Category Archives: sex

hella weird.

Do you know what is hella weird? Asking for permission to write about people you hope to fuck. Then writing about them. Then going around and checking in, “Ok, did I step on any toes?”

It is… hilarious and totally worth the feelings of awkwardness. Know why? I have better sex partially because the people who want to fuck me are willing to do a lot of homework. I communicate a lot of things in writing I have trouble getting around to saying. Also: when I’m talking to myself I’ll admit things I won’t say right to a person. Because I’m kind of a passive aggressive douche. Yeah, I know.

Professor, you reacted with surprise when I said I’d been considering this for a while. I actually thought about it before your last relationship ended. Things seemed really rocky for you so I decided it really wasn’t worth bringing up with Noah.

There. I said it.

I don’t know what makes the damn break when it does. All I know is that when it does there is so much pent up it is a deluge.

Knock, knock knock

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I was asked what doors I’m knocking on. I think that being as transparent as a piece of glass will save a whole lot of trouble down the line about misunderstood motives or impulses. Realistically, I figure out my motivations when I write them down and hope that I don’t piss people off too much in the process.

My submissive wants me to write more about him. He also thinks I don’t need to respect his privacy quite so much. Good to know. I went knocking on his door first. He has been in my life for about fifteen years. Primarily he has been my friend and not my submissive. He says I have spent more time dominating him than I think. I think he should wait six months and reevaluate that opinion.

Why him? Why now? I don’t know. Because for the past few years I have had a terrible need to get out kinetic energy in fierce ways and I have never in my life play with someone who swayed into my need to hit with such intensity?

He wants to make me feel better and if hitting him will do that, please oh please. It helps that he is one of the most intense masochists I’ve ever known. We are going to run into my limits as a sadist before we run into his limits as a masochist.

That’s a kind of freedom I don’t know how to describe for me. I spend my whole life being too much. Being too scary and intense and bad. I’m not for him.

He asked what to call me. Well I ain’t a fucking goddess or queen. Get that straight the fuck out of your head. Ugh. And I’m not a domme. I can’t stand that.

What am I?

I’m Krissy. But I want to control the shit out of a very small part of your soul. What does that mean? I don’t know yet. I’m going to get more… invasive over time. My encroachments will be very slow. They will come in inches and millimeters until you notice that I’ve covered a tremendous amount of ground and holy shit how did I get there.

I want to boil you alive.

I want to find out what it means to do that.

Given what he’s writing I’m not sure I am going to be able to be as intense as his fantasies. We’ll see.

Wait, Princess? You want to call me Princess? Ok that’s kind of hilarious. I’ll consider it.

Why do I want this with him so badly right now? Part of it is the fact that he has patiently waited, while indicating interest in the most subtle and non-forceful of ways for over a decade. He’s not a stalker. He’s not entitled. He’s not pushy. He just… lets me know he’s interested. I don’t feel threatened. I don’t feel like I need to be prepared to defend myself. I feel safe and I feel like it is safe to be parts of myself I otherwise have to keep under lock and key. I feel like it is a rare and wonderful thing that I have the talents I have, that I can make people happy the way I can.

Why not any other submissive, ever? Because. Because clearly, he doesn’t need me to take over to fix his problems. His life is fine. He’s doing great. Because he has done a really high amount of Emotional Labor with no promise of ever getting anything back. He gives because he wants to. Because he thinks I deserve it.

Noah does a lot for me. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. It’s a very different kind of care and labor and consideration. Noah will not suffer for me to take away some of my suffering. That’s not our dynamic and I’m happy about that. That’s not what I want with Noah.

Why do I need this relationship to be stone? That is weighing on my soul. I feel really mixed about wanting to play with him and deny him sex. I know he likes having sex with me. We’ve been on/off lovers for a long time.

I just need it. I need to have something really intense and really important… without my cunt. I know I’ve been doing that with friendships over the last few years, but they’ve all been at arms length. They’ve all been carefully chaperoned and supervised and controlled. I need to control myself in this way when I’m engaged in play. I need to. I need to feel that sadism not part of being fucked partially because being fucked is such a different experience.

The second door I went knocking on was one of my Daddy’s. He’s like way Top 5 so if I have a hunting license he’s going to be on the list forever. Unfortunately for me, fortunately for him, his love life is going very well and he doesn’t have much time for me. Maybe someday I’ll be driving by at the right time and I’ll get to bang him but… the chances are slim. I’m happy to just have permission again. He has been in my life for twelve years. Why do I come back to him? Because when I am in his presence he makes sure that he lets me know that he knows me and that he loves me in all my complexity. He was the first person to teach me to eat English muffins and blueberry jam. I have quite a soft spot for him. He was the first man I was ever involved with who cooked for me regularly.

I don’t have permission to write about the third yet. I will ask.

Number four is a sweet french vanilla deity I hunted on okcupid. I strung him along right before I turned off my profile four years ago. He became a friend later. I am… very interested in what I missed. I am interested in large part because he was super enthusiastic about an intense negotiation and lead up and then…. he was nice when I backed out. He never demonstrated even an ounce of entitlement. He’s been sweet and mellow ever since. He pops up to initiate conversations with me more than the vast majority of people I know. He continues to seek me out just because he wants to talk to me.

He’s in between relationships so he seems to find it entertaining to show me what I missed. And he did buy that picnic basket just for seducing me and then we never got around to it. So he’s about four years old. (Uhhh… wait… that sounds wrong.)

I think that is going to be a lot of fun. I haven’t had a new-to-me partner with lots of lead up in a very long time. This is going to be… interesting. Fun. Exciting! I feel like this is appealing for a variety of reasons. For one: new people are always exciting to me. Repeats are good too, but new people have a special spice. For another: he feels safe. I’m not sure I’d be willing to go to the house of a random one-off right now. It feels risky in a way I can’t do right now. But this deity seems fine. He’s been to my house. He isn’t a stranger. He isn’t random.

He isn’t yet in my count but I feel like I know him enough that I have a very good understanding of how this will play out.

Why do I call him French vanilla? Because he’s kinky but not in the way I think of from my Middle Guard training experiences. He’s closer to Noah. There is a difference between people who like having kinky sex when they happen to be in a relationship and people who will go to bdsm and/or sex parties every weekend and munches throughout the week because they just need to be around perverts.

It’s not a bad difference, but there is a big difference.

I… can’t write about number three yet. That’s a story.

Otherwise I plan to go do as much bdsm play with old friends as I can manage at the few parties I get to go to for a while. Noah says I can play freely at parties (with barriers). In my experience of the bdsm community like 99% of my bdsm play will be non-sexual. Noah and I intend to hit up the occasional swingers party which will be no-lead-up-casual-sex.

Uhm. Yeah. That’s my itinerary.

I feel a little…. weird… about the fact that this is in fact kinda reserved for me. God damn. I’m not interested in lining anyone else up because I get a date a month. Why so many? Why so fast? Because there are all these parts of me that are screaming and screaming and screaming for attention and I can’t even look at them in my normal life.

Number three is a story.

I find that people (who want kinky sex at all) tend to fall into two generic camps. People for whom bdsm/etc is foreplay and they are there to get laid. Then the people for whom genital stimulation may be almost entirely optional. They are there for the emotional power trip.

I “grew up” with people who were not genitally focused. I learned a lot of things that way. I learned a lot of associations and behaviors. I am a genitally focused person. I like doing bdsm without sex but if I’m going to pick either bdsm or sex 9/10 times I’ll pick sex. (Which is part of why Noah is so dreamy. He likes kink stuff, but mostly we just fuck like rabbits.)

So French vanilla is anything but an insult. It’s a way of helping myself evaluate what I’m in for. A lot of why I like having promiscuous sex is because I like making other people feel good. I like getting them off. I like having them feel satisfied. French vanilla sex is kinda my sweet spot but I have needs outside that range too. I am closer to a weekend warrior than a Lifestyler.

I choose that.

I have been a Lifestyler. I didn’t get fucked enough and that was a serious problem.

But I feel like I have bdsm needs that aren’t getting met in this new era of raining dick. (Thank you Noah. I am grateful.) I’m not sure what that means. I’m not sure how to do this. I’m not sure what I actually need.

It’s not that Noah and I never do bdsm play. It’s not that I dislike how he plays. It is that there are differences in our styles and preferences and experience levels.Not insurmountable problems. But problems that are hard to solve given the limitations in our lives.

Just for now. I think this will get easier with time.

Despite other flattering offers being floated up to my door in bottles… I think this is going to be a full roster for this year. I don’t know that the deity will be an ongoing thing. I have no idea what Number Three wants yet, not really. I don’t know what I want either. I think it will be ongoing with my submissive. I want to really delve into this.

I think that doing these things is part of loving myself. Even though that is complicated. I’m not one thing or another. I’m not a gentle person. I’m not a harsh person. I’m a little bit of everything, all rolled into one. (Thanks Meredith Brooks.)

I’m scared of wanting these things. I’m scared of wanting these people. I’ve wanted them for a long time. It’s not like any of this desire is new. I’ve just been actively sitting on it for years… mostly to prove that I can.

See. I can pick Noah. I can be Loyal. But it’s…. hard.

I’m not that loyal of a person. Or rather, I’m loyal in ways that might be nonstandard. There are gals who start dating a military guy at 15 (like I did) and stay with him forever. I replaced him within a few months. If I don’t like how I’m being treated… I move on. Bye now.

Every.Single.One of these doors I’m knocking on are guys (why are they always guys? Cause they are easier to approach?) who have demonstrated over literal years that I am worth emotional labor from them. Even though most women complain bitterly that they can never get a guy to perform emotional labor for them. God I feel like an asshole. How did I get so lucky?! Noah says it is because I am finicky and demanding and that draws the kind of people who like to jump through hoops. He says that emotional labor is one of those massively unfair feast or famine things. Either folks find ways to gets tons of it from the people around them or they get almost none.

I get a lot.

The doors I’m knocking on aren’t doors I closed because I didn’t like them or didn’t want them (or maybe I didn’t at the time). The doors I am knocking on are doors where I have experienced intense emotional support without having to earn it. I just… got it. Because they wanted to give it to me.

Why do I always turn that into wanting to have sex with people? I don’t. But sometimes I do. Particularly with men who overlap with my sexual interests oh so neatly. I don’t have women or non-binary people throwing themselves at me in the same way.

Shooting fish in a barrel is way easier than taking a shotgun out on a boat and hoping you hit something. I’m a lazy predator. I like knowing I’m going to succeed. So I ask super bluntly, really early, and only keep around the people who seem like they really deserve it and have an appropriately high level of interest. If you aren’t that into me I need to move on.

It’s not like I have a shortage of people I know. These are people who showed up to do emotional labor, while indicating that I’m hot, and taking no really well.

How could I not fall in love with them?

I don’t know.

I’ll be straight that the French vanilla deity is the one I’m the least in love with. But I still like him a whole awful lot. He’s funny, serious but not in an obnoxious way, so smart, patient, aware…

He’s also the newest. Things do tend to age and mature for me. My submissive has been in my life for the longest. Then Noah. Then Daddy. Then Number Three. Then the French Vanilla deity at a mere four years.

I sure do like to put people through the ringer.

Why are they still interested at all? I really don’t know. I don’t.

I hope it is partially because they show up to perform emotional labor when they feel they have it to give and I am not needy, demanding, or obnoxious about invading their lives? I’m ok with being a ball of need alone in a room. I don’t have to demand that someone fix me, not now. I still like talking to people though.

Despite super intensively interesting awesome offers floating into my inbox…

This is a way full roster. Holy crap Krissy. Uhm. If you’ve been following long enough you know it isn’t that extreme. Picture me slapping my face down into my hands now.

These are all people who have indicated a high degree of agreement with my beliefs around how much my children should know.

I’ve spent a lot of the last few years trying to get my emotional/attention needs met from female friends in platonic relationships. Guess what, this isn’t doing what I want it to do. Most of them aren’t real available. They don’t have much drive to perform a lot of emotional labor for me and as a result… I have mostly stopped calling them. I’m an asshole but it is hard to be the one who calls more than 90% of the time. At some point I will just stop. And Pam is about to leave the state for a few years.

I think I needed to slam this door open so hard because what support network I was building wasn’t working at all and I need to go back to something that has had more success or I can’t keep giving to the kids the way I am. My drawer of spoons is empty. You know what… that’s not true. I actually have a few spoons in my drawer right now. I feel like I have finally started reversing the flow.

I’m sleeping better. I have more energy to be productive when I do work. I’m resting better when I’m supposed to rest. My digestion is still… settling while I do this cleanse nonsense. I’m almost done though and I told the nutritionist I need a break.

I haven’t been seeing chiropractors or acupuncturists in a bit because I’m freaking out about money. It’ll even out…. soon I hope. I skipped my massage this week because I threw up an hour before my appointment.

And yet I still feel so much better than I did. I feel like I have stuff to do. I feel like I’m excited to go to sleep because that will give me energy to wake up and do the things I want to do.

I feel better than I have in many years of sitting in the park all day. Somehow… I didn’t get many emotional needs met that way.

And yeah, hunting is part of this. I like the me I am with Noah. I like all the gifts he has given me in terms of emotional labor, attention, and approval. But he has like, a job and an own self to pay attention to, and kids, and books he writes and… stuff.

Whoo hoo! Number Three woke up and gave me approval to talk about him. Hot.

Ok. I’m now glad this took me long enough. We did take a break to go to breakfast.

Number Three shall henceforth be known as the Professor. He is another person I met on okcupid, but I met him during that freakishly short period of time I lived alone in San Jose. Puppy had just dumped me. I was teaching. I was freaking out because I left my Owner because I wanted to find someone to marry and have kids with and the hunt wasn’t going very well. The Professor wasn’t the Professor then. He was exactly my age and still in college. He was interested in me.

He came over and helped me grade papers. We kissed once and I couldn’t handle kissing a cigarette smoker and I said no.

That was eleven years ago. In that time he has become my friend. (He also quit smoking.) He has had his own life story in that time. Relationships that taught him lessons, painful and otherwise. On this list of doors I’m knocking on he is by far the closest to being a Lifestyler. He has spent most of the last ten years hanging out in the community getting very good at a lot of physical skills. I haven’t seen him play in a while, but the way he talks about himself has changed. More humble and more self assured at the same time.

He is also one of the most pedantic motherfuckers I have ever had the privilege to know.

If you know me you know that sentence is dripping with admiration and affection.

Noah is a pedantic motherfucker. The Professor can give him a run for his money. They mostly don’t overlap in areas of obsessive study and this is better for the whole universe.

I clearly have an intellect fetish thinking about the folks I’m chasing hard.

If you can’t teach me something, why am I here? I have things I need to learn and right now I’m in a very selfish stage. The only people I’m teaching are my kids because they take all that I have to give in that department and then some.

The Professor will take me on a journey. As much as I love that Noah’s bdsm is seriously dominated by his desire to fuck me, the Professor isn’t quite so dick obsessed. (I love you Noah, I’m not complaining.) This will be a long scene. The kind I used to do a few times a week. The kind that take you on a journey of emotional development and leave you wrung out like a dishrag on the floor, spent.

I want it. I want to be hit and hit and hit and hit and hit.

Want to know something funny? I don’t know for sure if he will kiss me. I don’t know if he will have any interest in fucking me. I… I am not 100% sure where my preferences lie. I’m not chasing him because I feel like I haveto haveto haveto get access to his dick. I’m chasing him because I think he has the precision and control to fuck with my mind. Perhaps he will also want to fuck with my cunt and I’m not opposed to that. But it is less the goal. I will be ok with following that journey where it needs to go. I think there is a part of me that thinks I can’t get too interested in sex with him because I want him to decide at the end of the scene and I want to be ok either way. If I get my hopes up and he doesn’t want to fuck me I will feel rejected and bad and really not ok. If I decide I don’t want to fuck him and he does want to fuck me I will probably not want to say no and that’s complicated.

For the record, I’m totally leaning towards wanting to fuck him and I’m trying not to get too focused. I have now seen a picture of his cock (I love my friends) and I’m pretty confident that wouldn’t be scary. Fantastic. Yes. Try not to have expectations. I may not even get to see his cock in person. Just accept. Because that is seriously what I’m looking for that night.

So I’m out here chasing a stone relationship, one where I don’t know if I will get laid or not, one where I was told probably not, and one where sex is a more sure thing at least once but I don’t know if it will continue.

So I’m thinking with my cunt and I’m not.

Noah, thank you for your permission.

Want to know why this is worthwhile for Noah? Today is the 13th of the month and we’ve already hit quota (10 times/month). February was quota and a half. Our sex life explodes when I feel like I have more options.

The kids have been telling me that I’m being more patient and fun. They are noticing an improvement to such a degree that they are spontaneously commenting on it.

I’m not sure I’m doing anything bad here. But I’m scared. I’m scared I will hurt everyone. I’m scared that I’m so selfish I don’t deserve all of this wonderful. I should let more of the decent men go find other women. (Hey–every single one of these dudes is seeing multiple women. I’m not monopolizing anyone but Noah. And he’s hunting.)

Why did I flip from NO to yes?

I’m not feeling honorable.

I want this. I want this. I want this.

Users Guide 3.0 Married with Children Edition

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Many… many years ago I copied the idea of a users guide from my friend because I know that I am difficult to figure out when it comes to sex sometimes. I’m picky and fussy and just generally demanding. Therefore it seems like a lovely idea to have some sort of cheat sheet about how to handle me in general. Some of these things I have figured out on my own, some of these things I have had pointed out to me by friends and/or lovers/husband, some of these things are constantly in flux and will no longer be true in just a few months. Of course this is a living document and therefore subject to change and revision without notice. Just because something is in here doesn’t mean you should assume that for now and all times this is the only thing I like/want/don’t like etc. After the roller coaster that was pregnancy and giving birth, I promise you things change in my body over time.

Index:
A. Before sex (including courtship/getting to know one another)
1. Just meeting and assumptions.
2. Appearance stuff and attraction.
a. Hair
b. Weight/height
c. Gender
d. Cocks
e. Race
f. Oral Hygiene
3. STIs/safer sex
4. Foreplay
a. Breasts
b. Ways to turn me on
B. During sex (including bdsm play)
1. Oral sex
2. Positions
3. Vibrators
4. Bondage
5. Group Sex
6. D/s
7. Pain
8. Care of the delicate bits
C. After sex. (including relationship level interactions)

A. Before Sex
1. Just getting acquainted
a. General

Never assume that you are going to get to go to bed with me. Yes, I go to bed with quite a few people—that doesn’t mean I will choose you. I expect and require that people treat me as an equal, and more importantly as an intelligent, thoughtful, responsible human being until otherwise negotiated. Please don’t act like I ought to be honored to teach you whatever it is you want to know about play/sex/whatever. I have taught classes and initiated virgins and newbies alike. I’ve put in my time to the community. I can coast on doing what pleases me and only what pleases me.

b. Specifics in a Having-Kids-Lifestyle

I don’t have a lot of free time. What free time I have is mostly spent alone because I have a very high intensity life that requires me to be well regulated emotionally despite stress. I can’t focus on getting to know new adults in a really concentrated way. I’m not flakey, but I don’t have much availability. And to be honest I’m a little flakey. My priority at this stage of my life is being nice to my kids. I have to keep the rest of my life quiet enough for that to happen or I have to drop other stuff. That is the deal for another ten years.

2. Appearance stuff and attraction
a. Hair
Once upon a time I said that I prefer clean shaven men, but that has radically changed during my adulthood. My opinion now varies tremendously based on personal attitude, grooming standards, and just plain what suits each face. As for the hair on other peoples heads: I don’t care anymore. I barely notice. I’m interested in your mind. I like body hair on anyone. Pubic hair doesn’t affect me one way or the other. I sometimes shave large portions of my body. I sometimes skip shaving for over a year at a go. You have to be totally ok with either or go away.

b. Weight/height

My weight goes up and down in a 40 pound range like a yo yo. Almost annually. You can’t be attracted to me for a specific look of my body. It will be different next month. I don’t know what the fork is up with it. Yes, I talk to doctors about it. I like people with bodies. I like fat bodies. I am…more appreciative of slender bodies than I used to be, but I still prefer some heft. I used to be a bit hung up on height and now I don’t care. I like people.

c. Gender

I am a cis-gender woman. If you haven’t picked up on the fact that I am queer then you haven’t been reading closely. I have had strong attractions to people at every point on the gender spectrum. I am completely comfortable having sexual contact that begins with, “What words do you want me to use for your body parts and how do you want me to touch you?” because I can’t guess. Everyone is unique.

d. Cocks (What the hell—since I am listing my preferences…)

Everyone should remember that the vagina is all about potential space. Yes, it can technically stretch, but in a normal resting spot it isn’t particularly large. My body doesn’t stretch terribly well or willingly (even after giving birth to two children) so I am not a fan of overly large cocks. Period. If it is going to cause my jaw to be sore within five minutes of oral sex I will probably experience a lot of pain during sex and that isn’t good for me. I am so not a size queen. I do not have lower limits on the size of cocks I can figure out how to enjoy. Not all sex is about penis in vagina sex. But I do have upper limits. Ow. No thank you. It’s not personal.

e. Race/marginalization

This is complicated. I am aware that I am most comfortable treating heterosexual white men like pieces of meat. If I fuck them and don’t call later… I don’t feel real bad. I have major hang ups around using people of color and women and gender ambiguous people in the same way. I feel tremendous shame and guilt around hurting already marginalized people. Which is to say… I really like having sex with people who are not het white men. I have a hard time approaching them. I don’t want to hurt them and I am less clear on the boundaries. I err on the side of not being a using asshole. But if you are interested… let me know.

f. Oral Hygiene

YES. Bad breath/teeth that look unclean is really really really repellent to me. I generally won’t kiss someone with bad breath. I will elect not to even if you are a nice person. Just no. I smoke pot and that has impact on my mouth. I do not mind kissing other people who smoke pot. I still really am not fond of kissing tobacco smokers. I don’t like the taste at all.

3. STIs/safer sex

The first thing that ought to happen in foreplay is a discussion of STI’s and safer sex expectations. I have honestly not been tested that recently but I was monogamous until the last month so I don’t feel too guilty. I’ll get back on a regular testing schedule. My habit is every six months if I am being promiscuous. (As of 4/2 waiting on results but I have been in for testing.)

I am a big proponent of the idea that we are having “safer” sex. The only safe sex is with your hand. There is risk involved in the play I do and I acknowledge it and try to minimize it. I do not have a desire to play with people who are in denial about said risk.

Gloves… ok honestly we probably won’t be 100% sticklers about gloves but we do use them in party environments because they are safer and more hygienic in a group atmosphere.

Condoms are not negotiable.

I have HPV. I have tested clean since 2003, but technically you always kinda have it? I am very very very upfront with this information. I am happy to provide you with access to information. You are an adult and you make your own decisions based on how much of a risk you are willing to take. Given the prevalence of HPV I think it isn’t that big of a deal, but I don’t have to live in your body for the next umpteen years and you do. I never want someone to regret having been intimate with me and I will defer to the stricter preference for barriers. I also test positive for HSV1, commonly known as oral herpes. I have had a few cold sores as an adult but they are rare and I feel them coming.

4. Foreplay

a. Breasts

This is really funny… but I feel like I should start tracking this on my period application on my phone. How much breast stimulation, and what kind, varies dramatically through the month. There are days when I will claw your eyes out if you brush near them too hard. There are days when I really want gentle stimulation and lots of it. There are days I want to be hurt very badly. Sigh. I married the most wonderful, flexible guy.

I love playing with breasts/tits. I like on the rough end but I’m not married to it.

b. Ways to turn me on

First and foremost: talk to me. Tell me how hot you think I am. Tell me what you want to do to me. Tell me what you are doing while you are doing it. Just hearing you narrate how wet I am when you slide your finger into my cunt will increase the quantity of wetness. Read me porn. Have me read you porn. My brain is the most potent sexual organ in my body. Pay attention to it. Do you know why I like having sex with my friends? Because the ones I have sex with are the ones who have spent years buttering me up talking about what they like from sex.

Stroke my legs, particularly behind my knees. It is very easy to turn me on when I am lying on my stomach and my legs and back are stroked lightly. This is by far the most sensuous activity for me. I love having my neck and head stroked gently. It’s not a massage–it’s… waking up sensual contact.

Biting is hard. I like it but I get hurt really badly too easily in a way that causes me to go to dark mental places and I dissociate. It isn’t off the table… but it’s complicated. Be really careful. Watch me. Make sure I am still “there”.

Tell me how to please you. I love having someone tell me how to get them off—it will usually be enough to get me off. An awful lot of what I get out of sex with people other than my husband is that thrilling feeling of, “Hey here is someone I haven’t practiced on for years and I’m still talented enough to get them off. Yay!” So lots of instructions about what you want and how you want will… turn me into butter. (Once you have permission to talk to me like this. If I indicate a boundary you had better back off like you hit an electric fence or you’ll get the full taser.[not literally])

B. During Sex

1. Oral sex

I like giving blowjobs. A lot a lot a lot. I like them the most if there is some degree of being “forced” involved. I’m not talking about serious forcing, but pushing my head down on your cock is going to get me all wet. Telling me to suck your cock will get me all wet. Asking me politely if I would mind will probably cause me to lose interest in giving you oral sex. If I do it at all it will be a lackluster job and I dislike performing poorly. OH! These suggestions apply to people I have already had sex with. If I have not had sex with you, you bloody well need to ask. For those of you who have already had sex with me, guiding my head down slowly is giving me plenty of time to say, “Not today.”

For the record: if I have given you a blow job I consider you one of my sexual partners. None of this “oral sex doesn’t count as sex” crap. Don’t bloody ever tell me that we haven’t really had sex. You have fucked my body and probably (hopefully) come inside me. We have had sex. Sure, it was a different hole. Whoopie. It was still penetrative sex. Don’t worry about asking me if it is ok to come in my mouth. If I like you enough to let your dick in my mouth, I’m happy to have you come. I do prefer being told when it is happening so I can synch my breathing, but it is just a preference.

I do have a strong gag reflex and if I seriously fight to bring my head back after you have forcibly shoved my head down on your cock… let me go. I may be on my way to run to the bathroom and vomit. It has happened. It will probably happen again. I’m ok with this. Please don’t let the possibility of this happening prevent you from fucking my mouth with enthusiasm. It is great for me. This being said, I’m not terribly thrilled with having a relationship centered solely around me giving blow jobs. I will eventually feel kind of used (after a year of being in that kind of relationship I really didn’t like him anymore and I didn’t like me much more).
I haven’t played with someone who had a cunt in many years. Sigh. I remember them fondly.

Also: I really like getting oral sex while wearing a strap on. That is fucktastically hot.

2. Positions

I am old, cranky, and in chronic pain. There are times when I am up for acrobatic porn-star sex. There are days when it is, “I am here. What more do you want from me?” I can be fun enough whatever my range for the day. But you will have to respect where my body is on a given day. Your fantasies take a back seat to my physical limitations.

3. Vibrators

In this post kid era, there are times when penetrative sex alone is not enough to get me off. Mr Hitachi, however, never lets me down. (Well, Mr. Hitachi IV is dying a pathetic death right now so he is in fact letting me down. But I have Mr. Hitachi V lined up and he is just dreamy.) I think the point of me having sex is so that I can get off. I know that other people have different beliefs about the purpose of sex, that is fine for them. I’m here to get off. If I’m not going to get off with you alone I will not hesitate to whip out my friend. Don’t worry. You will like the feeling of me orgasming enough to get over your ego at not being able to do it alone. It isn’t you. My body is kinda annoying at this stage. (For the record, when I want to be fucked while using a vibrator I almost always want to be face down.)

4. Bondage

Complicated. Once upon a time I spent a lot of time tying people up and being tied up. It isn’t really Noah’s thing so I don’t really do it any more. But I miss it fiercely. I really like being tied up. I really like being suspended. I really really like being suspended and fucked. Oh the good old days.

5. Group sex
Why yes, I would love to engage in group sex. Thank you for asking. I will make everyone talk more than they feel comfortable talking about wants, limits, permission, consent, etc. Because I need to hear all of those things said out loud. But then hell yeah.

6. D/s

What a difference ten years makes. Wow. Reading my old section here…. delete.

I am in a marriage that has power differential within tightly negotiated boundaries as we model a highly egalitarian marriage in front of our children. It will change after they grow up and we don’t have to look like such nice people any more. We have plans. Ahem.

I uhm, appear to have distinct interest in exactly one submissive man. How the hell did that happen? So I’m really not hunting for more in that department. I think my dance card will be full.

If I am playing with you on a more one-off basis it is very ok to negotiate for a D/s dynamic and tell me what kinds of things you fantasize about. I can be almost anyone for an hour.

7. Pain

Post-children my body has changed dramatically and I honestly don’t know what I like. Well, I know I still like single tails and canes. Those are my perennial favorites. My husband doesn’t know how to use a single tail. Do you? Choking is completely off the table. I have pre-stroke symptoms that are very concerning and I have young children. We cannot risk my life.

8. Care of the delicate bits

Due to some of the stuff that happened when I was very young I have a whole lot of scar tissue throughout my vagina/labia/anus. Scar tissue is like a dotted line in the skin that means, “Please tear here.” Despite my very strong desire for rough, and rougher, and rougher sex… I can’t actually handle all that I would like to handle. (Damnit.) Don’t pull roughly on my labia. Don’t pull my ass cheeks apart with any speed or force. Just DON’T. I will tear open and it will hurt and hurt and that will mostly curtail sex for hours if not days. It sucks ass and so I try to avoid massive tearing. Gentle handling of the bits is important.

That is the paragraph from the pre-kids era. The only update I will give to that is: having children did do some work to break up the internal scar tissue inside my vagina. (Hurray!) But I am still delicate in a way you would not expect from someone with my overall temperament. I’m a fragile toy. Treat me with care.

C. After Sex/play

Immediately after sex/play I will want to breathe and hug for a few minutes. I will want a check in email afterwards for any bdsm play–I do not need it for vanilla sex. I like being friends with people but that has to happen around my schedule. It is highly limited. I’m not rejecting you. I’m dealing with the fact that right now my life is about figuring out how to be healthy around my kids and that is much harder for me than you might think. It takes a lot of time and energy. It is very important to me that I do this right. It will remain my focus for quite some time.

Fuzzy boundaries, longing, and self control.

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Oh golly. This has been quite a month. Changing rules and boundaries and more oh my. I feel like it has been coming for a while. Noah feels like it has been coming for a while. My shrink says, “It’s about damn time!”

I feel like this last four year monogamy stretch was really healthy, useful, and appropriate. I’m not good at narrowing my focus. I like to always be broadening my horizons. Meeting new people. Fucking new people. But if I want the future I want to have, I have to put the time in now.

I know that.

Over the past four years Noah and I have certainly maintained a better-than-average sex life (based on national poll numbers) but it was…. not the kind of sex life we are capable of having. It’s been good but ok. My libido was not ever fully turned on. Fully turning on my libido has consequences. I don’t narrow the focus very well.

I’m not that good at keeping to strict boundaries.

A few years ago during one of our “soft open” periods I asked for permission to have sex with a friend. I really shouldn’t have for a lot of reasons. It was complicated. I feel like (in retrospect) the main reason I really wanted to have sex with him that night was because I felt like I shouldn’t but I knew he had been in love with me for years. This got so achingly complicated. Turns out I had this one night with him right before I had my first miscarriage. I will never know 100% for sure if I lost Noah’s baby or my friend’s and that… that weighs on my heart. Especially because what I know of my friend’s other history. So complicated. He was the guy other than Noah who was on the “If I hit X age without finding a co-partner to marry and have kids with you can knock me up as a known donor friend.” Then Noah asked me to marry him and that list kinda blew up.

“Not supposed to” is a huge aphrodisiac for me. It’s part of why what I did in Portland was as hot as it was. I wasn’t really supposed to. And I did it anyway. And I almost fucking came even though there was nothing resembling genital contact. Just SM. It was so hot. Partially because I’m not supposed to.

Sometimes I am genuinely surprised that Noah and I manage to keep up a hot legal sex life. I’m surprised that isn’t a problem for me.

I’m struggling right now because I have a huge number of friends I haven’t had sex with yet. For reasons. Lots of reasons. As many reasons as there people on the list. And I’m kinda feeling like I just want to line them all up.

Why?

Because they were so nice and supportive and wonderful for so long without sex, surely it is time. I’m allowed to again. I really should, right?

Oh. My.

It’s not an “I don’t want to but I should.” It’s more “I was not allowed to so they became taboo and now the boundary is fuzzier and it’s still not clear I should but it is less clear that I shouldn’t so oh my goodness I waaaaaaaaaaaant to.”

You, and you, and you, and you. Let’s not forget you.

Like I have the time for that.

I think part of what is making this fuzzier and more confusing and hard is that these people have been so wonderful for so long without sex that I really love them and feel like they have my back and I like rewarding that kind of thing. Primarily with sex.

Because I’m a one trick pony?

Hey, I don’t have time to come clean your room as a thank you for being my friend any more. Besides, sex is just better.

If people love me I want to make them feel good. I really like doing so with sex. I’m grateful for all the 100% vanilla relationships in my life. I think I’m respecting those boundaries.

I’m only feeling consuming lust towards the folks who are poly and who have expressed desire for me in the past.

That’s like having healthy boundaries, right?

I feel like I want to go back to all those chapters where there are unfinished stories. What could happen now? I’m so different. What would it be like now?

But I have no desire to walk away from what I have now. I have no desire to have lots of time away from my kids. So this gets complicated. As much as I’d kind of like to spend the rest of my life on my back… (or front or side or knees or….)

I really don’t. I had that on option. I turned it down. I wanted to be a breeder. I wanted to homeschool. It is going so well. I feel like I am really and truly living in a healthy manner in front of my children.

I have such mixed feelings about these off-screen activities.

My friend asked me why I feel more bad about sex with other people than sex with Noah because my ‘thing’ is I don’t want my kids around sex.

It’s different. It just is. Noah and I only have sex behind locked doors. We are really quiet. I think it *is* healthy that my kids see that their parents are wildly attracted to one another. They see us make out frequently. They see physical affection as being a huge part of a partnership.

But I don’t know how to teach that with a dilute focus.

Only I kind of do, because I am. But I need them to not know how dilute my focus is. I need for them to see fully realized compartmentalization where I am with them when I am with them. I am with their dad when I am with their dad.

They have no idea what I’m like off-stage. That is good.

But it’s not like I’m in the closet. Someday they will know.

I don’t know what this will mean. Nor do I know how it is going to go with all of these wildfires I’d like to set.

Matches. I like playing with matches.

I want to use people. But I don’t want to use people in a way that leaves them feeling bad or unwanted or rejected or hurt. I want to use people gloriously, joyously and have them feel like they are walking on sunshine back to the rest of their life.

Is that ok?

Negotiations

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Noah just mocked my “no dating” thing up one side and down the other.

Don’t claim that, Krissy. You are going to be dating.

But things don’t change with the kids.

Shit.

What am I doing?

Hopefully having fun…

Control, sex, identity

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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 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.

Reflect

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Sometimes I think about the fact that me ending up where I am right now was utterly improbable. Street kids don’t get here. Street kids die on the street. But I’m here.

I need to change how a lot of things work. I need to reflect on my body. (How come Dragon keeps replacing every time I say the word “I” with the word “we”? Dragon you suck.)

This week has involved several really important conversations. I feel more like it is okay for me to do the things I want to do. I feel a lot less like I have to have a conversation I do not want to have. Maybe it is okay to just walk away. It was pointed out to me that a letter might be more tactful.

I’m considering. And I’m done with Dragon because the kids are screaming in the other room and Dragon is picking them up. Yeah, voice recognition doesn’t work when you have kids throwing tantrums within hearing range. Welcome to my life.

Apparently Eldest Child is holding something Youngest Child wants and this is a terrible tragedy.

It’s a good thing I love them so much.

I’ve been talking to doctors. I’m talking to my therapist. I’m talking to people who have been very integrated into my life over the last few years.

I need to devote the next three years to healing. It’s going to take at least that long. If I don’t do that I can’t go on the Around The World trip I want to do so badly. I just can’t go if I am in this kind of pain. I can’t do the work right now. I have to change things if I want to reach these goals.

I want to so very badly.

I need to treat my body like I’m in training for the next phase of my life. This training period is going to be hard and take a lot of focus and dedication. I need to change how I use my body. I need to change how I live my life.

I have hurt myself a lot because I didn’t expect to live very long and it didn’t matter how much damage I incurred. It is hard to change this way of perceiving myself.

But I would really like to be having crazy kinky sex with Noah in thirty years. Just because it sounds like so much fun. That means I have to change what I’m doing.

This is going to be very hard. I hope the long term return is worth the effort. I’m not looking forward to this. In the next week or so I’m going to have to work out on paper what this actually means.

I’m going to need to schedule rest. Daily. For the next few years. I will have to schedule exercise and stretching and meditation. For the next few years. I have to develop this discipline or I’m not going to live much longer.

I’m in too much pain. This literally can’t continue. I have to learn how to sleep without handfuls of sedatives. That means I have to change how much stress I feel. I have to learn how to relax.

I have to.

It would really be best if I could eat and rest without having to be stoned as fuck. That would be ideal.

It has taken more than 30 years to get this broken. It’s going to take time to fix. Not because I’m lazy or incompetent or because I’m not trying hard enough… because that’s how long it takes. Because if you seriously do the work to undo this kind of damage…. yeah. It’s hard.

I’m scared. I’m scared I will do this and see no improvement because it is too late. I’m scared that I’m not worth this investment of time, money, and energy. I’m scared that I will get bored and do something stupid and hurt myself permanently.

That’s totally possible.

This is a really wonderful Christmas already. I feel like I’m shedding a lot of layers of things that don’t work for me. I’m keeping just the most important people and things. That’s really good. I’m keeping the people and situations that demonstrate that they seriously value me and I’m ditching the situations that use me without valuing me.

It’s better this way.

My shrink says she is very happy to hear how I am emotionally placing boundaries around some of the people I am going to keep even though they are problematic. Everyone is problematic. I don’t want to run away from everyone just to avoid their issues.

Like my creepy neighbor. My shrink originally wanted me to figure out how to never see him again. Dude. He lives a block away on my running route. I could avoid him but it would take effort. I think it is better to stare at him and tell him he can’t fucking creep on me. I will take extreme measures to stop you and that would suck for both of us. Let’s just be friends. I sure like being your friend.

There has to be a place for creepy motherfuckers. I’m a creepy motherfucker. My husband is a creepy motherfucker.

We have to be permissible. Or the only reasonable conclusion is we should off ourselves.

There really aren’t other alternatives. Because, “It’s not ok for you to exist like that you have to change” is a non-starter. Nope.

You can say you don’t want to interact with me if I am the way I am. You can say that you don’t like me. You can’t say that I must change in order to be allowed to exist. I am what I am. I can change some of my behaviors, but I can’t change what I am.

I creep people the fuck out. I’m intense. I’m interested in things that really bother other people. I am innately attracted to taboo subjects. I want to talk and talk and talk and talk about things that most folks would like to pretend don’t exist. That’s ok with me. I’m going to keep talking anyway, motherfucker.

I don’t think you have to be like me. The world would be a sad place if everyone had to be like sad, angry, paranoid me.

Over the past few months I’ve watched more current television than I’ve watched in years. How to Get Away With Murder, Jane the Virgin, Call the Midwife, Strange Empire, Grace and Frankie (did I reverse the names?), with only a small amount of time still going to The West Wing.

This is different for me. I’m going to catch up on Fresh Off The Boat this week.

I feel so excited that broadcast tv is seeing so much more variety of people. We live in a wonderful time.

And so much hot queer sex. Yes give me more more more more.

They’ve got my number. Hell yeah. Sounds good. Right on.

I really need to stop typing. This is my most intense self-harming hobby left. Giving it up is not ok. I WANT TO SHARE EVERY STUPID THING I THINK WITH THE INTERNET. COME ON BODY. GET IT TOGETHER ALREADY.

Ahem.

Sorry internet. I’m just like this. I love you. I want you to know me. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I want you to understand just a little bit more about how complicated people are. Because I’m selfish. Because when I say I deeply identify with Moll Flanders other people tell me it is completely unbelievable crap.

It doesn’t sound that unbelievable to me. It sounds more like how my life could have gone if I were born before birth control.

I am where I am in large part because of modern birth control and make no mistake. You aren’t one of the more promiscuous people in your country without birth control. Or a lot of babies. I’m probably in the top 3% of women in terms of promiscuity. And I didn’t end up diseased. I had babies exactly when I wanted to down to controlling the god damn birth signs. (We wanted a Gemini and a Virgo. We got them.)

Maybe the things they tell you about what you have to do in order to be ok are wrong.

Just maybe they don’t actually know what is possible.

Glorious day. I gotta say.

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All four kids were taken out of the house. Glorious, loud, raunchy sex was had.

I’m thankful for my life. Hell yeah.

Things I learn from the internet.

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I’m kind of full of myself. I like to think I get hit on too much. Because it bugs me how often men proposition me.

But you know what? The magic aura of white motherhood means that when I’m with my kids it pretty much doesn’t happen.

I’m reading a bunch of black women talk about the intensity of their street harassment. When they are with their kids.

Whoa. You know what? I don’t have guys lining up to give me their numbers “just in case” things go south with Noah.

Goodness. I’m getting into the privileged class in all kinds of ways.

Moving south

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Today we leave Dad’s house. That will be hard. I have really enjoyed my time here. Although it will also be a good thing. I’m sleeping for shit. I’m thinking a thousand thoughts a minute about all the things I want to say to him and we save our conversations for after the kids are in bed so… I’m way short on sleep. I need to move on before I hurt myself.

The talking has been wonderful. You know how I sometimes go on these really big tirades and write and write and write about politics and race and rape and incest and money and class and… heh. You know how I “sometimes” do that? Yeah he got the in person version over the last week. He has looked kind of stunned. I’ve never uhm shared my opinions on such a diverse array of topics quite so freely before. He’s kind of re-meeting me.

You want to claim you are my Dad so you need to get to know me. We’ve had several pointed, “Are you committed to this relationship?” conversations.

Apparently his bio-daughter is not very happy about me. I can understand that and I hold no rancor in my heart. I’m sorry that my existence makes her uncomfortable. I can understand why it does. All of the other “daughters” have been girlfriends who moved on. I haven’t. I’m not a girlfriend and I never have been. I’m an adopted kid. Who he has beaten and fucked. Because that has been part of my relationship with all of my dads.

I can understand why that would make someone uncomfortable. I’m on a fucking weird life path.

But he’s ok walking that path with me and I don’t really care if other people approve or not. He is adapting to the changes in our relationship. We have had an incredibly frank and detailed conversation about the changes in boundaries in my sex life. “What if I did ____?” “Well you’d have a time of untangling your fingers from your internal organs after I ripped your arm off and shoved it down your neck.” “Ok then. So you’re saying that is off the table.” “Yup.”

Quite frankly I think this is an incredibly healthy transition for both of us. We are consciously committing to a mutually supportive relationship that doesn’t have to be based on hurting one another. The hurting one another wasn’t a problem when it was where we both were. I’m not there right now. Are you with me or not?

He says he is with me.

He is scared about some of my choices. He asked me last night if I was truly aware of how much I was risking my life with some of the choices I make in terms of activism. I said I was fully aware that women who speak publicly about the things I choose to speak about often get killed. I’m aware that the status quo doesn’t like what I think.

Dad got to hear about the full extent of my suicidality this trip. He’s had dim awareness that I was a cutter.

It is kind of funny to me how people claim to know me… but don’t read my blog… and wow… they don’t know shit. I think I unload my emotions on fewer people than I think. I’m really hard on the people I unload on… but the list isn’t that long. I think I perceive myself as someone who dumps on everyone who walks by… but that isn’t how it goes. I have more boundaries than I think I do.

I am continually surprised to find out that people have known me for a decade and a half and they don’t know major facts about my life.

I can recite your fucking bio in my sleep. I know details about your life before I met you. I can rattle off your hobbies and accomplishments and fuck ups with great specifics.

What the fuck do you mean you don’t know much about me?! WTF!?

I’m self absorbed. Everyone should function like me. Ahem.

I’m going to miss Dad. And I am never going to live near him full time. Our relationship would dissolve and I like it very much. I like the support I get when I see him. He doesn’t have the stamina for me. He can’t be the kind of consistent I need on a regular basis. I can handle what he has to give when I visit once a year. I don’t resent his limits this way. I just adapt while I’m here.

I ask tactless questions a lot to frame how ridiculous we both are. “So my control freak issues are running into your control freak issues. Which part of this one is your real bug-a-boo? The process or the result because you vary from issue to issue.”

He kind of glares at me for a minute as he thinks about it. Then we discuss it and work out how we can adapt to one another.

It is weirdly a lot of fun for me. He is really ok with blunt negotiations. The bdsm community has been good for him. If you can say, “What I really want to do is tie your legs wide open so I can single tail your clit” you can have a conversation about just about any stupidly specific and personal topic.

Ok.. that isn’t actually true about everyone in the scene. But it is true of the two of us and I love that about him.

We’ve talked a lot about eating and dietary choices with the kids. Exercise habits. Modeling and why we do the things we do. Being responsible to and for our kids and how that creates a permanent reason to take care of ourselves because… we owe them a long life.

He says I have made him think about many of his choices in new ways. I believe that.

Last night he told me he feels adrift and he isn’t sure how to get ahead of the curve. He’s had a really hard several years. I said, “That sounds like a request for advice.” He said yes.

Oh I gave advice. “What you need to do is over the next year ask for help from Person A and Person B and Person C and go through the house and the storage unit. Sell anything you don’t have a really strong desire to keep. Donate what you can’t sell. Time to downsize. You don’t need a big house and property and you can’t keep up with the work. Sell before you degrade the house and can’t make money back. Buy something outright. Buy something small and manageable.”

He has inherited the estates of three rich people. He has an overwhelming amount of stuff and he simply can’t afford to keep the shit. He didn’t get the money. That went to charities. He just got burdened with the shit.

People are hilarious. They really don’t think about what they are doing to the people around them.

Get it in your head that you are putting the house on the market in June of 2016. That will be the end of your time here. 14 years in one spot.

It’s going to be hard to leave. His second marriage had its whole life here. But she’s gone and he has to move on. He can’t support this household without her.

Life is about constantly changing your goals as your resources and abilities change. Things go up and down and you have to be realistic about your capabilities or you will over-promise and under deliver. Or you can sell yourself short and never attain the things you are capable of doing.

Re-evaluate yourself. Where do you want to be putting your time and energy? Do you really want to have to spend 30+ hours a week on cleaning and house maintenance only to watch it fall into constant decline because it really needs 60 hours of work every week? That’s depressing. You feel like a constant failure even though you really are doing your best.

I’m going to cry a lot when he moves. This is Francesca’s house. She loved me here. She made me feel safe here. She is a lot of the reason Dad and I worked out some bumps in the early years. I miss her very much. But our obligation to her is over. It is time to sell off her stuff and her step-dad’s stuff and her mom’s stuff and move on.

She died before we could pay our debt to her. That’s a guilt we have to bear and move on with.

We can take that and pay it forward. That is how she would want us to do it. She wouldn’t want us to wither at home with shame and regret. She would want us to pay it forward. She would say we don’t owe her. We owe the universe. It’s never really a two way street.

That’s what is so hard about parenting. It’s never really reciprocal. I have taken more from Dad than I’ve given. Mostly… what I can give at this point is support as he transitions to a different sense of self.

He’s not a swinging bachelor of means. He needs to stop trying to act like he is. That time of life is over.

There are consequences to not seeing how you are changing. How many do you want to have smack you in the face?

He asked me if I believed he was capable of change at this point in his life. I laughed and said I wouldn’t be in his house if he hadn’t changed and changed again over the last decade and a half. Yes. I believe you are capable of changing. It’s not the tooth fairy. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you adapt. I’ve seen you resolve to improve on how you manage specific issues. Yes, there have been back slides in some areas, but you continue to improve in broad swaths.

But life is complicated. As you improve in some areas you completely screw up other areas. That’s how it goes.

It seems to me that wisdom is partially understanding that you will never be good at everything. You will never have the inter-personal abilities plus money abilities plus physical abilities plus education abilities and and…

Look at what you actually do with your time. You are good at parts of it. The rest… well… it’s done enough. THE HOUSE DIDN’T BURN DOWN. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!

I don’t cook much. I can’t do it. I turn into a screaming banshee.

It’s not that I “can’t cook”. I can actually cook quite well. But I need to be calm and have a lot of patience and a lot of quiet and a lot of time and nothing else going on in order to do it in a peaceful way. Or I start twitching and shrieking things like, “JUST GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN BEFORE I STRANGLE YOU OH MY GOD WHY DID YOU THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO DO?!?!?!!?!”

I understand that this is part of an age old tradition between mothers and daughters. But with the whole home schooling thing… it’s a problem if I won’t show them how to do things. So it’s complicated.

I’ve been priming the pump with the kids about how things will shift when we leave Grandpa’s house. We are going to a dun dun dun… screen free house. Ok, they own a tv. A big one. But they don’t turn it on. Or they use it for internet browsing. They watch very occasional cooking shows or Myth Busters. They are basically a kid screen-free house.

So uhm, don’t spend all day talking about video games and cartoons. You can talk about books, games you like to play, imaginary stuff you like to do… lots of topics. Don’t spend all day talking about the Minecraft tutorials. That is horribly boring when someone isn’t interested. We won’t be there very long. Be polite.

I have no idea if Shanna is listening. We’ll see.

We came here from Aunt Cookie’s and her only tv watching is Martha Stewart show reruns and Mayberry because her parrot will repeat things from the television. She won’t risk a peppery word in her house. (I kind of horrified her. And the kids taught the parrot to say “poop poop poop”. She was not pleased.) It’s not like we can’t get along with folks who don’t do video games. But she had to listen to a lot about the tutorial makers. Her eyes glazed over. I tried to rescue her.

Shanna can give you a full run down on the benefits and deficits of different tutorial makers and I think it is hilarious. I only half listen. I stood and listened to the new one for a few minutes last night. I wasn’t pleased. He’s an asshole. I told her flat out, “I like so-and-so and I like that other guy because they are silly and kind in how they give instructions. I don’t like this new guy. The way he is saying his friend might not really be a boy because he hasn’t seen proof? That’s bullshit. That’s a jerk thing to do. Questioning someone else’s gender is not ok. If I ever hear you do that, you aren’t watching this channel any more. If you want to know that assholes like that exist I’m not going to stop you from finding out they exist. But you had better not become one.”

Her eyes were kind of big. She nodded and said, “I wouldn’t do that. I just thought it was cool how he built _____.”

“That’s fair enough. He did build a cool ______. I can see why you would admire it. Feel free to learn his Minecraft skills. Don’t learn his interpersonal skills.”

“Got it.”

Man this is a quoting-myself-heavy-post. I want to share it with Noah. I miss you, oh my witness. I WANT TO TALK AT YOU FOR ABOUT TWELVE HOURS STRAIGHT.

I miss you.

I’ve gotta say, it’s kind of wild talking about a lot of the things I write about. To an entrenched white male. Oh man. It’s interesting phrasing and efforts. I have extreme biases. I’m aware of that. I’m working on and with where I am right now.

Dad is a soft sell on many of my more radical ideas. He will listen and help me construct rebuttals to arguments. Not necessarily on purpose, but he argues with me and that gives me practice debating the things I’m going to need to be able to debate without shrieking.

Not sure I can ever be a cook in a high pressure situation though. That may be beyond me in this lifetime.

Sex

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I was talking to a girlfriend about sex. I said that we have a new rule–no putting your dick in me unless you get me off first. She said, “Oh so you aren’t having sex any more?”

Uhm… no. We are having more sex than usual. More than we’ve had in a while. And it’s better. Why would you think we would stop? Don’t you understand this is why I married Noah?

I wasn’t going to be married to someone who would take a rule like that and say “Fine then I won’t fuck you.” To me, if someone responds that way… that’s not someone I want to spend time with. I’ve had seven years of sex mostly not involving orgasms because things got a lot harder after having kids. You have to take a lot of time and attention and mostly… penile penetration just doesn’t do it any more.

I’m sad too. Believe me. More sad than whoever owns the dick. I’m the one who isn’t coming as much.

But I married Noah because he hears a rule like that, grins and says, “Ahhh. A challenge! So that means I get to spend extra time having sex with you?” Then he waggles his eyebrows in a way that is cartoonish and not-sexy but he likes it and I try not to complain. (He thinks the eyebrow waggle will grow on me. I have my doubts.)

I have “taken one for the team” and put out when I wasn’t in the mood hundreds of times. No one gets to claim that I’m not meeting him halfway.

It’s time for things to shift. I need to have things shift. My pleasure needs to be important too. Not just my ability to be a supportive member of “the team”.

I sorta feel like we are fucking like rabbits because we anticipate the drought being hard. Neither of us are prone to abstinence.

I’m having lot of mixed feelings about sex lately. The Duggar case is bothering me. (If you are hiding under a rock: the Duggar family is a Quiverful family that has had a reality show about their super-sized family for years. The oldest son has recently been revealed in the news to have sexually assaulted four of his sisters and an unnamed other girl.)

First and foremost: I’m not going to get into trashing the Quiverful movement.

I’m feeling weird about the statute of limitations laws. None of the girls can do anything about their abuse because a police officer shushed it up at the time. That officer has since been sent to jail for child pornography. Should we change our statutory laws to reflect what should happen when there is an official cover up?

I don’t know.

Because there is a part of me that can’t hate the boy. He was raised to believe he was a male and he has the authority to do what he wants to the females around him and if they are sexually appealing it is their fault for not trying hard enough to cover up.

I’m a rapist married to a rapist. I don’t think I should cast stones from my glass house.

My stomach hurts.

This all feels so complicated.

I believe that forgiveness should never be encouraged nor forced upon victims. They will get to forgiveness on their own or not at all. The victims in the Duggar case were told they had to forgive instantly or God wouldn’t like them any more. When you grow up in a cult living your whole life for God…

I wish I knew what the answers are. I don’t. Lots of big feelings.

Transitions

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I’m different than I was. What does that mean? Part of what it means is I don’t want to exist for someone else’s gratification. I want to get pleasure out of my own existence. For years now sex hasn’t been that great for me. It is hard for me to get off. I can masturbate, but that makes sex seem… kind of irrelevant. If I’m getting me off and you aren’t, what good are you?

But I haven’t had the time nor the energy to put into the kind of sex that does get me off. Which… sucks for Noah. Because I’m heading in the lesbian bed death direction.

I mean shit, I’m slacking off to 5-6 times a month really consistently. I’m getting bitter as fuck about the quota. We talked last night about how we should probably kind of back off on that for a bit. This isn’t working for me.

What does work for me? It’s complicated.

I am looking forward to a break. So I can stop worrying about his needs for a while and I can think about what I like and want.

It isn’t really that I want to stop having sex. I want to stop having sex that is taking one for the team. I’ve been doing that for six years, almost seven years and I’m done done done. I need my sex life to be about my pleasure.

And, mixing in with internal physical confusion I have so many external triggers going on. Shanna and I will be going through Texas when she is the same age I was when I was raped in Texas. I’m having feelings. Calli has been… uhm…. rebellious and difficult for a while. I am rereading the 4 year old book. I’m so fucking grateful for these books. The intransigence out of nowhere is common and normal. Respond with humor and not like the kid is misbehaving. Fuck. I’m really not naturally a “respond with humor” kind of person. That takes enormous physical and mental strain for me. I’m tired.

But, I can find a way. Because I want a relationship with this kid in the long-term. I have to get us through rocky stages with grace or I won’t get it. Because I won’t deserve it.

I feel really guilty sometimes because Shanna feels like my idealized self–if things had been perfect I would have been like that. Calli is… more like my real self. She reacts the way I do. Even though I’m very certain she hasn’t been traumatized. She’s been watched too carefully. But she is so sensitive.

Shanna can let things roll off her back. She doesn’t take everything personally. If someone is in a bad mood it is their problem. If I am in a bad mood Calli is in a bad mood. She’s like a weather vane. That’s hard for me.

I have to actually process my emotions in order to not feel them around Calli. I can’t act like I’m not feeling them and call it good. Shanna will tolerate me having feelings and she can still have a good day. Calli can’t. That’s really hard. It feels not fair. I’ve been having a lot of bad days. This means Calli is havig a lot of bad days and… I can see her modeling off of me. And I feel so ashamed. I don’t want to teach her broken ways of being.

Which means I need to work on many of my behaviors again. Frustrating.

Luckily the book says that I need to work on deep breathing and being funny to distract. I wonder if it will help me with my emotions or if I will just have to find a different way of burying them.

And Shanna needs more reminders. Because she is not looking outward the way she did. So, more patience. That’s what I need. More patience.

*beat head on wall*

I’m running dry. I need something. I don’t know what.

Alone is nice

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A friend said, “Hey, can I steal your kids over night?” My response was something akin to YES YES YESSSSSSSSS.

Noah and I went out on a date. It was fun. We came home and had raunchy sex. I married the right boy.

It was funny last night. I ran into one of my uhm immense harem. He is now married and expecting a baby. Good for him. I asked what his wife sees in him and he told me, “My magnificent cock.”

Me… being me… I made a crack about how I don’t remember it being that great. He then proceeded to tell me about how I wasn’t that into him because I fucked him during the wrong time of my life.

It is fascinating to me how my male lovers tend to assume I stopped fucking them because of logistical reasons that blocked my ability to access their cocks. My former female lovers need to be coaxed through not feeling rejected as a human being. I didn’t stop loving you as a friend because I stopped eating you out.

But the fellas don’t have the same self esteem problems. I find that funny.

Weird epiphany

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I think I know why I was so relaxed. No one hit on me all weekend. It was lovely. I guess I’m getting older! YAAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Bragging.

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I was feeling kind of angsty. So I used an 18 year old coping method and I went and found a chat room. I sure like talking to people. That lead to a series of weird feelings.

I can’t get into specifics for Reasons because I was hanging out in a mental health support chat room. Folks care about their privacy a bit more than average.

I talked to a person who had an experience with abuse masquerading as bdsm. We had a long conversation. This person had no idea that such things happen to other people because this person was never part of “the scene”. I think I blew that persons mind a bit. I was casual and up front with all kinds of general attitudes and problems the community has. I feel guilty that I may have dove into the deep end of their trauma just casually answering the questions I was asked. They didn’t feel that heavy or intense to me because bdsm wasn’t traumatic to me. The community wasn’t traumatic to me. So I feel pretty guilty that I might have hurt this person by my indifference to the intensity that they experienced. I shared links to articles written by folks in the scene about the kinds of problems this person experienced. Mind blown. “This happens to other people?!?!?!” Yes. There aren’t that many truly singular human experiences. Most experiences happen to many people and you just have to ask around until you find your tribe.

That was actually a neat conversation for me. I’m very into talking about community dynamics. But it was so personal for them…

But more than that… I felt like I was bragging. When I’m asked, “How do you know so much about this topic?” “Uhm… I’ve been to a lot of national bdsm conferences. I’ve taught bondage and suspension classes. Go to a kinky book store, read the names of the authors… those are my friends.” And uhm, many of them have played with me. I feel like I must be lying or exaggerating but it is just plain true. I used to go around the country tying people up and being tied up for fun.

Then the topic morphed because the people in chat morphed. Chat rooms are like that. We talked a lot about travel and different climate zones and how food migration works and…

I have a lot of stories. When I get into a chat room and people are just casually going through lots of little references to get to know one another… I have a lot of stories. I think I sound more interesting than I am if you just listen to the things I’ve done.

I think I sound like a liar. I talk casually about travel all over my country and the world. I talk about good and bad things as casually as if they had equal impact on me and people react very oddly to that. I’ll go from telling a story about a principal being on first name basis with me in 5th grade to talking about being beaten daily by a different principal and neither mention feels “important” to me in the way it seems to hit other people. “Your principal hit you!” Uhm, it was Texas. They did that as of the 1990’s and I’m pretty sure they still do it now. It’s not a big deal.

That “it’s not a big deal” is part of why I feel weird. I moved so many times that I seem to have picked up pieces of a lot of different life stories and then I shoved them all together in a way that sounds… frankly impossible to casual listeners.

I have been called a liar to my face many times, that’s why I think I sound like a liar. I couldn’t possibly have done all the things I say I’ve done.

Dude, I really don’t exaggerate for effect much. I don’t have to.

Yes, I really was a teacher. Yes I really was a stage manager too. I’ve had people challenge that I could have done all the things I did. Uhm… I went to college. I did theatre in college. Being a stage manager is not exactly rocket science…. they let teenagers do it. Depending on how liberal you are with the definition of “teach” I have worked in an educational capacity with kids from 1st grade to community college. (I was a substitute for a while. That’s a hard fucking job.) In the community college I was the youngest person in my classroom. My students loved me. I can encourage you through writing a much more… assertive view than you even knew you had.

Yesterday I felt waves of shame, like I should stop bragging. I was just participating in a conversation. But that feels like shoving things in peoples faces. Other people participate in conversations by mostly listening. I should do more of that. Obviously me talking is a problem.

Why?

I don’t know.

I didn’t dominate the conversation. I wasn’t the only one talking. I wasn’t the only one with stories. But I was talking with up to five or six people and I dropped the most stories. I suspect this is related to typing speed in addition to other people being shocked that I just kept going. Nope, I’ve got lots more stories than these. I’ve barely shown you the tip of the ice berg.

What do you mean you are done?

Oh. I’ll shut up now. Uhm… I guess people are going to talk about tv characters now because they are out of personal stories.

Right. Uhm. Yeah. I’ll uhhh shut up.

I really like talking about myself. I really like hearing other people talk about themselves. Why do other people want to spend so much time talking about celebrities? It is very confusing to me. I only vaguely know the names of the people they are talking about from magazine covers in the grocery store. I’d rather chew my arm off than research these people so I can join in the conversation.

Uhm, I’ll go clean my house now. Thanks.

I flat refuse to spend time researching so I can join in slut-shaming other women. Fuck. That. Noise.

I think women get to fuck as many people as they want and it is none of your god damn slut-shaming business. Go straight to hell.

In my defense… I did not say that in the chat room. I did get quiet.

WHY DO PEOPLE GET SO UPSET THAT A WOMAN THEY DON’T KNOW IS HAVING SEX WITH A MAN THEY DON’T KNOW!!!!!!

I feel pretty upset by how much of this I’ve seen in the last day. That woman you are describing as a whore has fucked way fewer people than me. What do you want to say to me now? Nothing because I’m different? Fuck you with a chain saw.

Oh, you judge her because she was “stupid” enough to let her boyfriend take naked pictures of her? THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF SUCH PICTURES OF ME. FAR MORE EXPLICIT PICTURES. Fuck you very much.

I feel pretty pissy about this topic. Thus the shouting.

The only reason I’m “different” is because I’m not doing it today. If I was still behaving that way you wouldn’t think I was different. I am making different choices now for specific reasons related to managing my trauma. Not because I am a morally superior person who has conquered my base urges. Fuck you with a 2″x4″.

Even when I get ranty like this… I feel weird shame like I’m bragging. I’m just talking about my life but it feels like I’m exaggerating to make a point.. I’m not. These are just my thoughts and experiences. Ok, plus a few vague general threats at non-specific people. Not real threats. I don’t plan to shove anything forcibly into anyones orifices without permission ever in this life. But I’m colorful in how I bleed off stress.

This article right here is part of why I defend sex work so vigorously. It has a place in society. Women who have sex with lots of people have a place in society no matter why they are having that sex. Sex is one of the most primal urges we have and I don’t see how suppressing it does folks good. Let’s look at the history of abuse perpetrated by the Catholic church in the name of suppressing sexual desire. Not good juju.

I will not join in on dog piling on someone to tell them they are bad for making a choice you don’t agree with. That is not my job here on this planet. I really don’t want to tell people how bad they are.

I want them to feel like they are ok. And feel like there are probably other people like them and they are ok too.

I want people to feel ok with existing. I want people to believe that a community exists for them even if it is hard to find.

To me, the sum of my stories is a search for a place in community. I have tried a lot of things looking for community. Some tricks worked and some tricks failed spectacularly. I talk about both sides equally as freely. If other people can learn from my failures that makes them even more valuable.

I learn from other peoples failures. Part of the reason I haven’t really been in a relationship with intense domestic violence is because I watched it happen to other people and I made different choices.

The first time a boyfriend slapped me I exploded like a hurricane and ended the relationship. I am not going to fucking let anyone get away with slapping me and saying it doesn’t count as “really hitting”.

I have a very strong ability to set the reality of my life. I don’t let other people define what happens to me. My words. My opinions. My life. Fuck Right Off.

Why haven’t I had an abusive boyfriend? Because I only date people who force me to beg for my beatings. Or I walk. If I hint a little that a beating might be nice and you start hitting me… I leave. That’s not a safe situation. I often talk about deserving things I don’t really deserve or want. A partner who took such musings as hints to hit me… would not be safe.

I pick partners who make me beg for my beatings. I have to give explicit directions about where and how I want to be hit or they just don’t hit me. I really like the boundaries I’ve developed.

BDSM is not abuse. The difference between bdsm and abuse is educated consent on the part of the bottom. I have a real problem with experienced dominants manipulating inexperienced submissives. I think uneducated consent is basically invalid.

But I have strong opinions. When I play with newbies I give them a fucking lecture a mile long before I touch them. I want educated consent.

I learned by giving a blowjob to a little boy in kindergarden. Later he told everyone I raped him. From where I was standing…. he hadn’t said no. From where he was standing…. he hadn’t said yes.

I have a hard time forgiving myself for a mistake I made when I was five. I don’t get to make those kinds of mistakes ever again. Period.

Barely a topic switch… whether I am ever promiscuous again may actually revolve around how my kids turn out. If they are happy, healthy people who don’t give a shit… I might do it. If they would be horrified if they found out… I’m probably done.

I can’t hide who and what I am. I choose a relationship with my children over other aspects of myself. Even though I’d love to convert half the women in my future nursing home to lesbianism. That would be hawt. At least bisexuality if they didn’t want to swear off men. Personally I like people at all points along the gender spectrum. Yay people! Yay bodies!

When I first came into the bdsm community/public sex community I met this lovely woman. She was in her late 60’s when I arrived. I think she was 69 when I was 18. So that’s 15 years ago. I am pretty sure she’s still active. I saw her not that long ago. She is my hero.

I want to be playing with hot young 40 year olds when I’m in my 80’s. I’ll play with old people too… but that would be really fun. I think it is gross that the old men want teenage girls. I’ve done my virgin initiations. They weren’t the most interesting sex I’ve had. I’ll take grown ups, thanks.

The breeding period requires particular behavior sets from me. I chose it willingly with my eyes wide open. The boundaries do not yet chafe.

I get cranky about incidentals in my life. I get frustrated by details of my life. Overall I am so very happy that I’m doing what I’m doing. I like where I am. I’m learning how to be appropriate. I’m doing so in an environment that is actually safe for me. I will always have a version of appropriate that doesn’t match up with other peoples perfectly.

Like last night I apparently educated a local middle schooler about the basics of sex ed. Whoops. Hadn’t really set out to do that. But she asked direct questions. I’m not going to give evasive or shameful answers. Her friend freaked out and tried to shut me up. “SHE DOESN’T KNOW THESE THINGS YET!!!”

Yeah. And that’s dangerous. She needs to know these things so she can keep her body safe.

Someone with fully developed breasts and an hour glass figure needs to know the basic technical non-salacious names for sex. And if someone stands there and asks me direct questions… I’m going to answer them in plain language.

Awkward.

So yeah. Last night I was taught why my friend said, “Your kids are not sheltered.” No, but they are protected. I believe ignorance is dangerous. This is a big, scary fucking world. There are ways to minimize your risks.

I’m not blaming victims. I’m talking about how some women can walk through life making seemingly dangerous choices and they never get assaulted once. There are ways to minimize your risks. There are tricks to keeping yourself safe. I’ve talked to a lot of women about how they manage their lives.

I want to protect my kids. I believe that knowledge is power. They have all the age appropriate books on sex that exist. They know that sex makes babies. They can look at an anatomy drawing and show you where the vulva, labia, clitoris, prostate, anus, urethra, or penis is. Technically, Shanna has memorized more of the specific names than I have. I always have to reread the book to see what a lot of the accessory names are. I know fallopian tubes, but there are some tubes in guys that I don’t remember. She does. But I’m not the one who spends a lot of time talking about wanting to be a doctor.

They also know that sex is something adults do for fun but it isn’t for kids because it can hurt kid bodies.

Why did this come up? Because there are sexual references everywhere and Shanna asks what they mean. I am not graphic, but I say, “Well grown ups like thinking and talking about sex. So that’s a reference to sex. You’ll understand it after puberty.”

I talk about sex as if it is a normal, natural part of life. I talk about choosing when to have children based on being able to take care of a family. I talk about having “kissed boys and girls other than your dad before him because I wanted to make sure I knew I found the right person”. I’m not graphic.

I don’t want to be “out” with my kids the way some of my friends are out with their kids. My kids won’t see deviant-from-normal behavior during their childhood. Regardless of what I do during baby-sitting time.

And a lot of it comes back to feeling weird for talking about this stuff. Am I bragging? No. I’m trying to work out the logistics of my life. I’m trying to get a clear picture on who and what I am. I am trying to prove to myself, Yup. Still here.

I’m in the breeding period. Most members of my species end up here on accident and they kind of chafe at the boundaries as a result. Their freedom was curtailed not by choice. I want this so much.

I want to know what a childhood is like when the parents are not having sex in front of nor with their children. I want to know what a childhood is like when there isn’t constant drug and alcohol induced partying going on. I use pot, but it isn’t a party drug for me. It is something I do in isolation or I take a pill. I’ve only smoked around a handful of people (the wonderful folks who come over for dinner) and it doesn’t happen until after the kids are asleep. My kids are not growing up in a party house.

Only they are. It’s kind of weird. I’m finding out what “vanilla” parties are like and they are pretty fun.

Not long ago my neighbors re-did their house. They were tired of “looking like a preschool”. But… you have young children. Ok, the materials should age up, but why in the world do you think that your house shouldn’t look like kids live there?

Stop judging, Krissy.

I like that kids like coming here. They feel comfortable. I like that I can invite a whole bunch of people over and it works out really well. Everyone leaves raving about how they’ve had a wonderful time.

I’m going to go have fun with my family now.

Today has been an emotional journey.

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I’ve been crying on and off for 13 hours now. It’s a day. I went to a tea party. I cried at the tea party. Even though strangers could see me. (Usually I have better control than that; mostly I get to a bathroom in time to hide my crying.)

One of my former flings was at the tea party. He spent a lot of the party hitting on me really hard. He remembers me very fondly. I feel like I should take a shower. (Although to be fair–the pride weekend we hooked up was wicked hot. He’s a switch and just as good at taking pain as he is at giving pain. We had a really ridiculously hot weekend of beating the shit out of each other in between rabid fucking. Ok, I remember him fondly too.)

But I still feel like I should take a shower. Which is becoming a thing for me. I was talking to Noah about this yesterday. I’m in a weird spot with sex. Sex is feeling weird and dirty and gross and like I am disgusting for having it and I don’t understand why anyone would want to do that. Which… isn’t really like me.

I have been having sex of some kind for over 30 years. I’ve been having vaginal sex of my own volition for 21 years. I feel very weird about having sex be this weird for me. I was never put off by sex and now I am. I feel like I’m in a really terrible rut for this. It hasn’t been going on for a super long time, maybe a few weeks?

It is very weird for me to feel repulsed by the idea of sex. And I’m feeling that way really intensely. It is making my relationship with Noah rocky. And then having an old flame hit on me magnifies it in intense and awkward and uncomfortable ways.

I’ve had some weirdness ever since getting pregnant the first time. Decreased libido, I don’t feel sexy when my kids are around, I don’t “turn on” very easily any more… there has been a lot of weirdness to adjust to, but the repulsion feels new. (I don’t think I have suddenly developed an aversion to Noah. I am much more repulsed by the idea of sex with anyone else right now.)

I feel dirty, bad, and like if I have boundaries I am a terrible person who deserves to be punished. Sex feels almost like a punishment.

Today has been such an explosion of self-loathing. In every way possible. I should die. I should die. I should die. I should stop being such a scary terrible person. I don’t know a way to stop being so fucking scary without dying.

This morning Noah made us a really elaborate breakfast. In the process he shouted at the kids a few times. From the other side of the house I felt shocked and afraid. When I came into the kitchen the kids were totally cool with it. I asked Noah if he needed time to go calm down and both him and the kids defended that he was fine.

If I say “empty the dishwasher” sometimes the kids will all but cower under the table. I don’t even have to raise my voice. (Actual screaming provokes less of a reaction.) Noah says it is because I am so intimidating. You know–like a large black man.

Are you fucking kidding me?

So I spent the day crying because I’m a piece of shit who should die because I can’t seem to do anything to stop scaring people. No matter how hard I try, I’m still that fucking scary bitch who should be punished for having emotions that are too big.

Sometimes I can whisper a request and the kids will react as if I have done something terrible. I feel manipulated.

I feel like I should die because it isn’t possible for me to attain behavior that would be considered “acceptable”.

I spent a bunch of time at the tea party talking to a woman I used to go dancing with. Both of us have been on mental health roller coasters over the last few years. When she has problems, her friends take her in. She has spent a lot of the last few years basically couch surfing with friends who cook for her and clean up after her and she has a great team of doctors she works with who are really nice to her. In the conversation I asked a little bit about what kind of traumas trigger what kind of things for her and she said, “I’ve never had a traumatic experience in my life.”

When she said how grateful she is that her friends have taken her in and supported her this way because it is really hard for her to take care of herself when she is depressed I said, “No one has ever loved me that much. Not my friends, not my parents. It doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to take care of myself.” Then I cried.

Noah takes some care of me, but he doesn’t do that much. People have done some things to care for me. One friend cooked me breakfast lunch and dinner for three weeks after my second child was born. When my uncle died and I dropped my basket I had friends show up for a week to baby-sit my kids.

But in between some pieces of help I have to get off my fucking ass and do everything else for myself. I don’t get months of support. I get a few minutes then a kick in the ass to get the fuck back up and take care of myself.

When my wisdom teeth were removed, I was 21 and living with my Owner. My mom came to stay with us to “take care of me” afterwards. I had four dry sockets. I was in horrible pain. My mom sat on the couch reading and I cooked and served her food.

I’m a self-pitying son of a bitch.

When I get really sick 9/10 times I drive myself to the hospital. I don’t really know who to ask for help. Even though doctors have told me flat out I can’t drive those days… I do it anyway because that is the only transportation I have.

I’m having a really hard time this week with the whole “scary” thing. I won the court case, but I don’t feel “cleared” at all. This is a consistent problem for me. Near as I can tell the only thing I can do to avoid scaring people is stay in my room without talking to people.

I want to die so much.

I’m having a really hard time with knowing that my therapist doesn’t have a lot of hope for me changing. That is really hurting.

If you ask my kids at any other time if they think I am scary they say no. They tell me they know I wouldn’t hurt them even though I get very angry sometimes. But man they cower. They cower like I chase them with a belt. Hell, they fucking cower more than someone who has been chased with a belt. If you get hit enough times you learn that cowering just pisses people off and they hit you more times.

Noah and I talked today about putting the kids in school. He asked what I would do during the day. I said cut. It would be totally easy to hide if I had that much alone time. We don’t want to put the kids in school. But if I think the kids are being damaged by being around me (uhm, cowering) then maybe school is more appropriate.

You never know what the “right” decision is until it is too late to do anything about all the wrong decisions.

Despite hearing today from a teacher who likes Common Core I remain unconvinced that school is currently the right choice for my kids. This teacher asked how my kids have learned to talk about math problems if they have never had a math class. If I’ve never sat them down with a textbook and worksheets, how can they learn?! It’s a miracle. But without curriculum assistance of any kind my kids can do addition, some subtraction, and the occasional multiplication problem. (The 4 year old isn’t doing multiplication yet, but she has demonstrated that she understands the principle.) We do them verbally.

I feel like I’m being mean and ungrateful towards Noah for having this many big, unpleasant feelings. I feel like I am doing something specifically objectionable because of disloyalty. I feel like when I talk about my lack of support I am implying that he isn’t doing enough and that isn’t true. I’m pretty sure there isn’t time in the day for Noah to do more.

But I still have so many needs and there isn’t anyone I can ask. I try really hard to build some of the consistency I need and it falls through over and over.

It isn’t that no one ever does anything for me. I know that I *do* get help. But I get one off help.

I want a god damn mother.

Right now I am feeling very self-pitying and sad. I wish I had the flavor of mental illness where people love me and take care of me and feel sad that I am hurting instead of the flavor where people think I am scary and intimidating.

I want to die.

My friend said she feels confident that with the help of wonderful doctors she will improve a lot and her life will get better and she won’t have so many symptoms.

If you read books about suicidality, there are specific “things” that are the reasons people kill themselves. There are only a few categories of spurs, really. I have most of them really active in my life. I don’t think I will ever stop feeling suicidal until I can find a way to meet the needs that are driving the impulse to die. My problems are relational and I can’t fix them by myself. And I can’t make anyone care about me that much.

I don’t know that I will ever get much better. I will never believe I am worthy of enough love to justify staying alive. “Never is a long time.” I don’t feel very hopeful today.

I hope that some day this will feel less intense. I hope that some day I will believe I am worthy of someone taking care of me and I will find a way to make that happen in a way that will benefit my mental health long term.

Right now I feel like no one loves me enough.

Which is of course all my fault and all my problem.

Ha, ha, ha… no.

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Noah wanted to get frisky last night. Dude.

On Monday they stuck a scope up my butt, which was already completely flipping out from diarrhea and hemorrhoids. So that means my butt is not happening.

I started bleeding about two hours after the scoping procedure and this is the heaviest period I have had in many years. I’m soaking through overnight post-partum pads in 4-5 hours and I don’t do that. I don’t really want to clean the bed up from a blood bath so uhm…. no.

And I had dental surgery just recently and I had to go in yesterday morning to have extra drilling/shaping done on the new crown because when I keep my jaw open for a two hour dental appointment, by the end I am physically incapable of delivering my normal bite and they can’t adjust everything. My dentist said, “With folks like you (TMJ + panic disorder) often the muscles get so inflamed during a procedure that we have to have multiple adjustments over many weeks as the muscles heal from the procedure. So keep your jaw shut as much as possible for another few weeks to let the muscles heal.” I thought but didn’t say to the dentist, “Ahhh… no blow jobs.”

Do I need to mention that my arms hurt too much for a hand job?

So yeah. There goes our sex life.

So he wanted to rub against me for a while. I had to stop him because he was rubbing in a way that made the cloth pad rub really hard on my hemorrhoids and that is just not fun.

Then he tried rubbing on a different part of me and I had an intense horrifying flashback of my father doing exactly that when Noah reached in to kiss me and his beard started tickling my face.

I’d like a new body and new brain, please?

Sex is still complicated.

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I haven’t been hitting quota. (For non-long-term readers: we try to have sex ten times a month. I joke about it being my quota.) I just… can’t have more vanilla bunny sex than I’m having.

I didn’t go to Folsom yesterday mostly because I didn’t think I would have the self control to follow my boundaries. I want a pick up scene so bad. And I could have gotten lots of play. Lots. Being “good” isn’t feeling fun.

I want to do a take down scene with someone who would be equally gleeful about losing as they would be about winning. That isn’t a dynamic I can have with Noah. He doesn’t want to lose and he… is clear when it happens.

I don’t know how this will resolve. I’m not a heterosexual monogamous person. I still think that poly would be the end of my marriage. I would not put up with more of how things have gone. But I feel so antsy and restless and dissatisfied.

I’m not feeling that good about bdsm where I’m the only person who can get hit. Noah has managed to fully and completely convince me that it isn’t ok to hit him. It means that no, it isn’t fun to do a scene where I fight back. You get angry when you are hit. It isn’t a game. You can’t play with it.

I’ve been hitting the punching bag and I’m not sure it is helping. I want to beat the crap out of someone so badly. In my defense, I want it to be someone who has fully consented and is having fun. I want to play with a friend. Not necessarily a specific individual friend–but someone I have positive feelings about. I don’t hit people out of anger, exactly. Excessive energy.

Only I’ve agreed not to hit anyone, basically ever again. Sometimes it feels like dying. It feels like having to kill parts of me. If memory serves correctly (it’s a funny thing) it hasn’t even been two years since I beat on my Leather sister. Not that long. Why does this feel like it has been lifetimes of suppression?

I’m a sadistic masochist trapped in a life where it isn’t ok to cause anyone pain and it isn’t ok to model that it is acceptable to hurt me. “Trapped” is a terrible word. But it sure as shit sounds accurate today. I carefully created this trap for myself–I’m not blaming a single person other than me. I wanted this. Now I’m finding out what it means to get what you want.

A long time ago a friend asked the dude I was dating at the time, “So, what does it feel like to get what you always wanted?” He said, “Exhausting.”

We didn’t date that long. Turns out I wasn’t actually everything he always wanted.

I feel like a big meanie face for not being all gung-ho on the kinds of sex Noah wants. I used to work my way through all 31 flavors on a regular basis. Now I get one or two flavors and that’s it. Forever. It isn’t that I have started hating vanilla (I even got a spiffy new vanilla cookbook from a generous friend for my birthday) I just… man I miss variety.

I miss having the kind of sex that causes people to get upset when they watch it because the violence is so intense. I like going to public sex spaces and freaking people out with how violent sex can be. You have to work pretty hard to alarm such a jaded audience and the challenge really spurs me to great heights. “This is bdsm not your local vanilla cuddle party.”

When I got involved in bdsm people were told that if you were overwhelmed by what you were watching it was your responsibility to walk away and go handle your shit. While I was actively playing I watched that get stomped on hard. Eventually people were only supposed to do non-offensive stuff in public.

Folsom is a great place to squick the tourists. I want to alarm people. I really do. I am an exhibitionist. It is partially about the effect on the crowd.

I want to suspend someone and slowly cut them in between all the rope marks till they are dripping on a tarp. Just to watch it. I really do. I haven’t done that much blood play but right now I think I would be hard pressed to not lick up all the blood. I’m feeling quite savage and violent.

And I sit at home. Today there is baby sitting and I will work. I should arrange to get books from the library. I should paint. I should write letters.

Whoo.

I’ll watch more god damned West Wing because that is a lot of how I numb out at this point.

Don’t do anything you will regret in the future. Just be “good”.

I don’t regret what I’ve done. Not the people I’ve tied up. Not the people I’ve hit–ok, I regret some of the fist fights in grade school. I don’t regret being a pervert. I found people who were happy to go on the ride with me and I don’t think we did anything wrong. I just don’t want to teach my kids.

That is what it comes down to. I don’t want to teach my kids to be perverts. I don’t want them to look at me from a distance and know the kinds of things I used to do on the weekend.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this one play partner I had. She was willing to let me do some… horrifying? fun? intense? things. I wonder what she has been doing lately. I really shouldn’t call and ask.

Avoidance is a PTSD symptom. But is this avoidance a problem or a good thing?

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When I talk to other mothers I frequently hear that one or more of their children strongly prefers daddy. Often to the point where mom is refused–sometimes with venom. I listen to these stories and think, “Huh. How did that happen?”

My kids have had individual minutes where they want their dad more than me. They are thrilled when they get to spend a day with him. But they want me there. Always me. Mommy mommy mommy. We are the all-mommy-all-the-time channel. Sometimes I feel a weird mixture of pride and pain. Am I fucking my kids up? Am I too naked in my desperation for their love so they can’t feel safe stating a preference for their father? Do I not allow him enough time with them? And yet there is a part of me that feels so very relieved that at least for a few years of my life I get to find out what it feels like to be cherished and adored. I am the favorite. I am Noah’s favorite. I am Shanna’s favorite. I am Calli’s favorite. And my heart explodes with joy.

I adamantly refuse to pick a favorite. I say Noah is my favorite boy and I can’t pick a favorite girl because they are each wonderful in different ways and I couldn’t do without either of them. I need the whole set. NEED NEED the whole set. All of them. I don’t have a single favorite.

I need to be part of this team. I need to have a group where I actually feel wanted and included and like I am important. I need this so much.

Sometimes I feel a little sad that maybe my kids know that I need them and I am going to damage them because that is too much pressure.

I counter my fierce need with telling them that they have to live their own lives and have adventures without me–just come back and tell me stories. I will probably always be the most appreciative audience you ever have.

You really and truly know how I feel about you. I don’t hold back. I tell you how I really feel. When I have a problem with my children’s behavior I am very specific “I love you but right now I’m really upset that you are doing _____. I don’t think it is a good idea because ______.” Sometimes the because is “I am on my last nerve and I’m about to start screaming and not be able to stop–seriously you need to stop making that noise.”

I tell my kids a lot that dealing with people is weird. Everyone has a long list of little ways they need to be accommodated and depending on how good of support they have from people in their life, they may not even know they are getting the accommodation. They might have no idea that they are really weird and the way they want to be treated is downright odd. The people who know them are used to it and don’t question it so for them it is normal.

I can be hard to live with. I have a lot of rules. I have a lot of preferences and nit picky crap I care about way too much. The best I can say is I’m sorry, but at least I can tell you the details about what I want instead of just exploding with inarticulate rage. I’ve lived with that and it sucks.

More than 70% of parents think it is ok to spank. I think that if I have to hit my kids I have failed to teach them. Hitting is a mark of *my* failure–not theirs. First I failed to teach in the first place. Then I went on to fail in modeling how to fix mistakes. When you hit your child you teach them that the right thing to happen when they make a mistake is the person they love most in the world should hurt them.

Nope. Not in my house. No matter how nutty they drive me. I worry about the screaming though. I haven’t been documenting it lately because I haven’t been typing. My arms hurt quite a bit. The screaming hasn’t been daily or even weekly. Not super nasty, either. But I’ve threatened too much in the last few weeks.

I don’t want to be that kind of person. I think it is chicken shit to do it and then apologize and act like that makes it all ok. It doesn’t.

I’m kind of glad that I get to go through a famine period of not spending money. Staying home sounds like a smart idea. We need to get used to each other again. We’ve been spending a lot of time out in the world bouncing off other people and their boundaries. It makes it harder for the kids and I to really see one another. We are all constantly changing. If we stop staring we miss important stuff.

I always thought I would change less quickly once I became an adult. Not so much.

I go through periods of screaming when I’ve been running (metaphorically) too hard and too long and I have no more patience left. I’m not being proactive enough about limiting my activities. I have such a hard time telling people no. If someone wants a relationship with me the answer is yes. But I don’t actually have time.

This is why we aren’t poly. I don’t have any energy going spare. Sure, I have needs like crazy. I don’t have any energy to give. And every outside relationship requires energy. I would have to steal it away from other parts of my life: Noah, the kids, writing, gardening, etc.

I don’t want to waste all of the energy of my life pursuing people to fuck. I’ve done that. Lots of it. I’ve fucked orders of magnitude more people than most ever do in a lifetime. Meh. It was alright. It was fun while I was doing it. I don’t regret it. I can foresee futures where such behavior could be appealing again. But right now it would be theft and it would be destructive to the three relationships I care the most about.

It is pragmatic and self-serving. But man any time I go somewhere alone I manage to find a likely target. Hunting is so innate. And I know which smiles are likely to be followed up on. It took being told no a few hundred times to learn which smile means, “Ask.” I’m feeling antsy. I miss feeling exciting.

I feel like a work horse and I miss being a race horse. I used to pull chariots; sometimes literally while doing pony play.

I get random flashes of memories of things I’ve done sometimes. Like when I’m out running I will notice that I’m moving through my *ahem* paces. I usually laugh at myself and try to consciously get back to more of a “running” gate. I’m not entering any pony competitions any year soon here. Doesn’t matter if my trot is fine.

Sometimes it feels very weird to look at this vanilla, monogamous life and think “What in the hell made me think I want this?!”

I’m having trouble sleeping. I’ve had a lot of time to think and I haven’t been typing lately. Lots of thoughts churning.

I do want this, though. I want this so much that I stop every day to specifically be grateful for what I have. I have Noah and Shanna and Calli. And they all love me. I get to be their favorite, at least for now. I understand that someday Shanna and Calli will go find somebody to snuggle who is uhm more snuggly with them than I am. (I have boundaries around snuggling with them. Whoo boy.) I get this precious time.

The home school tea party for today was cancelled due to low attendance. I’m not up for putting together a big party for three kids who aren’t mine. We will try again on another date/time to see if we can make it actually work. I will figure something out for the Friday Funhouse tonight. It’ll work out..

The girls are watching Harry Potter 2. I won’t let them watch 3 yet. Honestly I don’t think I will let them watch more movies in the series until they have read the books. Incentive. I sorta wonder sometime when Shanna will decide to read. I try not to harp on it but she probably notices that I have feelings. She’s like that. She notices me.

Today on the bike ride she yelled at me not to hover. So I rode on side streets and added loops to give her time to do each block before I watched her carefully check both ways before crossing the street. I didn’t stand near her though. She wanted space and she was being careful.

This growing apart business is hard. But learning how to do this is what we are doing right now. Gotta just do it.

You just keep going

Do the best you can

Category Archives: sex

hella weird.

Knock, knock knock

Users Guide 3.0 Married with Children Edition

Negotiations

Reflect

Glorious day. I gotta say.

Things I learn from the internet.

Sex

Transitions

Alone is nice

Weird epiphany

Today has been an emotional journey.

Ha, ha, ha… no.

Sex is still complicated.

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