m glad I didn’t stay with Steve because I would not have had the room to grow to be the person I am now. I like who and what I am. He wouldn’t have stood next to me for this journey. He wasn’t my partner. Not like this. Tom didn’t want to have kids with me. That is why I left him. Having children was more important to me than being with him. I made the right choice.

I am strongly dyadic in my bonding. I do very intense one on one bonding. And then it scares the piss out of me and I run away. Noah is the only person I have ever met who can really match my intensity in an on-going way. We take breaks occasionally when we are escalating, but we always come back to a topic. We can always finish talking about something no matter how hard it is.

I have never had a person in my life who will do that. I would follow him off a cliff because no one will ever make me feel seen the way Noah does. I’m protective of this space. I feel terrified of it being encroached on.

That’s why I only go on first dates. I have no interest in finding a new bond right now. Fuck you all. You all suck compared to Noah. I’m not going to go on a second date and start dealing with the fact that you can’t have conversations the way I want to have them. It feels like a waste of my time. I’m not interested in sitting through multiple dates where I have to silently roll my eyes and put up with shit that irritates the fuck out of me. Everyone irritates me. Everyone. But I can turn around and tell Noah what he is doing that irritates the fuck out of me. I can’t do that with anyone else.

It’s very stressful being around people and being polite. I’m really not very polite in my head. But I want polite children. I have gone most of the way towards creating polite children. When they start behaving in a way that irritates me it is because they are mimicking something I’ve done. If I want to change their behavior the first thing I need to do is identify where I am behaving in a sub-optimal way and change it. I put a lot of pressure on myself right now.

But people seriously irritate the fuck out of me and I’d like to yell at them a lot. I don’t. It’s not personal. I’m sorry I feel this way. But I do.

I don’t go on second date because that one little thing that irritated me? I left thinking about it. I constructed a story in my head about that little personality tic becoming part of my life. Oh god that would require a lot of patience. Can’t do it. I’m sorry.

I’ve done a fair bit of recycling old hits in my head, lately. I’ve gone on dates with several old flames, with mixed success. I’m interested in seeing how things have changed with my shaman. I feel weird about the fact that he is ok with being available for me whenever I want him over the course of more than a decade. That’s… holy shit that’s commitment. I love him. But I’m not and I never have been “in love”. It’s dramatic that I now have Noah to compare everyone to. He changed the whole scale.

I like inspiring people. Really good sex can change your world view. There are so many good chemicals. The aftermath of goodness can be bittersweet. I like inspiring people to feel better about themselves. I want them to feel affirmed for the one gift I am willing to accept from them.

I’m tired. I’ve had a week of bad sleep. I feel guilty that I avoided conversation last night by falling asleep. He woke me up after an hour and a half to put me on bart. Fucking slick, Krissy. I feel bad. It’s not like I did it on purpose. I’m really tired. But uhm, that shouldn’t be part of the first date. Kind of poor form.

Noah is trying to schedule a date for Thursday. I have extra impetus to not cancel. Bother. This is the kind of thing that inevitably happens around him dating. If I cancel it gets weird. He’s just as (or more) twitchy than I am at this point. He acts like he should be kicked. I have a hard time when Noah puts his head down and looks like he is in pain. Like I have already been berating him… just because he feels guilty. I haven’t said anything. It makes me angry. And then I’m going to say things.

This is a bad cycle. Mostly in our life he acts like my ambient anger isn’t about him. He goes about his life being cheerful and dandy and on his own time. This is a good thing. When he feels like he is to blame for my anger the dynamic changes. I feel like an abusive asshole because he starts flinching. It’s hard because it feels like my anger isn’t much higher than normal but all of a sudden I am bad for feeling it. WTF? Why do I have to be Miss Susie Sunshine on this sacred topic above all others? I’m a cranky person. I just am. Why is it surprising around this topic?

Why am I only not allowed to feel feelings about this. You are fine with them on every other topic.

I’m going back and sleeping with my friends because I have already been fierce and aggressive and they have proven they really like me. It’s weird to show up and let them surprise me with how they actually want to touch me. It’s weird finding out what is on the other side of the brick wall I build around myself.

First date sex has a certain loneliness to it. That’s the bittersweet part. You know that this person doesn’t really know you. When you plan to disappear in the morning you hide behind that knowledge. You carefully don’t present yourself at certain times. It’s not worth finding out how this person feels about ‘x’ controversial topic. For me to carefully censor what I’m saying…

This feeling. It’s like what I had as a child. When I was being sent to a new place. I desperately wanted to please them. I wanted to be liked. Not being liked was so bad. So very bad. When people don’t like me they tend to loathe me. They feel free to say the nastiest, meanest things possible. They do this because I reveal a lot of intense personal feelings quickly and then other people bond to me. Then when I reject the bond, because it was ephemeral for me, something that was completely true in the moment and not true later, they know personal things.

I’m being vague. There is no way for me to recount the people and ways I have been told I am disgusting for the kind of sex I like to have. I had a good night last night. I don’t want to do it again soon because of my own issues with being patient with people. He did nothing wrong. He’s awesome. My shaman is wonderful. I feel much more connected to him than I do to most people. I only want to go out on approximately a dozen dates over a decade. It’s not because he has done something wrong.

I feel like running away from intimacy this hard is a sign that I am deeply broken. If people cannot be everything and perfect then I have no space for them in my life. And I judge everyone against Noah and find them wanting. I’m lonely.

A lot of the impatience is just that people feel weird to me. I never feel comfortable. I always feel fake and like I have to be thinking very hard about not saying “the wrong thing” because inevitably someone will blow up at me.

Talking about sex and relationships feels especially charged and fierce. People always feel weird to me. I’m not very adaptable. I have times where I can do it, but it’s hard. I’m always poised for inevitable rejection. Some woman who wrote me a nasty dear Jane letter felt the need to go back and change her RSVP to a no for an event I had in 2010. Uhm. Wow. Thanks for letting me know, again, that you still dislike me.

I feel inadequate to the task of living my life. I feel like I keep writing checks my body can’t cash. I haven’t run in a few days. I’m too physically exhausted. Shanna and Calli and I did help shut down the port yesterday. That was a walk. I was impressed with Shanna’s tenacity. I gave her multiple opportunities to wuss out when she got tired. She said, “No! I can do it! I’m buff!” My strong girl.

I feel a vague desire to probe her for why she introduces herself as She-Ra. But that’s people hacking and she can’t consent. So instead when she does it I just smile along. I don’t know what to say. Why should she feel more attached to the name I picked out?

I’m teaching her to be kind of weird. I feel bad about that. I’m very good at talking to strangers… if I initiate it or if they follow a pattern of questions I recognize as “valid”. I can answer some questions easily. Other times I freeze up and feel really dumb and walk away muttering about my inadequate social skills… she notices.

Today there is a park day trip to the park where I used to meet the above mentioned Dear Jane woman. It’s a great park. The homeschool group is going. I keep thinking to myself that I’m not there to make friends. I’m there to let Shanna make friends. I don’t know that I can do it. I can’t sleep in, ok fine. I need to start going to bed earlier at night. I’m so tired I can’t function. This is not useful.

This is part of what I mean when I say I can’t date. I don’t regulate my energy well. Right now I’m trying to do too many things. I can’t do everything. Time to drop some balls.

Hunting is hella awkward (this whole thing is tmi)

2 Replies

We went from having a weekend of lots of planned sluttery to only having sex together. This is rather hilarious, I think. But Noah was approached on okcupid. He’s making a date.

I love masturbating right after sex. I’m sore and overly sensitive so it kind of hurts and it takes me a long time to have an orgasm. I have to really make up a story in my head. I’m just starting to do this again. I haven’t done this in years. I don’t masturbate when my kids are in bed with me. I like to follow the stories that come up. Often they involve sex with one or more of my friends. It usually involves me getting to meet some need in their life.

Having sex with your friends is shitting where you eat. It’s hard because having your needs met feels really good and it’s easy to get upset when you know people in your life can make you feel that good but they choose to schedule their time elsewhere. That’s a hard thing emotionally. It’s a lot of the reason that I am gun shy about polyamory. I have my priorities set where they are set and no I am not fucking adjusting them for someone else.

I don’t think I have ever hunted the way I am hunting now. I have never gotten to set the terms before. It’s really hot. It’s really hot to have people be willing to seduce me by email before we ever show up in person. I have a great correspondance going right now. The problem is that people get to the date and then have performance anxiety. I don’t have performance anxiety. I’m that good at sex. As good as I say and better. Because if you write me a script in advance I will make sure it is a script I can play and then I will play it to the hilt. It’s really fun.

People who know me have a hard time engaging with this part of me. They already have so many experiences that have made them gun shy. I should make people gun shy on a day to day basis. I’m kind of twitchy. You don’t know how my moods will flow, it’s true. Pushing an agenda on me is normally a questionable idea.

Except when it isn’t. And I don’t know how to figure out the boundaries around this with people I know. But I am learning how to do it with strangers and it’s really hot. One hiccup is that I was asked if choking is really a hard limit. Uhh, yeah. It is. No hands around my neck at all. I don’t care that you like to assert your dominance that way. Find another way. Hey, I’m a nice girl. How about if I tell you that I have been thinking a lot about face slapping? You’ll believe me because I’ve been so clear about my boundaries in every other place. Start slow, of course. I’m sensitive. But if that is interesting to you… I would feel put in my place. Just sayin’.

It’s hard to do these exchanges with people I know. I don’t trust very many people to that level. It’s hard to use your friends as one night stands. They feel bad. Friends feel used and abandoned. It’s important to not spike that oxytocin too high with people who already are more emotionally connected than I am. That’s shitting on people I like. Because they get hurt. I don’t like doing that.

I am really thrilled about how many dates are happening. I’m having fun. I’m thrilled that Noah’s response to me hunting is to start talking about going to the gym because now he has to compete. He totally doesn’t. But I like it when he is in better shape. Our sex life improves. And given where it is… oh my.

I think it is funny that I hunt so hard for sex with other people when I know that Noah will be a better lover. Every time. It’s kind of like how Noah won’t eat McDonald’s, so I go without him. I have these tastes for things that are bad for me. My vices. I like McDonald’s, ramen, and dates with new-to-me-men. I’m going to get to the point where those are it. (I eat McDonald’s like once a month. Just sayin’. Happy Meal joy.)

Noah tried to wake me up for sex on Friday night and I bit his head off. Thursday I didn’t sleep much so I was cranky. I made it up to him by waking him up on Saturday morning. And we went to a party and played together on Saturday and had hot sex. And we came home and had hot sex. And Sunday afternoon Sarah took the kids out and he tied me up and did wonderful things to me and we had hot sex. And Sunday before passing out we couldn’t stop pawing at one another… so we had hot sex again.

Sometimes just being near him makes me shake with wanting him. I have felt this voracious need for sex basically all of my life. For the first time it’s not only ok it is preferable. Because Noah actually likes me and appreciates me. I worry about how other people will perceive me for being this kind of person. I worry and feel stupid for worrying. Of course people judge me. So what?

I am not at risk of being hurt. It would be very hard for anyone to hurt me just because they disapprove of my behavior. My kids are far more sheltered than average. They have a fierce sense of body autonomy and you can’t get that if you are abused. They shine with good health and love. I don’t have a job that is at risk. Noah tells me he doesn’t care what I write. He’ll take the hit. Because I’m worth it. I am financially secure enough that I will never have to play a public game again in my life.

Still I feel this fear. If I feel this afraid, what is it like for people who have something to lose? I have hubris on my side. I can limit my hunting pool ridiculously. I seem to be only hunting among people who have college degrees, often PhDs. Not because I care but because those are the ones with the cajones to message me. They are the only people who are willing to put up with a long list of nitpicky requests and demands from me before they meet me. People who will write a sex script with me before meeting me and allow me to call a large percentage of the shots. Am I actually doing risk management this way or am I lying to myself?

Communicating clearly that I am a sure thing gives me this sensation of butterflies in my stomach. That moment of revelation, when I have to say I am interested in sex feels incredible. Because I am interested in sex. Not with anyone. With people who can talk to me and help me make a script and help me figure out why I am there.

That’s what I’m doing with the pre-writing. I’m giving myself a chance to create the back story on why the kind of girl he is fantasizing about would show up for the experience he is about to have. Everyone wants a different why. I’m very curious about why people think they should have sex. It’s different from the why they have for love. The why people have about sex tells me so much about their life.

Most people think they should have sex because they are in love. It’s kind of a weird thing, to me. Why do I think I should have sex? Because it feels good. Because I like carefully balancing how much of my life is devoted to things that feel good to me. The specific kind of feel-good I get from sex with new people is apparently worth a lot of effort and angst to me. I’m trying to get to the point where I can attenuate the effort and get rid of the angst. I’m not for everyone. The kind of people who are in the right place to do exactly what I want… that’s serendipity. I need to be honest about the emotional cost.

I need to stop being messy with my emotions in my house. Sarah has nightmares and I make them worse. I’m not yelling or screaming. But I am huffy. I do visibly shake with anger. To someone who grew up in a violent household I look like I am on the verge of hitting. I need better control. And that means I need to back off on hunting. It’s taking a lot of my brain cycles and that makes me short tempered elsewhere.

I need to figure out how much energy I actually have left once I am meeting my obligations at home. Right now I don’t feel like I understand that balance very well. This is where I don’t have a map. I guess I do though. I painted it on my wall. I’m going into the cave. Sometimes. Or I’m wandering off to have an island retreat.

Have I mentioned that due to plumbing mishaps I have a white wall in my house? The possibilities are endless. I still haven’t painted the garage door. All of these things take energy. Energy I am currently holding in reserve because later today I am going to go shut down the Port of Oakland with a few friends. I’m bringing my kids. And after the Port Shutdown I will be dropped off for a date.

There is only so much of me to go around. I only have so much energy to give. It’s really awesome; I have to be pragmatic. What do I want to have in my life? What are my actual, actionable priorities? What am I doing with my time and energy and how is it balancing throughout my life? I have to think about these things.

I am sad things went the way they did with muse, but I can’t say I’m surprised. I shouldn’t have tried for a month. I know better. I know I don’t have that kind of energy for a relationship. I should have left it at the first date. If my one night stand hunting culminated in a night of bath house sex where I don’t have to talk to the person after that… that would have been great. I was stupid. I tried to get the short-term boyfriend experience.

Know yourself. Know your limits. Noah has different limits. Hell, near as I can tell everyone has different limits than me. That’s ok. It’s tricky trying to figure out where I get to have rock hard limits around what I can and can’t request from people.

I’m interested in one night stands. If you aren’t, that’s fine. We aren’t a match. Move along. Don’t get mad at me and I’ll try not to rant about you. I’ll make that promise to all the future boys. I’ll try not to rant. Which is to say that I will rant but try to be balanced. You did good things too. We just aren’t a match. No shame in that.

That’s why. That’s why I’m hunting. Because I am continuing the behavior I have done my entire life but not I am trying to do it without shame. I want to find a way to balance this part of me that feels bad because other people do not value it with the knowledge that it does bring good to my life. It gives me the energy to go conquer the world.

I’m probably not going to schedule a one night stand attempt in January. I need a rest from that energy drain. It’s time to re-evaluate the energy I’m giving to my sex life. I promised Shanna that I would make her a play house in January. I can’t be tired from staying up all night for sex and do that. It’s going to be awesome. Just wait. But it will take creativity. It has to fit into Wonderland.

How can I talk about parenting and being a slut in one post? Because I’m both. That has to be ok. I’m not actually doing anything shameful. I have an unusual hobby that most people don’t share. Like people in this valley should fucking judge. You are all a bunch of weirdos. What the fuck is this geocaching shit?

I think that if you look at history you will find a lot more people who pursued sex voraciously than people who beat some video game. Who is the freak? Ahem.

A story that isn’t going in the book. (TMI warning)

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I had reason to think about something that happened a few years ago. I placed a casual encounters ad on Craigslist. I think I only got a couple of responses. Only one was coherent and comprehensible as English. Oh, and the one that was a guy from a local bdsm mailing list emailing me directly instead of responding to the ad saying, “I know this is you. Don’t use so many identifying characteristics in your ad.” We exchanged two or three short emails and then met at Starbucks near my house. This was after Puppy dumped me and before Noah asked me to marry him. The only time I have ever been really single and on my own in my life. I didn’t have anyone to sleep with and I was horny. I didn’t want to masturbate again. It’s just not the same.

So I met this guy. I have no idea what his name was. He was a lot nerdier and more shy than I usually go for. And he told me he was really into oral. I kind of cringed, but hey I’ll try anything once. It was incredible. That was the best oral sex I have ever received in my life. That man was a God. I don’t think I have ever experienced so much sensation in my vulva before. I dissociate pretty quickly most of the time when someone goes down on me. I had a few experiences (I wrote about them!) that made me feel uncomfortable about people going directly at my crotch. If someone gets genital very fast I get scared off. I just close off my ability to feel what they are doing. Needless to say, I just don’t bother having oral sex much. It’s fussy and complicated.

Ok, back to this guy. So we undressed very awkwardly and climbed into my bed. I giggle a lot when I’m nervous. I hear it’s charming. We started experimenting with how to touch one another. I’m usually very tentative when I first start touching someone. He was really sensitive. He didn’t want a lot of touch for himself. He wanted to pay attention to me. It’s hard to even explain how he did it. He didn’t touch anything inside my labia for like twenty minutes, but he was paying a lot of attention to that part of my body. The crease in my thigh was endlessly fascinating. By the time he finally touched something more ahem direct. I melted. That was one of the most amazing experiences I’ve ever had in my life.

I’ve never felt ok asking for that kind of thing since. Or when I have tried it has resulted in a pretty rough rushed entry into harsh genital stimulation. Then we fuck five minutes later. It’s just not the same.

I have sex with strangers because sometimes you can shut out everything in the whole wide world and just accept the best part of this person into yourself. The best thing they can give can be a wonderful thing. You don’t have to worry about overall compatibility. It’s not about truly connecting. I’m not lying to myself. But the novel experience of getting to try completely different speeds of sex is wonderful.

It’s hard to have that much variety with one person. Noah and I both have a specific kind of sex that we strongly prefer. We have trouble figuring out how to change speeds sometimes. Ok, instead of deflecting I’ll just say it. Today we were having a very different kind of sex from normal. Then I started to feel like I was supposed to hurry up and get off and validate that this was a hot experience, right? It’s kind of my party trick. But I wasn’t even close. And trying to make myself do that usually results in some longer lasting discomfort. It’s really annoying.

Noah didn’t ask me to. Tell me to. Or imply that I should. I think I should. I think that is something I have to do. I even know why. It’s hard to change this setting in my head. It’s hard to stop having performative sex. Even when I am alone in a room with my partner I still have to know that the sex we are having would be fairly spectacular to watch. I don’t do things just because they feel good. I really don’t like this about myself.

The great thing about writing this out is now Noah can read it. And he’ll be able to change gears properly. That’s why I like him so much. He’ll find a way now that I’ve told him how. At least once. Then we’ll go back to the sex we prefer.

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