Friday, March 30, 2012

How I Found Out I’m Kinky Part Three: More Songs and the Famous Rope Guy


This isn’t the hottest part of the story, but it’s necessary. One of the primary sensations of Bill was the feeling of clicking—not in the romantic sense (although there was that too) but in the sense of internet addiction. I think of him most still on days when I end up checking my email too much. The songs went back and forth all day every day. There were 140 songs between us before we even met.

I sent him the above Girl Talk song and he told me that he “Once spit iced tea on Girl Talk, back in the day.” I can’t BELIEVE I kept talking to him after that! Could anything be more dealbreaking?! He might as well have spit on a unicorn. But as he listed himself as “drinks: never” I thought maybe he was recovering or something. Also, he was really good at picking out songs.

The Monday before we were supposed to have our date, he asked for a rain check. He’d run into some financial trouble over the weekend (I already knew he’d been laid off) and wouldn’t be able to make it. I didn’t know what it could be—jail? Falling off the wagon? My imagination ran wild and I was afraid to ask. Anyway, I thought he was blowing me off. I said I’d hold off on songs until I knew he was actual.

But I didn’t hold off on songs, I started in again the next day, but since he was in a bad place and I was worried about being ditched, the songs were off. I kept sending sexed up/motivational songs and his kept getting angrier.

Grey Dancer was set to speak at the local erotic literary salon that night, and when I said I’d “Say hi to the famous rope guy” for him, he got really pissed off and sent a song that scared the bejeezus out of me: “Burn Like Trash (at Jackie’s Funeral)” by Machines of Loving Grace. I’m listening to it now and it’s actually not that scary. But at the time it chilled my blood. I told him I was scared and sent “Up in the Dark” by The New Pornographers to try and bring things back to adorable, but I was pretty sure that was the end of the road for us.

Hearing Grey Dancer read that night was predictably transformative, but it was one of his fans who actually sort of married me to the idea of ropes. She said that when you have rape in your past you never really let yourself lose control during sex, that part of your energy is always spent trying to make sure everything’s safe, trying to keep your guard up. She described the feeling of being able to be released from that care, and I knew that that feeling was exactly what I needed.

The next day, I sent a farewell note to Bill, signed “Can’t hug every cat.” I wrote a preliminary FetLife profile saying some vague things about wanting to learn to trust men.

But I really couldn’t get Bill out of my head. A nice boy took me to a performance at the circus school, what a nice date, but all I could see were the ropes. I got impatient with nice boys (SO GLAD I GOT OVER THAT) who didn’t spark the thrill/fear that Bill had. I have to laugh at myself- a teenagerlike crush on a Bad Boy. Sheesh.

A few weeks went by with me reading his facebook updates and combing the Tumblr I’d inspired him to start for signs that he was thinking of me. I liked the way he related to his female friends on fb—it made him seem cuter and less scary. Finally, I wrote to him and song-sending resumed. He was back on the kitten calendar in no time.

My favorite day of songs was a whole day of the Nineties: Blur, James, Revolting Cocks, Crash Test Dummies. We exchanged doomed love songs and I sent him Amy Winehouse singing “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” The day of our date, I sent him “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” and he wrote back:

!

The last song he sent before the date was a chase montage from Midnight Express, full of apprehensions and patdowns. I decided that this boded well.

Next time: Oh my GOD that kiss.

A Helpful Tweet

You know I heart sexperts, and Bo Blaze is becoming a favorite. The other day I posed this beginner-submissive question to him on the Twitter:

How do I know when I am being seen as a person, not just as a collection of fetishes?


And he wrote back:


"Tricky, cause yr Dom might C U differently than they let on. Look inside & assess the connection between U. Is it there?"


I like that answer because it made me realize that somewhere, deep down, I might actually know what I'm doing. I can see myself referring back to that tweet often. Thanks!



The Calendar Is Celebrating!

Because Fireguy and Firewife are on it! For week after next! I'm excited to go back to that soothing house, and I can't wait to get all pretty for them. I'm not sure what'll happen, but there's talk of cupcake-decorating. They are an amazing couple who've been together for 30 years, so I hope they'll tell me lots about their adventures together.

There's lots of other good stuff coming up too. I'm feeling really lucky this morning. Thanks for reading this and helping me to have courage.

Here are ten minutes of fireworks to celebrate:

Thursday, March 29, 2012

How I Found Out I'm Kinky Part Two: A Mixtape

Writing about my ol' song sender has me going back to some of the songs he sent. (It's nice the way You Tube kept a record of that relationship...) I've been avoiding them for a while, feels good/ a little dirty to be back.

What Should I Learn at Momentum Con?

This weekend, Sweetie and I are headed to DC. She's going to explore around and geek out on historical stuff while I enjoy a mountain of sex positive information and palling around.

I'm going to give live tweeting a whirl, so go over and give me a follow, if you want.

Isn't it weird that there has to be such a thing as sex positivity? It's like having to have air positivity or chocolate positivity!

Nonetheless, I am superexcited to get to see and maybe meet Reid Mihalko of Reid About Sex (I've had a crush on him ever since this story on the Risk! podcast.) and Cunning Minx of Polyamory Weekly, and I'm kind of dazzled by the amount of stuff there is to choose from. If you've got any suggestions for how to narrow it down, I'll take 'em!

How I Found Out I’m Kinky, Part One: You Had Me at Duct Tape


Backtracking is never as much fun as writing about current adventures, but I might be a little bit stuck right now, so I’ll tell this story. Oh, Bill.

I had a vague idea all along about wanting to be dominated, but I didn’t have any idea of what my BDSM imagination could come up with until I met Bill last fall.

Before I talk about him, though, I should stop and give credit to the Mayor of Kittentown. Last fall when I first started dating guys, MOKT was the first guy I really clicked with. I could tell he was trustworthy because the first time I ever went to his house, my first urge was to lie down and take a nap. He was a safe and fun person to have a whole bunch of first-in-a-long-times with. He treated me kindly, told me I’m beautiful, and let me take my time. Also he has a really excellent penis. I’m just such a fan of it. He was the first guy that I had PIV sex with (after a date to see The Muppets, no less) in sixteen years and my reaction was I CAN’T BELIEVE I WENT SO LONG WITHOUT THIS and also MORE PLEASE.

The Mayor of Kittentown deserves a lot more paragraphs and will probably get them, but for this story, it’s important to remember he is in my life all the time making me feel beautiful and generally doing things right.

At the same time as I was getting to know MOKT, I found Bill on Ok Cupid. I wrote to him despite the fact that he had 666 in his username because I liked that he had a link to a party clip from Beyond the Valley of the Dolls on his profile (I just go nuts for a B-movie aesthetic) and, under “Things I Cant Live Without,” he had a bunch of synonyms for the word “moxie.” His is still my favorite profile ever, blocked though it may now be. I told Sweetie that he had a picture of himself looking snarly/thoughtful in a throne made out of bones and another one where he posed next to a girl covered in stage blood and I asked “Is this guy a serial killer or just kind of metal?” and Sweetie said “I think maybe you’re less likely to get murdered than you think.” I found that very comforting!

He was very untoward. When I told him I’m a Hermione Grangerlike fussy straight-A student and asked if Harry Potter references turn guys off, he said no, especially now that Emma Watson had turned 18. This would ordinarily be a dealbreaker- I can’t stand guys who are over-focused on youth, but I couldn’t help but just laugh and agree about the hotness of Emma Watson.

Another time, when I told him I was having my students write about daylight savings time, he said “Well, I’d prefer dirty limericks about duct tape, but hey, it’s your class.”

I should have been mortified, I think, but instead, I felt something click, my usual ok-we’re-friends-now feeling—he was scary but I was so curious. I wrote back and said that in my extremely limited experience, pretty ribbons > duct tape. I felt all scandalous for saying that, even though it is really mild compared to the conversations I have these days. So we’d kind of agreed to a tying up situation by, like, the third email.

I used to start Ok Cupid conversations by asking guys to send me some songs. I am in graduate school for teacher certification and sometimes the classes are really boring and my soul needs to be woken back up. He was soooooo good at sending songs. Tina Turner singing “Whole Lotta Love,” 60s go-go music that made me think of dancing naked in the woods, the occasional Bjork heart-melter. He sent Elvis’s Suspicious Minds and I opened it at work—the librarians swooned and I told him he’d made everyone’s day. He wrote back “I’m just here to help.”

The song that ended up on repeat the most often was Brian Eno’s “Baby’s On Fire” which includes these lyrics:

“Baby’s on fire, better throw her in the water. Look at her laughing, like a heifer to the slaughter.”


There were a fair number of creepy songs like that, but instead of scaring me off, they drew me in. We made plans to meet, and I warned him that I’m much more brazen over email, that I’m awkward but not this awkward:

Next time: He gets jealous of the famous rope guy.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Team Gale or Team Peeta, Are You Kidding Me With This?

How about team Isn't There More To Worry About Than Jealousy In Harsh Dystopian Times So Negotiate A Triad Already!

Really I just wanted to post this hot picture:


Some Tears and a Really Good Night


I just finished up a couple of days of crying. I mean, not the whole couple days, I did do other things. Monday, I was in the middle of making plans to go visit Fireguy again—definitely should have been cause for celebration, but something about the email exchange just made me start to cry. I couldn’t stop. I kept telling Sweetie “I don’t know what’s wrong! What’s the matter with me?” I sobbed so much that Sweetie started to sob in sympathy.

I thought the right thing to do was to stop making plans with him, but that doesn’t seem right either. I guess I just have more feelings about him than I am supposed to. Unsurprisingly! This is just who I am—sometimes easygoing and expansive, but when I really like someone, I panic. I was trying to keep the emotions about, say for instance, the fire kiss, in perspective, but some of the things that happened between us filled such a deep need that it is hard to be as casual as I am supposed to be. It makes me wonder how I’ll make it in the world of kink. Things feel like a mess in the Fireguy department, and I don’t know what to do.

Sometimes I worry that this project is taking me too far afield from my overall quest, which is just to feel genuinely loved by a man. On the other hand, I feel much more comfortable looking for love half-naked in a BDSM party than in a bar hoping to get hit on. But at the same time, with fetishy guys, how can I be sure that I am being seen as a person, not just as a collection of fetishes?

Last night was such a bright spot, though, and made me feel like I’m still on the right track. The Mayor of Kittentown came over last night to play Scrabble with Sweetie and me—it was the first time he’d been over since we got together five months ago. It felt so great to sit between them. They have the same tendency to second-guess my word choices, it’s adorable. Having him over made me feel closer to him, like I didn’t have to keep him at arms’ length as much. Which is kind of bittersweet, considering that a very cute girl is messaging him on OK Cupid, and whenever he gets a girlfriend he will probably have to let me go.

Nonetheless, though I still feel lost about this project, staying over at MOKT’s after his visit last night made me feel more grounded in what I really care about—connection, friendship, progress, and getting wholeheartedly and unabashedly fucked by someone I like and trust. Thanks for making me feel so good, pal, and good luck with the girl.

Last April, I Accidentally Wore the Scarlet Letter: Part Four



Scrabble boy and I planned a phone call shortly after I found out his wife didn’t know. He called from his car outside his local library, where he had a gig. He told me I was the first person he’d done anything with besides his wife since the Nineties. I painted the above painting while we talked. I was so touched by what he was telling me that I couldn’t stay mad. He choked up at the idea of not being my friend.

I feel like I want to apologize to everyone I know for the few weeks after that. I feel like I went kind of nuts. Sweetie tried to talk some sense into me, but I was desperate to believe he loved me. I’d always been afraid that I couldn’t be loved by a man, and I saw this as proof that I could be. “He doesn’t love you,” she said, “He screwed you over.” Adorkable was more sympathetic, listening to the songs he’d send and dissecting the poems over gelato. But still, I’m embarrassed for how I acted.

Whenever he mentioned a song, I’d put it in my iPod immediately and listen to it like a jillion times.  We had deep, romantic conversations on Scrabble chat, and my life started to revolve around that little chat box, around waiting for him to play his next word. He mailed me a poem (not his) about being trapped under a parachute. The migrating birds in the poem got tangled in the strings. He sent me his students’ poems and my delighted comments ended up in the introduction to their book. We took the Scrabble words and arranged them into poems. I combed his poems for clues he was still thinking of me, and they were always there. I was a window, a star.

Things continued with varying levels of angst until something fairly innocuous finally blew it all up. Scrabble Boy’s best fried is Feral Girl, a twenty-year-old former student of his. (He was 37) She was also a friend of mine from poetry. One day, they posted on facebook that they’d gone to a How Water Music show together and screamed along with the songs. The physicality of that image versus the computer-and-poems trapped feeling of my relationship with him sparked something and I texted him that I felt envious.

That’s when he kind of lost it on me. In that claustrophobic Scrabble chat box, he said “I don’t talk about this much, but I love my wife and kids. I don’t intend to abandon any part of my life here.”

I flipped out too—had I ASKED him to abandon anybody? He’s the monogamous one! I was so mad about the accusation that I did that impossible-to-feel-mature-about-but-still-necessary step of unfriending him. I made a lot of sarcastic jokes to my friends about being a homewrecker, but his accusation stung to the core of my love-loving heart. It still makes me scared, even in very very poly situations.

Our friendship was poisoned, as was my friendship with Feral Girl, somehow. I eventually did tell her why I unfriended her, and that probably wasn’t very nice.

Last fall, Scrabble Boy and I took another crack at being friends and planned a call. He and his wife had separated for reasons unrelated to me. It turned out, he’d never told her. He considered the fact that we “made out that one time” (Oh, crap, straight people have a different idea of what sex is!) to be “beside the point.” Which, in the grand scheme of things, I know it was, but still. What girl likes to be called beside the point?

We both spent a lot of that conversation apologizing, but I also realized he was never going to love me, and I was unreasonably angry about that. I mailed him back his poems and mix CDs. (The poems are still saved in the computer though. And the Scrabble games still live on, archived.)

I don’t know how I can be both the communicative and becoming-more-confident person I am not and the so-desperate-to-connect-with-a-man-that-I-helped-screw-seven-people-over mess that I was then. It’s almost April, I hope it’s time to forgive myself.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Unicorn Practice FTW: A Good Date Is a Good Date


Week before last, I was feeling antsy and wondering where my next adventure would come from. So I posted an ad on a couple of FetLife lists asking for suggestions, mentors, co-conspirators, etc.

On of the best responses came from Ro-gan (I don’t know what his name means, but that’s what he wants to be called) who offered the help of himself and his fiancĂ©e, whom I’ll call Painter. He had me at “if nothing else, maybe we can get together for game night.” They live a little ways away, so we agreed to meet in a restaurant somewhere in the middle.

It was a pretty, tropical-themed place, the kind of nice restaurant my in-laws might choose. Watching for them my thoughts were the same as waiting for one person: would they think I was too fat? What if they didn’t like me? It was less nerve-wracking than waiting for one person, though, for whatever reason.

The fears didn’t last very long. Painter later told me that when she first saw me, I reminded her of one of her old friends. They really did remind me of so many of the nerdy-cute couples Sweetie and I are friends with. She’s a pretty blond dressed in a soft grey long sweater and a pretty, silvery scarf. He’s wearing a T-shirt with a drawing of C3PO and R2D2. While we waited for our table, she scrolled through her pictures, showing me their new Jack Russell terrier and her daughters, who were off at a Girl Scout dance with their dad. Ro-gan told me about his ironic job-security at the unemployment office. Painter paints faces, mostly at comic conventions and kids’ birthday parties, and is also studying to become a nurse.

We sat down at our table and I got to hear all about the kink camp they love attending. Ro-gan “helps run some of the kidnappings” there. When he told me that, I couldn’t stop laughing with delight, I don’t know why. I guess it’s just that people are SO CREATIVE at getting their needs met, and I like the team spirit of it.

(Just as an aside though: maybe it because I just watched The Hunger Games and have been having Capitol-themed dreams, but how decadent of a society are we if we can afford to hire ourselves kidnappers. Sometimes it hits me just how much of a luxury this project is.)

Anyway, he helps run the kidnappings and she has always wanted to try erotic body painting. I immediately volunteer to be painted. He says “Only if I can watch.” He says this a lot. And I’m like “Of course!” They aren’t polyamorous, more just looking to share people together and as friends.

It’s impossible to overstate the adorableness of these two. I wanted to call them Muppet Girl and Comic boy, but those names wouldn’t work so well if I end up in compromising positions with them. Ever so, no matter what they were saying, they just radiated such muppety fun. She cheerfully explained that his small penis makes him perfect for anal and he nodded along agreeably, (Not on my list, but hey, good for you!) he threatened to tie me up and make me watch all of the Paranormal Activity movies, and still, my overall impression was “Awww...”

My favorite is the look of inspiration she got when we were brainstorming scenes. Her whole face would light up as she’d say “I know! I’m in the bathtub! And you’re washing me but I’m still the top because you’re, like, my lady-in-waiting or something! And then it gets all hot and heavy!” (He: “Only if I get to watch.”) I couldn’t help but get inspired along with her.

There’s something that happens in my heart when those kinds of conversations are happening. Something unlatches and it’s like I feel untethered, similar to the feeling of flying in a dream. Sex-creativity is really the best thing ever.

We talked for hours, until I realized it was getting late and I should get home to sweetie. Driving back, I felt giddy and happy and just a little more myself.

Last April I Accidentally Wore the Scarlet Letter: Part Three



After I kissed Scrabble Boy goodnight, I went into the bedroom and found that Sweetie hadn’t been asleep. She was laying there crying and looking traumatized. What’s worse, since the bathroom is right next to the couch, she’d felt trapped and unable to get up and go pee. I was a jerk about it, and we exchanged a few harsh words before trying to sleep for a couple of hours.

The morning was tricky and painful. I had no idea what he was thinking, and I just wanted Sweetie to somehow like me again. Aside from my inane morning chatter, there was very little talking. I passed her a note that said I was sorry, and passed him a note that said “I like you.” He finished up the robot-themed mix he’d been making me, and I made them breakfast: scrambled eggs with spinach and cheese. Scrabble Boy and I ate at the dining room table while Sweetie hid in our room.

Scrabble Boy drove us downtown to the teen poetry workshop we were helping to lead at one of the local universities. The day was so incredibly perfectly pretty-the flowering trees along the river were in full bloom and the sky was its very best cheerful self. We listened to the robot mix (Not as dreamy as the situation called for) and kissed at every stoplight. I loved holding his hand as we walked from the car to the gig. For two such hung over and twitterpated people, we did a great job with the workshop, except I was in no state to write anything coherent.

When he dropped me off afterward, I was full of worry about Sweetie and I didn’t want him to leave. We kissed and kissed and kissed. We decided that we would keep in touch via facebook Scrabble, which was the beginning of facebook Scrabble being ruined maybe forever for me.

I had another gig that night, but luckily there was time to take a nap with Sweetie first. By the next day, she started to like me again and we started to feel okay. We took a walk by the river and took in the flowering trees.

Scrabble Boy was on tour and also had to fly to Florida to attend his grandfather’s funeral. (So some of his urgency was probably grief.) We were in touch almost every day through poems and texts and Scrabble. He mentioned me in a coded way in almost every poem he posted, including this: “dear reader, I love you.” Of course, he could have meant any and all readers, but I wanted it to be me. Some of the poems were a little paranoid, mentioning “unauthorized activities” but I guess I just didn’t notice. I was writing unabashed and smutty-for-me love poems.

It took me a few weeks to write about it in a literal way, on my other blog. I wanted to acknowledge the fact that I was now sure of being bi and had experienced all these new emotions.

Are you ever watching a dumb sitcom or something where there’s a misunderstanding or something and you feel frustrated, like, why didn’t they just TALK!? That’s how I feel at every stage of this story.

As soon as I posted the post, I sent it to him, and he popped up on gchat almost immediately. He asked me to take out the paragraph mentioning his wife. She didn’t know. He used the phrase “not authorized” again. He was obviously scared and upset and I was LIVID with myself for making what seemed like such an obvious mistake. I did take the paragraph out, but unredacted it a few weeks later. It’s a really important paragraph, because it showed my first experience of compersion:

“And I had such an epiphany a little while ago when he posted a beautiful poem about his wife. I guess I thought I might be jealous, but I read it anyway. And a little latch-box opened in my heart and the sun shined out. I was/am genuinely happy that he’s in his real life, loving and loved and writing hot poems for her.”

Next time: We try to be friends…

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Tonight: Eep! First Date With a Couple!

Things seem to be moving kind of quickly around here. I'm about to try and get pretty for my first date with a couple! I met them on FetLife and they volunteered to be part of my year of adventures. So helpful! They seem cute and warm and experienced,  so they might make good party pals.  Let's see if they stick around long enough to get nicknames. :)

Friday, March 23, 2012

Last April I Accidentally Wore the Scarlet Letter: Part Two



At the poetry reading, we acted just kind of goofy for each other. To the point where we just sat there and held hands. He read a sonnet about giving oral sex and it was goooood. In the world of performance poetry, you end up hearing a lot of really terrible sex poems, so a good one is a real treat.

I’d bought him a coffee at the reading, so at the bar afterwards, he asked if he could buy me a shot and I said “Sure! Buy me twelve!” I’m really not a big drinker, but I was experimenting a little with whiskey at the time and he decided to teach me all about Jameson. Turns out, I really like Jameson. As we drank, we got closer and closer, like he was pulling me toward him. By the time we were home on my couch, we were just tangled up. I changed into my flannel cupcake pajamas. Sweetie hung around for a bit, then went to bed.

I haven’t thought about this part in so long, I don’t remember how it started. We just somehow went from hugging nicely and snoozing a little to kissing like our breath depended on it. Those kisses, they just make my heart drop, even still. That feeling, like a man wants me so much he might literally eat me, that passion and abandon, is something I’d craved for so long that I thought I might never get it. We just kissed and kissed and kissed like the inexperienced teenagers we both are at heart. I was crushed up against him, his hands unbuttoning my pajama top and running over my bra. I kept pushing his hands away and they kept coming, and I kept being glad they kept coming.

When his hand went down my pajama pants and found my clit, I was complete mush, so crazily turned on. He would later sneak this into a poem as “a study in fluid dynamics.”

And then, just like in the sonnet, down he went and I was like (in my head, not aloud) OH, let us now praise facial hair. He was so much rougher than Sweetie, his tongue so desperate and insistent and all-the-way-in-there, but I couldn’t come. I’m a loud comer, and I thought Sweetie was asleep in the next room.

I fumbled around ineptly in his pants for a little bit, but the sun was coming up. We made jokes about what Shakespeare said about the birds. For the record:

Juliet:
‘Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone
And yet no further than a wanton’s bird
That lets it hop a little from his hand
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves
And with a silken thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Romeo:
 I would I were thy bird.

Juliet:
Sweet, so would I.
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

So, you know, Shakespeare’s birds weren’t the best harbingers.

Next: Dear Sweetie, I really suck. Also, a poetry workshop and how he became Scrabble Boy.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Last April I Accidentally Wore the Scarlet Letter: Part One



I don’t like a learning curve. I’m a straight-A student and I get very frustrated about the fact that I have to fuck up and learn from it sometimes. This is that kind of story and I hate it, but I’m gonna have to write it out and move past it if I want to have at some poly husbands. (And I DO.)

I should tell you that at the time of this story, I hadn’t hooked up with a guy in any serious way for about ten years, and I hadn’t had PIV sex for fifteen years. I’d considered myself polyamorous for a while, but had only expressed it through a little bit of party-kissing (I mean regular parties) and a lot of having crushes. Part of me still dismissed my bisexuality as a sort of commitment-phobia. I wondered if, when I finally ended up with a guy, I wouldn’t like it and would turn out to be a lesbian after all. (Spoiler alert: not so much!)

Every April, a lot of my poet friends around the country write and post a poem a day as a celebration of National Poetry Month. It’s a great way to get to know your fellow poets. For most of us, a poem a day is a fast pace, and posting early drafts is a trusting and vulnerable thing to do. It dredges up a lot from your subconscious, so a lot of us end up addressing our traumas more and more deeply every April.

Between the urgency of the poem-a-day and the number of years it’d been since I’d been with a guy, I was kind of boiling over.

The morning that Scrabble Boy set out from the Midwest to drive to our city for a gig, he read my jillionth poem about Laura Palmer, about my need to aestheticize trauma, as a way to climb on top of it, as it were. I seems a little unfair to associate the poem with what happened, but the truth is, this guy I’d never met (but had received some mix CDs from) had been reading my first drafts for four years. That feels like closeness and it feels like he had a little bit of power over me. Of course, I’d been reading his first drafts too.

Scrabble Boy was married, I knew from his poems, with two little daughters. But he’s best friends with the most famously polyamorous poet I know, and in my head, that made him a possibility. (I KNOW! Why didn’t I ask? I’ve wondered that a million times.) Possibility or not, I was sooo excited to meet him IRL! He was scheduled to feature at the local poetry slam, for which, at the time, I was the booking and hospitality person.

When he walked into my apartment, I was cooking him dinner. Sweetie wasn’t home yet. I was wearing my favorite apron with the sparkly cupcakes on it. I was dressed up to host the reading, including red lipstick and fishnet stockings (Note: sometimes things happen to me wherein I’m wearing neither fishnets nor something printed with cupcakes. Just not, apparently, on this blog.) I had pink terrycloth slippers on, with little ribbon bows.

He walked in and it was just like OH, he’s perfect. Picture a nice tall sensitive poet. He looked at me like I was perfect too. It felt like a flash of recognition.

Next: A good sex sonnet is hard to come by.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Nearly-Naked and Fire-Kissed, Part Three



I’ve never been very good at casual kissing, but I want to learn to enjoy sensations for their own sake, and plus I just wanted to kiss him, so when Fireguy offered me an upside-down kiss, I said sure. And of course was a good kiss, of course it was. I’m not supposed to get attached to him, so I was holding back, but it was definitely good enough to make me wonder what it would be like if I didn’t hold back.

I’d like to stop for a second and acknowledge that even though this is a friend who belongs to two other ladies, and there were people are lined up to be next, this scene still seems wildly romantic to me. Even the idea that H and E (They need nicknames. How about Varga Girl and Firewife?) were letting me and the rest of the world borrow him for the evening makes my heart go all mushy because it makes me feel close to them. To The Ladies and to the world. So we’ve established that I am a sentimental poly mushball.

And not a moment too soon because then he asked “Can I give you a fire kiss?”

Um, yeah.

He told me to close my eyes, then lit the fire on his hand. He snuffed the blue flames and then put his hand at the bottom of my neck, just above my heart. I gasped as he kissed me. It was a swoon, there’s no other way to describe it. A falling sensation.

He asked how I’d gotten so good at kissing and I laughed and said, “Well, I’ve been married to a lady for a long time.”

The woman who was next in line makes me rethink my idea of myself as needy. At one point, I opened my eyes and saw her just staring down at me, the flames reflected in her wide eyes. It was creepy, and I don’t know why I didn’t ask her to back off. I guess I just felt like I was safe. I smiled at her and turned my head like I was going back to sleep.

He had me turn back over for “fire spanks.” (Is that not the happiest phrase ever?) I would gladly have submitted to that for seven or eight more hours, but there were other people waiting and he was also supposed to be taking pictures. I sat up all blissed out and glowy and he said, “Now normally, if there were more time, I would wrap you up in a blanket and do aftercare” and I just sort of leaned into him and he said “Aaaand I’m going to do it anyway. Wrapped up and in his arms, I felt special and famous and chosen. Being seen getting treated in this way filled something up in me, gave me a bright feeling of being recognized.

He asked for a few more kisses and I joked that now he would have to kiss all of the girls in line. He said that no, he wouldn’t.

I was planning to stay and do more things with him if he got time, but when I called home Sweetie was already on her way to pick me up. (I really have to stop being a baby about driving myself to things.) It was kind of a good thing I had to go, because I was starting to feel like I didn’t have enough energy left to navigate the place. After I said goodbye to Fireguy, the self-consciousness I’d bypassed earlier kicked in, I felt awkward and threatened, and I was ready to just be home. When I went to the dressing room to change into my comforting flannel PJs, one of the couples I’d watched earlier was in there on the couch snuggled up. They seemed so beautiful and sad and sweet, I was worried that I would disturb them.

Walking out of the place, you know what? Young fetishy people really look at you funny if you are in flannel pajamas with cupcakes on them. Who knew?

I was at a loss for words (Rare for me, obviously) in the car on the way home. I kept trying to explain how I felt but could only come up with phrases. When we got home, Sweetie and I curled up and watched sitcoms. After a good night’s sleep, the fears wore off and the sex-goddess feeling came back, turning Sunday into a blankety daydream.

Typing this story just makes me want more. More him, of course, I hope it turns out that that’s possible. But also just MORE. I’m not sure what my next adventure is, but I am SO ready for it.

Hafiz Is My Book Boyfriend

Sweetie won a gift certificate to our local independent bookstore the other day, and when I went over to order her some books about typography and some about food, I found this! I think it'll be the perfect companion for a year of body adventures. The March 21 poem ends with these two stanzas:

"There is nothing you have ever done that is
not innocent and will in any way be judged as 
wrong by anyone of true wisdom,

but such knowledge you will not be able to
accept until your and an angel's ways are
more similar. It just works like that."

But my favorite Hafiz poem is much hotter:

TIRED OF SPEAKING SWEETLY
Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.
If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.
Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth
That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.
God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.
The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:
Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.
But when we hear
He is in such a “playful drunken mood”
Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.
~ Hafiz ~

Negotiation Results: Yay!

The other day I realized I wanted us to be a more welcoming couple to my potential partners, and the resulting negotiation was hard. We got to a good result, it just took a lot.

The poly family we know best, the one that Adorkable and Heartstrings are part of, is wonderful and big. Their lives are very interwoven. It's beautiful and something to aspire to, but it can also be overwhelming. I almost dated two different members of that constellation, and sometimes texting one of them felt like texting ten people. Games of poly telephone (She said that he said that you said...) were sometimes hard to avoid.

Anyway, sometimes when I'm angling for more welcomingness, it turns out Sweetie pictures that, rather than a gradual progression of getting to know one person (or couple or whatever) at a time.

Once we figured that out, we agreed that I should make more of an effort to introduce her to potential whatevers, but that if I find a love match, it might take her a while to warm up to him.

The first step is my favorite part: she suggested that I invite The Mayor of Kittentown over and he said yes! He's coming over for Scrabble next week. I can't wait for him to see our apartment and meet the cats. It's adorable to wonder what two of the shyest people I know will find to say to each other.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Nearly-Naked and Fire-Kissed: Part Two


***Being in the middle of this story is making me antsy for my next adventure, and I’m not sure what to do next… suggestions?***

There was someone else ahead of me in line for fire, a meek and adorable African American gentleman wearing nothing but tightie whities. I arranged myself on the other side of the room and watched the couples I’d noticed before—they were deeply involved in some spankings and floggings. Each of the two pretty subs was bent over a kneeler like the priests have at the front of Catholic church. The one who was closest to me had on ripped stockings under her pulled-up skirt. My favorite part is when the doms would lean over and whisper something in their partner’s ear—what’s he saying? I really want to know and I really want for someone to whisper to me that way. Like really soon.

Fireguy came over to get me when he was done and I told him I need him to teach me how to hit on couples. He assured me that he’d be glad to, and I followed him over to the corner where his stuff was set up. He had us kind of stop for a minute, look at each other, hold hands, like, oh, yeah, we’re friends.

Fireguy is popular (I always seem to gravitate towards belle-of-the-ball types) so while I was doing my momentous-to-me undressing, people kept coming over and chatting to him. Getting naked in front of people was definitely one of my goals, and it was a lot easier than I thought. Being around Fireguy makes me feel safe and shameless, a good combination. This particular party has a leave-your-underwear-on rule, but I slipped out of my shoes, then skirt, then stockings, handed him my cardigan and paused for a moment before taking a deep breath and then taking off my bra. Everyone was still chatting, I don’t know if they even noticed. A radiant, loving warmth spread all throughout my body, like from my soul or something. I really can’t overstate the joy of that moment.

I lay on the table on my belly, handed him my glasses (I really like handing him my glasses, I don’t know why. I kind of know why.) and put my head down on my arms, relaxed and content. It was kind of like snoozing on the beach, but with ambient screams of pleasure instead of waves. As he rubbed his warm hands over my back, people kept on coming over to talk to him, talking over me like I wasn’t there. Philosophically I have a problem with this, but I really didn’t care at that moment—it was as close as I’m gonna get to feeling self-contained. I was warm and cheery and as smug as the most gorgeous thing in the world and I just ignored them back. The girl who was next checked a little too often if it was her turn yet, but other than that I didn’t care who was around. Fireguy told me that other parties have more protocol, so people wouldn’t interrupt like that.

Here’s what a fire massage is: He covers his palm with rubbing alcohol and then lights it. Then he passes his other hand over and puts the flame out before it burns him. This gives him the most amazingly warm hands. Sometimes he’d paint the alcohol onto me and light it, testing my pain tolerance by seeing how long he could leave it before I flinched. I learned that I’m a three. He wrote his initial on my back and lit it, and that made me laugh.

When it was time to turn over and have my boobs showing to the world, I joked that people couldn’t see me because I didn’t have my glasses on. He cheerily agreed. “Well, that’s just science!” I wish I could have noticed if anyone was noticing me. I guess they probably did—who wouldn’t watch fire and boobs?

The order of things just kind of drops away a little bit here, the rest is just kind of a blissful haze. He held my hand to his chest, painted my arm with alcohol, and let me watch the blue flame as it climbed up to my wrist. He put a little circle of cotton on each nipple- this made a bright flash as the flame climbed up. Most of this didn’t hurt at all. He looked very sweetly down at me, amused and quizzical and just sort of like I was being a good kid. I loved it. Standing over me behind my head, he asked if he could give me an upside-down kiss, and I said sure.

Next time! What a fire kiss is!




Monday, March 19, 2012

Nearly-Naked and Fire-Kissed, Part One

 
If this adventure feels much more vulnerable to write about, does that mean I’m making progress? I hope so.

Saturday before last, I went to a BDSM play party by myself for the first time. It didn’t happen the way I’d expected, but what did happen turned out to be one of my favorite things ever.

Before I start the story, it might help to describe myself. I’ve given myself the assignment of getting through this paragraph with out any judgments.  Nothing about me is little. Okay, except my cute little sneezes, but I am a big (not natural) redheaded Amazon. I have big boobs, big hips, and we’ve already talked about the spankability of my not-little ass. I do have a waist, but also a belly. (I’m holding myself back here from writing about a million paragraphs about fat and gender and love. Stay tuned, I guess.) Men tend to gravitate toward the bosoms, obviously, but I think I like my shoulders best. I have a tattoo of a phoenix at the small of my back. I designed it myself back in 1995 after I escaped a housefire. I also have a little Valentine heart at the back of my neck, a gift from a tattoo artist I wasn’t very nice to. As you saw the other day, I have a little bit of a bruise/scar on my left forearm. On this particular night, I was wearing the same outfit I’d worn to the Photoplay story, but Sweetie had talked me into not putting a shirt on under my cardigan, just a turquoise bra. Also there were fishnets and pretty shoes.

I’d been to this particular group’s party before, just after my breakup with Bill. My first impression upon walking in was “This is way too safe,” which is partly because I have issues, but partly because, even in my inexperienced state, there’s something about that place that feels like training wheels. Maybe it’s because the crowd skews a little young.

My hope was to meet some new people and see if I could be in anybody’s supporting cast. Everybody always talks about how an available bi woman is like the holy grail, but this particular unicorn was feeling like a wallflower at the school dance. I just didn’t know where to start. I saw a few couples I would have been more than happy to help, but from the outside there’s something monogamish about D/S couples, (Yeah, I’m not gonna lower-case submissives.) something that looks impenetrable.

So I chatted with a few people in a friendly way. I learned that when people ask you “What do you do?” at a play party they don’t necessarily mean your work and art projects and such. Also, I learned that the word “torture” might have a different meaning within this context. I learned this when I asked “But who would want to torture nipples? They’re so nice!”

Anyway so I was in the middle of conversations like that when who should I notice but my photopal Q. I’ve decided that he should have a cute Kitten Calendar nickname, so I hereby dub him “Fireguy.” Fireguy had his table set up in the dimly/warmly lit stage area and was working some fire-y magic on a beautiful Pre-Raphaelite woman. It was very soothing to watch. I felt self-conscious about running into him—I didn’t want to seem needy or like I was going to take him away from what he was there to do. He very quickly put my mind at ease when one of the first things out of his mouth was:

“So what can I do to you?”

I was like “Um…fire? Ropes? Snuggling? Got any friends here you’d like to tie me to?”

And he said “No. I want to tie you up. And do stuff to you.”

Yay!

Next time: First time naked in front of a room full of strangers. (And one friend.)

A Little Renegotiating With Sweetie

After my vexing date with Mr. 93% yesterday, I realize that though I am much more transparent and honest than he is, my household is not quite as welcoming as I wish it was. Sweetie is very glad to send me out on dates and other adventures, but she is usually very standoffish when it comes to spending time with the guys. For example, she is a pretty big fan of the Mayor of Kittentown's contribution to my life, but she has never actually met him. I want to be able to give potential partners some kind of eventual place in my family, so I think this needs to change.

We argued about it but eventually agreed that there's probably some middle ground to be had here. We're going to sit down over ice cream tomorrow night and see what we can come up with. I do worry a lot that the tension between her introversion/monogamy and my generally-wanting-to-snuggle-the-world is too much, but we've done a good job of making it work so far.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Oh no no no, Mr. 93%

What's the most dealbreakery word a date could use? Okay, there are a few, but the worst is...

DISCREET. Ugh.

He was so in. He looked like a pinup of a dom-tall, big, very warm energy. I already knew he was a big music nerd. Plus! He brought me the above cupcakes!

Unfortunately, when he started talking about his wife (WHOM! He hadn't mentioned at all in either of his profiles or in two weeks of conversation!) he said that he was very discreet with her about his other relationships. I didn't want to jump to conclusions so I asked him what that meant. He said she doesn't know anything about the girls he dates, not even their names. They basically have a "don't ask don't tell" policy.  So I would never get to meet her or anyone else in his family.

So I had to turn him down. It's not that I necessarily have to be besties with the partners of those I date, though that would be preferable. Having metamours is almost as big a part of the dream as having a boyfriend is. Without having at least some chance to be part of the family, I think the relationship would feel isolating to me.

Even though I'm feeling a little discouraged at the moment, I guess I just have to keep looking for my poly guy, and hope not to waste too many more Sunday afternoons on guys who should have put the dreaded word in their profiles.Grrr! Argh.

I Heart Etiquette: Great Answer From Bo Blaze

I love all kind of etiquette, so feel free to send it at any time. Got a great answer to one of my questions here.http://www.alternativelifecoach.com/how-close-is-too-close/

Friday, March 16, 2012

Might Be a Very Good Weekend!

Fetishes and experiments aside, sometimes all I want in this world is to watch a (Joel-hosted!) episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and then have a whole bunch of really emphatic snuggling with a friend who knows my body well and makes me feel safe and pretty.

So watch out, Mayor of Kittentown! I’m coming at you tonight like a herd of puppies!

Then tomorrow, a whole day in bed with Sweetie and and whole night of recreational writing.

How did my life get so awesome?

Wish me luck for my first date with Mr. 93% on Sunday. He was nice enough to schedule brunch after (Unitarian) church, so at least I’ll show up all transcendified. 

My Awesome Matchmaking Skills



You really should come pal around with me on Facebook and Twitter (can you believe @kittencalendar wasn’t taken?!) for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I might accidentally find you a sweetheart!

Back in January when I was still freshly bruisy about Bill, I made plans with, oh, let’s call him Heartstrings. He’d been in my maybe pile for a little while, and I just had the feeling that I should meet him—his name would just randomly pop into my head.

In situations where immediate mauling isn’t called for, my ideal first date is to sit in a diner and yammer for a long time, then go for a walk and yammer some more. That’s exactly what Heartstrings and I did, and it was great. It was wonderful to have somebody to talk to about my newly kinky side, and he’s just generally an adorable poly mensch.

After giving it some thought, I realized I wasn’t ready to be dating yet and we ‘d be better as friends, but that he might be perfect for an Adorkable friend of mine. She was always complaining that though she goes for skinny-jeans hipster-looking boys, she’s always getting hitting on by bears. (Or whatever the straight guy version of bears is.) I always suggested we should just trade off.

From his newsboy cap to his skinny jeans (He tells her he only has one pair—good thing he wore them on our date!) to his wise-cute-nerdy personality, he seemed perfect for Adorkable, so I introduced them over email. It took them a while to meet, but now that they have, they are twitterpated. Every new detail about their blossoming relationship just makes my heart melt with joy and pride.

So I promise to try to recycle good dates—just tell me what you like!

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Date Update and Reason a Million Why Sweetie is Awesome



So last night was may date with V. First of all, I think I need to change my favorite date spot—it’s where I met Bill and it’s not fair to keep comparing all the other first dates to that one. I am so vexed to find myself still having mentionitis about him-blurgh!

V’s not a romantic match, kind of seems a little young for me even though he’s older. He looks like who I thought my type was before I actually started dating guys, a cute bespectacled hipsterish guy in a striped hoodie-adorable. I’m considering him as an addition to the playpal roster because he’s an excellent brainstormer. When I told him that I’m shy about approaching people at parties he said “well, that wouldn’t matter if you have a partner who ISN’T shy.” He offered to go and get me some more people to play with—so helpful!


When I told Sweetie about this helpful offer, she surprised me by tearing up a little. She said she felt a little sad that she doesn’t have the urge to do that for me. She knew how happy it would make me and felt jealous that she wouldn’t be the one giving me that happiness. Things like this make me love her so much—that she wants to gave me every happiness even in ways she doesn’t want to. I don’t want her to want to do those things. I like her exactly the way she is and I feel like she’s pushed her boundaries enough. That’s what I told her and it did make her feel better. I love her so much. The gold star above is for her perfect telling-me-she-felt-bad and my good listening. Go us.

Back to V: I’m not sure how much time I want to devote to people who are fun but not romantic, but on the other hand, the only way I know to get to the missing Romantic Guy is to have more adventures. So I guess we’ll see what happens.

Song of the Week: Love of an Orchestra

Just a little extra luck for your dance cards, dears. XOXO!

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Gifts From the Ex-whatever



So that’s a tiny little bit of a leftover bruise from almost three months ago. It used to be a whole forearm full of (consensual) bitemarks. Bill’s not around, but he’s still in my heart, and I miss him. I know he’s been the villain of this story so far, but this story doesn’t really need a villain. I feel like if I’d met him a few months later, I’d’ve known what to do with him, but then, if I hadn’t met him, I would never have known what to learn. I can’t promise that I won’t use him for compare-and-contrast anymore, but I just wanted to acknowledge how much he contributed o the overall project that is me.

  1. He taught me to say out loud what I liked. There was something about him that brought filthier and filthier language out of my mouth, and I appreciate that so much. It comes in handy every day, in both writing and sex.


  1. As someone with trauma in my past, I’d always treated my body very delicately when it came to sex. He taught me that I’m strong and I don’t need to be quite so careful. With that came hair-pulling, spanking, name-calling, and even aftercare, though I didn’t know it was called that.


  1. He showed me that first dates can be romaaaaaantic, rather than (well, in addition to) awkward. Every time I’m downtown, I remember how he bit my hand (best first move ever) and then pulled me in for the most amazing hair-pull-y kiss on a busy Christmastime street. He had the strongest arms. He told me I had a kissable smile. We made out in the park and by the river and it was aggressive and hot and beautiful. It’s just nice to know that that can happen. (Just an aside: tonight’s my first first date in a few months. Wish me luck!)


  1. On our second date, he came over and watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s—“watched” being maybe too strong of a word. There’s this part where Paul Varjak is hollering at Holly Golightly that  "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness."  It was probably a coincidence that he was kissing me so wildly and breathlessly during that part of the movie, but it really made it sink in just how very much I want to belong to a man.


  1. This is hard to put into words. I’ve had this fantasy for a while of being overpowered, taken, ravished. I’d stop short of calling it a rape fantasy because I definitely want to be in on the plans, but what I want is something scarier than passion. Sweetie is very bothered by the fact that I want this, understandably so. She was a rape crisis counselor for years, and she can’t separate my fantasies from her need to protect me.

So it’s a part of myself that I’ve felt guilty about, like I’m not doing a good job of protecting myself or I’m being a bad feminist or even a bad humanist. When Bill dropped duct tape into the conversation on, like, the second email, I felt like he recognized part of me and even like he liked it. It was part of what was so addictive about him. All these years I’ve tried so hard to make myself into a nice girl, and here was somebody who liked that part of me I’d been fighting. The fact that he liked that part of me helped ME to like it, and it brought me a little closer to healing from my past. And Sweetie and I have made a bunch of progress about it, too.


So, I know you won’t read this, but thank you. I hope I can continue to do a good job of moving on. 

Monday, March 12, 2012

My Unusually Full Dance Card



This week I’m getting ready to push myself back into dating. This story could use some more characters. So here are the guys, in the order they’re in on the calendar.

  1. V: A few weeks ago, I put a personal ad up on FetLife looking for a dom. Most of the guys who wrote went out of their way to say they think submissives should be treated like human beings, but V seems especially humane somehow. He’s someone I feel like I can be vulnerable towards and he’s got a good imagination for scenes. I’m meeting him at my favorite first date spot this week. His face is one of the cutest ones in my inbox, not that it’s all faces, of course.

  1. The Mayor of Kittentown: (So called because he is really sweet and also because he rescued his two cats.)  MOKT is a friend with benefits; he can’t really ever really be mine because he’s looking for someone monogamous. But he’s so much fun. I wrote to him last week and said that I’d like nothing more than to watch Mystery Science Theater 3000 and climb all over him. So, hooray, that is the plan.

  1. Mr. 93%: Because our OKC profiles are ridiculously compatible, not just the questions, but the paragraphs, too. Our paragraphs may seem meant for each other, but I have some reservations about him. But he’s so manly and persistent and music-obsessed that I’m giving him a chance. Besides, he was at a flower show the other night and texted all kinds of pictures—that seems kind of romantic.

  1. R: I really don’t know too much about R, except that he is an absolute sweetheart, Also, because I met him at a clothing-optional body workshop, I know he looks good naked. Good qualities to have.