Thursday, September 27, 2012

Not Quite a Wesley and Cordelia Moment, But…




Do you think I should give it a third date?

My Man About Town is a catch in a million ways—he’s warm, sweet, excited to learn knots, excellent with logistics and making me feel cared for. I’ve been to his house and I like both his wife and his girlfriend.

After our hike last night, he sent me a Google Earth map of the route! Romantic, right?

But I just feel like the chemistry is off. I love talking to him but I just don’t feel quite right about kissing him.

If this were a romantic comedy, this would be a part where I realize that I’ve moved past the bad boys and I’m ready for some genuine affection, and choose the Nice Guy. And I really want to do that, but it just feels like we’re more a friend match than anything else. I DO want to be treated well, but a spark is important, too.

Please advise?

Friday, September 21, 2012

Song of the Week: Under My Thumb

Like I said last week, I'm on a busy schedule and sometimes I need songs to top me. Send more!




OkCupid Message of the Week

"So now that we're friends on Fetlife and I've masturbated to your photos, what are your thoughts on teaching me the 'ropes'? I'll supply the mix tapes."

I'm torn between:

1. My love of being masturbated to
2. My fondness for mixtapes
3. My desire to be treated with a modicum of respect

and

4. My complete aversion from trying to teach anybody to top me

Dangit, three and four win out! 

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

About the Man About Town




The week before my birthday, I kissed four people, which is maybe too many. The only one of those that you haven’t heard about yet is the Man About Town.

I’m calling him that because he’s got a lot of community stuff going on—his art is in local galleries, he’s in the pagan community, and he’s a leader of the local poly meetup, which is how I got to know him. I’d seen him around for about a year, but one night a few months ago during a poly book club meeting I noticed that he’s my type--big and bearish, warm, fond of easygoing public nudity. So I sent him a friend request on Fet Life and I guess my pictures did the trick. We exchanged emails all summer. He’s looking for a new play partner, so we made plans.

Our first date, during that week-of-kissing-four-people, was a hiking date on my favorite leisurely trail. We talked and talked and talked. Then sometimes we talked ABOUT the talking. I felt really comfortable with him and was as confessional as I would’ve been if I’d had two glasses of wine. I told him SO MUCH STUFF and he told me a lot too. It was like a miracle of yammering, I loved it.

I was trying to remember the name of a butterfly* that was helpfully splaying out its wings for us to study when I felt him move in for the kiss. He was gentle, a little tentative, technically proficient, but I’m not sure what I felt, emotionally. Still, I was impressed, and I couldn’t resist high-fiving him and saying “Good job!”

Then I was like “Wait, is that okay to say? good job?”

“Of course!” he said, “Feedback is always welcome.”

Man About Town is close with Fireguy’s crowd, so I talked to him a lot about that situation, which is good because it means that some disclosures are out of the way. It was a relief to talk about that stuff, I’d been afraid to for a while.

The Man About Town is just that, a man. So far, he makes me feel valued, understood, and oriented. My first date with him was a pretty island in the sea of insecurity that was the end of Mister Hazel Eyes. I got home that day feeling comfy in my own skin, pleased to have the rest of the day alone with a good book, not needy or clingy but self-contained.

He asked me out right away, but I was feeling really overwhelmed about everything else that was going on. I told him I needed a month or so to get back on my feet before any more non-Sweetie dates. Then, a few days later, I asked if I could put him on the calendar for the end of September so I’d have him to look forward to. He had absolutely no problem with planning things three weeks in advance, and that is so dreamy. I’m not sure how I feel about him, but I am so proud to have made plans with a grown ass man. Go me.

*the butterfly was a "red spotted purple"

Monday, September 17, 2012

Two Songs for a Good Beach Re-do




It might have just been the beach endorphins, but I was really glad to run into the Mayor of Kittentown and Monogamous Girl at the beach yesterday. You wouldn’t think so, after last time, but it was really illuminating.

They were coming down the path as I was leaving, which meant that we helpfully all had clothes on. He looked so handsome and she looked beautiful—they were glowing with health and happiness. In my version of reality, I would have happily pounced on both of them, but what really happened was, I felt a teensy little glimmer of compersion.

MG and I shook hands bravely. MKT told me about a baby horseshoe crab they’d seen. It reminded me of my nature-y endeavors with Sweetie, so how could I not be charmed? A few moments of chitchat and it was over, and I felt a great sense of accomplishment on getting past that initial awkward. (Though, knowing both of us, I’m sure there’s more awkward to come.) I texted him a *high five* when I got back to cell phone range.

I have to begrudgingly admit that my little jealous breakdown on the beach a few weeks ago is probably a good thing in the long run. It was another (like the millionth) reminder that he was a bigger deal to me than I thought, that I have to stop trying to be casual girl when what I really want is long term relationships. (Just like Rory Gilmore!) More importantly, it pushed me past Mister Hazel Eyes a little faster than I might have gone, and I’m starting to see that as a good thing.

Being ready for (or at least preferring) someone with the possibility for a long term relationship is a healthy and honest thing for me. I am grateful that MHE is behind me if it makes me more open to what comes next. It is time to start believing in love and doing what it takes to get there.

Here are some nicely bittersweet songs from the drive home:

Friday, September 14, 2012

My Crackpot Heart Wants Kryptonite and Other Dumb Mistakes




I keep trying to write around what’s bugging me this week, but it isn’t working. For the most part, it’s been a good couple of weeks. I had such a great birthday and my first few weeks of student teaching have been stressful and busy but very gratifying.

But when it comes to this project, I am lost. Mister Hazel Eyes's disappearance hit me harder than it should’ve, and I’m feeling kind of slutty/rejected because Mr. Popular hasn’t been in touch either. Neither should be such a big deal, but I just can’t get over the never-seeing-someone-again aspect of dating. Things just go by too fast. Since last year, six guys who really meant something to me have come (well, most of them came, anyway) and gone—I am grateful for the experiences and fun that they all brought me, but it all went by so fast that it’s hard not to feel like I’m extra-rejectable, like I’m a failure, like I’m in for a lot more loss.

It seems that whenever I am heartbroken over a toplike person, I get the insane urge to process it with Bill. I guess the heartbreak neural pathways just have his name on them. When I let myself think about it, I feel so unresolved about him, a deep dark, creepy, suitable-for-David-Lynch sadness that he persists in not being around. So I did something foolish that usually works: I wrote him a love letter. I find that sometimes if I write out all of my lovey dovey feelings, thank someone for his contribution, and apologize for my half of things, people can start to feel less haunty. In this case, more haunty. He said, thanks, he’s glad I’m not mad, but that I ruined a perfectly good exit.

I’ve always wanted to show this blog off to him (to show EVERYTHING off to him, really) so I friended him on the fb. It was fine at first, a little inspiring push—it made me feel brazen and hot just to think that he might see some of my smutty details. But after a few days, it felt just like it did last December, like I wanted so badly to be near him but didn’t know how, like I would do absolutely anything to get his attention. And that’s without much clicking—just the tiny bit of not-really-a-connection from facebook was enough for him to start sucking the life out of me, to open up that awful, starving well of want. I took him off, of course, I said goodbye again, exit-spoiler that I am.

Sometimes I really do worry that I’m broken, that the ten years that I spent trying not to be bi have left me too desperate and urgent to be able to make a real connection with a man. I am deeply ashamed of the attachment that I still feel to Bill after all this time—I feel like I’m breaking some rule of adultness that I just don’t let go of things in any kind of normal way. I should be bouncing back faster from Mister Hazel Eyes as well, but it’s hard to get past the hurt of someone not even wanting to say goodbye. I am a good student in everything but this, and I absolutely HATE to have a failing grade on the record, but I suppose there’s no magical sex-TARDIS that would allow me to go back and somehow make it work out—it just didn’t.

I really hope that I’m not broken. I hope that neither my half-closet years nor my mistakes this year have cause irreparable damage. I don’t know what the darkness is that I keep wanting to go back to, but I know that it’s closer to addiction than it is to love, and I know that it is the opposite of joy.

I’d rather follow joy. There’s a lot of good stuff on the horizon, and I thought it might be helpful to articulate this sticky tar pit stuff before it seeps back down into my subconscious. I need some courage, friends, I need to follow the part of myself that knows what it’s doing, my inner Bettie Page, not the glassy-eyed December-girl who’s still worrying how to please someone who has been gone for a very long time.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Song of the Week: Evil Boy

Can you think of any other songs with good takedowns in them? I don't have much time for play over the next few weeks, so music's the next best thing...

Also, sometimes I do listen to other bands...


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Yay, I Got to Top Sweetie!


I was really inspired by some of what I saw at the party Saturday night, and also by the fact that I accidentally learned how to do some handcuffs when I was at rope class with Mister Hazel Eyes. Sunday morning after breakfast, when we were lying around with coffee and library books, I got an image in my head and said:

“Take off your clothes and I’ll be back in a minute. I have to go make something.”

What I made was this:


I think I see an Etsy store in the making. Sweetie likes soft touch, so I made it more as a tickler, but it turns out it works very well as a flogger, too.

I left it in the other room while I was blindfolding her so she’d have to guess at what she was feeling. Once she was all nice and blindfolded, I told her to put her hands over her head and did this:


It’s not tied off quite right, but hey, I did handcuffs, go me! *proud*

She looked beautiful laying there in my pink blindfold, handcuffed wrists up to her chest, boobs flushed and excited. She still had her socks on—we often do.

I went and got my DIY ribbon flogger and started to drag it lightly over her. She didn’t like it on her feet, but everywhere else, she oohed and sighed. She said she couldn’t figure out what it was, even though, you know, ribbons seem kind of obvious.

She always likes a little sting to the nipples, at least in biting-sucking-pinching ways, so I gave her right nipple a little thwack. I liked it, and she groaned. A little growly aggression rose up in me and it felt good. I flogged her nipples gently and then harder, alternating with dragging the ribbons softly over her neck, arms, thighs. Standing over her all powerful like that, I started to smell like sex, and I lifted up her handcuffed hands and said

“Feel that.”

She scrabbled around desperately trying to get her fingers inside me, but I pushed her arms back down onto the pillow.

I told her to turn over and smacked her with the ribbons some more. It felt good to hit her like that. I found a good spot at the center of her freckled upper back and just struck there lovingly for a while, making sure she knew who was in charge. I reached down for her breasts and she grabbed over her shoulders for mine. My pussy was slippery and throbby against her back and I was moving against her. I would have come right then if I hadn’t pushed her hands away and made her turn back over.

I kissed her neck and bit hard on her nipples, over and over. I pulled the back of her hair gently but firmly so that she couldn’t move. She said “I want…” but got distracted and trailed off. A few minutes later I asked:

“What were you trying to say that you wanted?”

“I want you to..haha…”

“What.”

*giggle* “I want you to put your fingers in me really hard.”

“And what is that called?”

She hesitated.

“Say it. I’m not going to do it unless you say it.”

“I kind of want you to, well, fuck me.”

So I happily obliged. Later I got to bend over and find out what the ribbons felt like smacking my ass. The rest of the day was full of ropes, library books, snuggles, and triumph. I love bottoming and all, but I guess I can admit to being just a liiiiitle bit of a switch.


Monday, September 10, 2012

Die Antwoord Ex Machina and Other Spanky Queer Fun




I finally got in a whole bunch of quality time with Sweetie last weekend, yay! Saturday night was a complicated adventure I ended up being really proud of. It started with an awesome gig—I was reading poems and smut at a benefit for my friend’s top surgery. In the dressing room, a six-and-a-half foot radical faerie let me borrow from her amazing glitter palette to outline my eyes and draw a cute pink heart on my check. The host surprised me with birthday cake and everybody sang—I really think it’s been one of the best birthdays ever.

Sweetie and I had a play party date afterwards. I was apologetic about having to leave early to go get my ass beat, but they were very understanding. I told my radical faerie friend I’d like to just follow her around, and she thought that was just fine.

Sweetie and I ran into some trickiness on the way to the party, though—she’d stayed in the room while I read about my scene with MisterHazel Eyes, and she was a little shell shocked. She’s not a voyeur, and hearing it just made her feel competitive and grumpy. I was frustrated that I had to stop and feel guilty after I’d just had such a good experience. Plus, we were going to the venue where I first played publicly with Fireguy, so there was a worry that I might run into him. And I was still missing MHE a whole bunch—it’s only been a few weeks.

In the end, though, we were able to comfort each other and our need to play together trumped our respective worries. I think there’s no reason she should have to read the posts that aren’t about her, especially since I’ve got so many nice voyeurs like yourselves to help fill my showoffy needs. Thanks thanks thanks! XOXOXOXO.

This party was crowded—there wasn’t a lot of furniture to go around, which means we got to see some amazing floor play. The scene next to us, wherein the guy was holding his girl down and showing her crotch to the room, alternately slapping her face and furiously rubbing her clit over her hot pink underwear--I found them very inspiring. Same goes for the woman with the amazing ponytail who was wrapped in a glittery pink blanket and getting flogged with silver tinsel strands for a nice take on aftercare. You could see why I’d need a blindfold to concentrate on what was happening to me…

Sweetie found a nice well-lit spot along the wall and spread out a shiny scarf for me to stand on. I took off my heels and Sweetie pulled of my low-cut pink nightie. I’d asked at the door “Could you elucidate the nipple policy?” and they said they have to be covered so I had on my Hello Kitty tape. (Most of the other girls were not following the nipple policy, by the way. So much to see!) I was wearing my lacy pink lucky underwear and I worried for a second about being too fat, but then ropes started happening and I felt better.

She started with these pretty pink handcuffs:


She tried to pull my arms behind my head and secure them there with a rope around my waist, but that only lasted for a second—I couldn’t figure out where to put my head. I was getting distracted so she put on my nice soft blindfold. I am really starting to fall in love with being blindfolded, even though it was a limit just a few months ago.


By the time she got me into a good harness, a St. Andrew’s cross had opened up. She tied the handcuffs to the top and tied my ankles to the bottom of the cross so that I had to stand with my legs apart—she was excited that she’s finally mastered the Somerville bowline, but I couldn’t quite high-five her. The green ropes she used on my ankles glowed in the blacklight. Once I was settled in, she started on the spanks. I was kind of exhausted already, so I didn’t think it would take long. She used her hands and our little pink kooshlike flogger. When she pulled my hair, I realized why I’m not loud with her during scenes the way I am in the bedroom: she makes my insides go silent. As she pulled at the back of my hair, just a little more painfully than I expected, there was no noise or words that could’ve expressed the relief that I felt.

The best part of the play party came when this song came on:


 I was standing around in my harness, winding up the restraint ropes to put them away. I Fink U Freeky came on and I danced around a little—I lost self-consciousness in a new way and just danced there in my undies and ropes, filling up with giggly well-being.

I stuck my ass out and she thwacked it in time to the music. She was sitting in a tall chair and I bent all the way into downward dog with my (wet, obviously) crotch on her knee and she played my ass like a drum. I laughed and laughed—I don’t think I’ve ever felt more myself.

I wore my ropes all through aftercare, and I didn’t want to take them off after that either, so I wore them home under my dress.


Friday, September 7, 2012

Your Friday Happy: More Buffy Shackles Plus Hot Tara

So I've decided to make collecting BDSM imagery from Buffy my new hobby. If you'd like to add to my collection, please feel free to send links or screen shots: thekittencalendar@gmail.com

Today, mostly on the theme of shackles:



Plus, Sweetie says she'd like me to do this to her sometimes:

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Naughty Birthday Wishlist for the Coming Year





  1. I wish for a lot more time with Sweetie, both vanilla and otherwise. We haven’t been connecting as much as we’d like lately, and I’d like to have my pretty pink ropes rubbing up against my stuff very soon. Holding her, petting her, and reading library books with her would be good too.
  2. I wish (for like the millionth time) for my gentleman rope top. I want to spend a lot of time in a collar, being his. I want to be over his knee, in ropes, struggling or forgetting to struggle, feeling loved and breathless and anchored and warm, and then later, pretty sore. And then I want him to make me mixtapes and tell me I’m adorable and come hang out with Sweetie. Of course, this might be a job for more than one guy, oh darn.
  3. I wish to continue the love affair I have been having with my ass. Earlier this year I discovered just how much I like to put things in there when I’m alone, and now I would like others to please put stuff in there as well. “Start with a finger and work your way up, Sir” would be a wonderful thing to say to somebody someday.
  4. I wish for no more tanlines next summer, and I nice naked man to go to the beach with, who can throw me around and kiss me in the waves.
  5. I wish to go to Floating World with my friend Angelface and see what kinds of hijinx we can get into.
  6. I wish for lots and lots and lots of PIV sex. Somehow it tends to get neglected. I need to be held down and fucked silly, I need my head banged up against the headboard, car window, whatever. I want to be so loud that I wake up all of the neighbors and metamours. Also I would like to have a dick in my mouth a lot more often.
  7. I wish for more teenage-style making out at concerts and more spankings in parking garages.
  8. I wish for many different scenes with many different combinations of people. I’ve been remiss in my unicorn practice, but I’m sure there are a lot of lovely wives who could hold me down while their husbands do god-knows-what to me.
  9. I wish to continue falling in love with my body, discovering all the miracles it has to surprise me with.
  10. I wish to be set on fire some more, literally and figuratively.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

The Lessons of Mister Hazel Eyes




I’m still really sad that Mister Hazel Eyes disappeared, but I guess I know that in some ways, it’s probably for the best. I’m taking a month away from (non-Sweetie) body adventures partly because I need to make space for heartbreak, and partly because my student teaching semester begins next week. I feel like I’ve listed some of these things before, but here’s what I learned from him:

  1. I have abandonment issues. I hope to outgrow them someday, mostly by noticing that people often do stick around, but in the meantime, I think the best I can do is avoid men who trigger said issues as much as I can, and talk it over when the feelings come up. I can’t trace the abandonment fear to anything besides the fact that I took men away from myself for so long. My body’s sometimes like “Is it gonna be ten days or ten years?” I’ll do my best to comfort it.
  2. I need to slow down and allow for the other partner’s pace. I’m not sure if I sabotaged us or if we were simply a bad match, but I wish I would’ve given him a little more time to catch up to me, emotionally. I get attached fast and I need to be okay with that, but I also need to give people more time and space to feel what they end up feeling.
  3. Poly guys only. I think that this is an okay preference to have. I want metamours, not rivals, and it’s hard not to feel competitive with someone who will likely be my replacement. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being a stopgap, but I don’t want to do it again.
  4. If facebook is telling me things before he is, it won’t work. It will, in fact, make me feel like a crazy person and also like I am twelve.
  5. Asking for what I need is wonderful and good, but basic respect needs to go without saying. If someone is too careless or incompatible, asking for what I need can feel like harpytown, population me. It feels awful, and it’s cruel to the person who’s getting harped on, too. On a related note: no more guys with too South Parky of a sense of humor.
  6. It’s okay to prefer good communication. I felt superneedy for wanting him to make plans proactively, to respond to texts within a day or so, but really, that’s just the bare minimum.
  7. Snuggle me, snuggle my complications. He made me feel bad for who I am, for coming with a full calendar, with other partners, with a list of knots and a suitcase of rope. I felt like a burden because of all my facets, even though I love those things about myself.
  8. Jealousy is not going to kill me. It just sometimes’ll feel like it might. It’s another thing I have to practice. At least I didn’t run away this time.
  9. I want something long term, so I will do my best to choose guys who are more likely to be long term, who feel secure, adult, and good at planning.
  10. That being said, as you might have noticed from the recurring theme of nineties music, there’s a teenage aspect of me who is turned on by a certain kind of guy: filthy/affectionate, boyish, detached. I would like to find a way to entertain that aspect of myself in a more sustainable way. I never thought of myself as an ageplay girl, but I think I might like to play 17 sometimes. I’ll put that on the list of things to try after my kitten break.