Things Go Haywire But Still a Good Scene, Part Five

Finishing up this story, I think I understand what it’s about. This was the first time I really had to confront my own jealousy in any way other than running away. It scared me to death and I acted in so many ways that I’d go back and change if I could. I felt an emptiness, a desperation for him that I am so ashamed of.

I don’t know how to manage jealousy and my fear of abandonment, but I know that I will have to learn. I know that I feel those things a lot less with some partners than with others, but sticking to mensch-y poly guys is not going to protect me from my insecurities forever. I feel like I need to be so much stronger and I am just not growing fast enough.

Right now I’m kind of overwhelmed with grief at messing it up with MHE. I don’t feel very hopeful that I’ll be able to find a guy who strikes the right notes the way he sometimes did. And this hurts so badly that I’m not sure if I should look.

What happened after the gorgeous scene was, he fell asleep. I know that seems sweet, it IS sweet, but I felt like he didn’t want to be with me. I sat down on the floor with my head in his lap, hoping to feel some kind of closeness, but the music was getting worse and worse and I really wanted to be someplace private.

We packed up our stuff and went out to the car. The rain was drizzling down as we sat there and cuddled a bit, him whispering to me that I was beautiful, it should have felt romantic, but I just wanted him to take me home and put me in bed, to fall asleep in his arms and know that he cared for me. I just couldn’t feel it. We felt so exposed, so placeless. I hoped that if I turned him on a little more, he’d change his mind about not taking me home, but groping in the parking lot outside the play party seemed unethical so I made us stop. He stared driving me home.

I did. Not. Want. To. Go. Home. I wanted to him to want to be close to me, I felt like he was just trying to get rid of me. Granted, I wasn’t really in a position to take him home either.

I was bitchy in the car on the way home. I tried to explain about what aftercare meant to me, but it sounded stupid and hollow. I knew it wasn’t about BDSM. It was a simple craving to be close to someone I’d gotten attached to, to prove to myself that he wasn’t lying about who was at home, to prove to myself that I could be anything to a man besides a toy. I honestly don’t know if I can. Maybe it’s just not me. Maybe I am, as I feared at the beginning of this project, simply not lovable to men.

Of course I didn’t say all that in the car. Despite this storyline, I am actually not crazy. I said just enough to feel like I’d totally fucked up, like I’d been a horrible bitch. When he pulled up outside my house I said, “Really? This is the choice that you’re making?”

And he just looked so tired, so defeated, it just broke my heart. Why am I always so hard on people? Why did I have to keep harping on him? I started out trying to just ask for what I need, but I sniped myself out of the chance of ever getting what I need, even SOME of what I need. No, he’s not perfect, but neither am I. Why couldn’t I just have given us space to get used to each other?  I apologized for fucking things up. We held each other in the car and kissed, took a little nap right there. My heart just ached for him, he was so tired.

Next time, he promised, he’d be ready for me. He’d do a better job of taking care of me. (Though clearly I’m the one who needs to do a better job at that.)

“I always do this.” He said, “I always hurt the ones I love.” As usual, I got the sense that that “love” was not about me.

The next day, we exchanged kind texts with a whiff of the breaking-it-off-note about them. I’ve been hoping all week that they weren’t breakup texts, but I offered him a lunch visit and he hasn’t responded. It’s settling in that he probably really is gone. In a few days, I’ll say goodbye, block his facebook page, and cry my heart out.

Maybe it WAS a bad match. I really don’t act that way with everyone. Maybe he really was being dishonest and I just picked up on something with my actual intuition. But I just can’t shake the anger at myself, the sense that I should have given him more leeway, should have just let him like me the way he did, not the way that I thought he should. What could we have been if I’d just given us more space, could’ve shaken my distrust, if I could have just grown the fuck up and been able to handle things better?

Most of the things I regret with past partners involves being too hard on them, not giving them the space to be imperfect. Sweetie says it’s okay sometimes if someone just isn’t enough, that I deserved for him to meet me halfway, and I know she’s right. But right now I just feel like a failure. I wish I could have a chance to start over and give things time to work out, to not feel so scared and urgent and graspy. I’ve really lost faith in myself for now, and it’s going to take me some time to recover. See you in a few weeks, Kitten Calendar. Wish me healing and strength and luck.

Things Go Haywire But Still a Good Scene, Part Four

There was a kneeling bench free and I wanted to be tied down to it. We stood around trying to figure out how to tie a rope so that it would go through my ass crack and also tie me to the loops at the bottom of the bench. Mister Hazel Eyes flagged down the DM/rope teacher, who, with a few deft loops and ties, ran the rope around my waist and through my crotch, leaving tails to tie me to the bench with. Fantastic. Except I should’ve taken my shorts off first—of course I was wearing adorable purple undies.

I knelt down and Mister Hazel Eyes tied me to the bench. The ropes made a handle so that he could pull the crotch rope back and forth, rubbing up against my clit and ass. I’ve never been vocal in a public scene before, but MHE knows how to get gorgeous moans out of me as he’d tug, spank, tug, spank. I buried my face in my blanket, on top of the  bench cushion, which smelled unpleasantly of cigarettes. He pulled and pushed and whacked all kinds of lovely oohs and aaaaahs and oofs and sighs.

A crowd gathered nearby, whether by choice or by coincidence, so I leaned up as much as I could and asked him to get my blindfold. It’s a soft, cottony light pink scarf, and before he tied it on, he ran it up and down my back, sweet and gentle. He bent his head down to kiss me and then knotted the scarf through my hair, an interesting touch.

Now, between good, hard spanks, (This was the most pain I’ve taken since Bill, although I’m sure it seems very mild to most of my fellow bottoms.) his fingers worked between my legs, over the underwear so that it was (I think) still within the party’s rules, but it was the dirtiest I’ve ever (recreationally) felt. It was AWESOME. It was PERFECT. I was being such a very, very bad girl. A hard thwack and then his fingers insistent on my clit, a stab of shame, of getting away with something terrible, the exhilarating humiliation I’d been dying for. They could all see his hands between my legs. I wasn’t sure if we’d get in trouble, but I sure wasn’t going to stop him.

“You know how much I want to fuck you, make love to you? How much I adore you?”

Make love to me? I don’t think I’ve ever had that said to me as an adult. I have a knee-jerk ironic reaction to it, but it’s really so naïve and sweet. Jeez I’m gonna miss him if he’s gone.

“You’re so beautiful; I don’t think you know how much you turn me on, how much I want you. You are so fucking hot and everybody’s looking at you. You put on a good show.”

He stood in front of the bench and pulled me up into his arms to kiss me. I was still topless so his body felt protective. We were perfectly in sync and I felt happily famous with everybody watching, a moment of true connection. I was filled up with him, humming and jittering with desire and affection. I loved feeling so attended to and cared for.

I made a little hint of a struggle, a false play at getting away. He pushed my head down onto the kneeler, grabbed my hair and held my head still. I let out a long, low groan; this was exactly what I wanted. He held my arm behind my back, pulled my hair, kissed my cheek.

“Yeah, you like that? Are you gonna be good?”

“Mmmmm hmmmmm…”

He unraveled my blindfold from my hair and used it to tie my wrists back. I checked my thumbs to make sure that my nerves were okay. He spanked some more, harder and harder, with more and more insistent fingers between my legs, the fabric making me hurt and raw. He stood against me so that I could feel how hard his cock was. He held out my wine so that I could drink it without my hands. I did feel adored. I felt his undivided attention without trouble or worry. I felt like he was mine and mine forever in that moment. Nothing can ever change what was happening, even if we never see each other again, I belonged to him and we were a perfect work of art, no matter what happens next.

Next: I think I figured out what this story is about.

Mr. Popular Gets Lucky, Part Two

There’s a lot to celebrate about my visit to Mr. Popular’s house on Monday. 

His home is beautiful. I guess four incomes (his, his wife’s, his ex-wife’s and his ex-wife’s husband’s) can buy a lot of house. It’s perfectly decorated and meticulously cared for, to the last detail. They are surrounded by a lush, beautiful garden. You’ve got to be impressed by a man who grows his own pears. He picked one for me and it was very juicy. The juice ran all down my arm.

When we walked into the house, his pregnant ex-wife was chopping up eggplant for dinner with her husband and us. Un-oh, eggplants, this caused me some anxiety—I’m a picky eater and dinners in people’s homes can be a little fraught. I vowed to myself that I would be a big girl and eat whatever was put in front of me.

Mr. Popular and I sat on his bed singing approximately one million Beatles songs—it was ridiculously fun. I was a little self-conscious that the rest of the family could hear my caterwauling, but mostly I just sang with my whole body and heart. We hadn’t even kissed yet so it was exciting and adorable when he’s put his hand on my knee or his head on my shoulder. Like any good date, there was a fair amount of high-fiving. He was singing the harmony, but when the melody was too low for me, we’d switch and he’d sing my part. We made a good team. He put waaaaaay too much feeling into “Fixing a Hole” and I laughed until tears came down my face. We both got a possessive, cathartic thrill out of belting out “Run For Your Life,” probably the least poly song ever:

We got called down to dinner and there was plenty for my picky self to eat. I felt shy around the rest of the family, but he says I did okay. They went on a Whole Foods run after dinner and left us to do the dishes. I’d rather wash than dry, so this marks the first time I’ve washed a guys dishes before I’d even kissed him. We had a nice time bickering about his terrible taste in music (He only learned about the Beatles from Rock Band, can you imagine?!) and gently brushing up against each other.

After dishes and quite the grueling Abbey Road medley, it was time to snuggle. I got under the covers and right into his arms. He kissed me and made little yummy noises that took some getting used to. He is skinnier than my usual type and definitely bottomy, so he felt a little fragile, but warm, safe, deft. He ran his hands over my breasts and I sighed and cooed. Things were going fast so I said “Okay, just so you know, we’re not going past third base.”

This lead to a lengthy, silly discussion of what the bases are. I think I’m the only adult who still refers to the base system. It’s not like I think there’s only four things to do, I just keep adding more bases. Knowing where this blog is, for example, is 29^th base.

Anyway, he felt so sweet and comforting, and was kind and matter-of-fact about my “I had HPV six months ago” revelation, that I quickly revised my third-base-only assertion.

He felt sooooo good inside me. I may or may not have alienated the rest of the household with my vociferousness. I had to hold back my yelps because the ex-wife is not a fan of overhearing—it was really hard to hold back, I reeeeeaaaaaly missed this kind of sex; I really wanted to loudly celebrate. (A little nostalgia here for the Mayor of Kittentown, who lives in a rowhouse but never minded how much carrying on the neighbors might overhear--thanks for that, pal.) It may be a little fast for me to be all the way underneath someone on the second date, but the connection between us felt real. I’m not sure how deep it was, but it was genuine. I felt him gasp and surrender and come inside me (in the condom, of course). I told him that was the first time that’s happened since the Nineties, so thanks.

We chatted for a good long while after that—Mr. Popular is very easy to talk to. His soft orange kitty joined us on the bed, oh, the joy of getting to know new cats. I may have gone on a little too much about Mister Hazel Eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind—he’s in favor of me cutting MHE some slack and letting more things happen. Who knows.

We fell asleep in cozy friendship, my arm around him and petting the cat.

There’s a lot to be said for being let into someone’s life, even if it’s just for an evening. I appreciate his sweetness and generosity and warmth so much. His calendar is very full but I hope he fits me in, even if it’s just as a sometimes treat.

A Happy Time at the STI Screening, Who’d’ve Thought?

It occurs to me that because of Planned Parenthood’s low income plan thingie, my hoo-ha’s health is much more up-to-date than the other parts of me. Back in February, I had an incidence of HPV and today I went back for a routine screening and to make sure the HPV symptoms are still gone—hooray, they are! The doctor said that a healthy immune system could get rid of the virus, so I can go ahead and worry about it a little less.

I have a deep fear about being diseased because I went through a lot in that department when I was in high school. Everything was cured, but the experience was tied to a sexual assault and so there was a deep shame about being infected and treated.

Today my doctor, God bless her, said something that seems like it should be obvious but hit me right in the soul:

“It seems like your life is really different now than it was in 1992.”

Yes, and thank you, thank you, thank you. Even if my sex-positive life sometimes feels unmanageable, I am very, very happy and grateful for the way things are turning out to be in 2012.

Things Go Haywire But Still a Good Scene, Part Three

As I sit down to write this, I’m in a state of worry—will I ever know how to see a relationship with a man through any lens other than abandonment? Why does my brain equate “I like him.” with “He is going to go away and never come back.” and also “I am not good enough.” Mister Hazel Eyes might have been a doofus on our date, but that doesn’t change the fears that I have to learn my way out of. Are my abandonment issues and distrust things I can overcome, or will they keep me from ever realizing a true and lasting connection with a man? I guess all I can do to find out is go forward.

After rope class, we sat off to the side on the padded benches where people usually congregate and talk. Sweetie spanked me in the same place just a few months ago, in our first public scene. There were a few couples over there, but MHE and I were in our own little bubble of conversation. He felt so good there next to me but I still felt uneasy. I told him I was having trouble believing that he didn’t actually belong to someone else. I know that sounds weird coming from someone who is married and dating, but I just kept suspecting that he was being unscrupulous, especially after he said not to leave bite marks—he said he was worried his mom might see them, he said. I said that sounded like bullshit, and he pointed to Nice Girl as well—“Well she should know about me because I AM A PERSON.” I said and he said he’d told her about me. I didn’t believe that either. “You seem really…married. Are you worried that Betty Draper will see?”

We wrestled away the tension of it—I pushed and pulled against his arms, and he said “You can start trying any time.” He was delightfully strong. I shoved him against the wall and kissed him and he held me and I struggled—perfect. We got up to look at some of the other scenes going on—some neat suspension work—and he took that opportunity to wrestle me up against the bar and bite my ass. There’s a glee that comes up in me when a guy’s trying to hold me down, a thrill of recognition, a fruition. In those moments, I am so excited and grateful to be alive.

Then it was—hooray!—time to go over his knee. This was what I’d been waiting for, there’s nothing so comforting as being sprawled across his lap, elbows on the bench, cute shoes in the air like a pinup. His hands wove into my hair and pulled—that’s where the real magic started. He pulled up my pajama bottoms so that my butt cheeks were exposed. I was conscious of the couples nearby, and I liked knowing they could see my ass, see me being so vulnerable to him.

“You’re such a fucking good girl, do you know that? I fucking adore you.”

After a few more spankings and affirmations of my adorableness, he pulled me up to his face and kissed me. I asked if he wanted to take my top off and held up my arms. After he pulled my shirt off sweetly, I leaned back so that he could take a look at me, Hello Kitty nipple tape and all. He looked happy. He buried his head in my chest and I held him there, right where I’d been wanting him.

We took a break to go get drinks, and he went a little bit back to douchetown—he told me red wine’s for pussies, even said it in a lispy voice, which I promptly called out as homophobic, with a “HMPH! Straight guys, I swear.”

“Okay,” he said, “Okay.” Kinda like he was choking back an argument.

I liked the feeling of walking to the bar near-naked with him—I felt like a whore to him, like something he’d just purchased. It was a dark, sad feeling, connecting me to all of the ways that women have been owned in both good and terrible ways. I felt empowered, anonymous, and chosen. It was a strange kinship with the ladies of the world, a darkly feminine moment, and I feel a little ashamed of it.

Next: Tied to a kneeler with very helpful ropes.

Mr. Popular Gets Lucky, Part One

 As promised, I went over to play Rock Band at Mr. Popular’s house, and the game is right by the bed. It felt really good to be there, and after we sang a looooooot of Beatles songs, I just sort of relaxed into him. It was a relief and a release, and I’m sure I’ll have a little more to say about it tomorrow when I’ve let it sink in.

For now, another song:

Things Go Haywire But Still a Good Scene, Part Two

I really want to skip this section and get right to the hotness, but it refuses not to be written. Sigh.

So I really didn’t know where this date was going, but just in case, I’d told Sweetie I didn’t want to be home until morning, and she was all settled in about it. I wasn’t having a good feeling about my chances, though. Whether that was a self-fulfilling prophecy or not, on the way to get dinner he told me it couldn’t be a late night because he had to help his mom with some stuff at 11 am the next day. When I type that sentence, it really doesn’t make sense at all.

I was not-getting-the-hint girl, and I said, “That’s still plenty of time to take me home in the morning.”

He got quiet for a few blocks and then he started to talk about how embarrassed he was about his apartment being a mess.

Okay, tell me if I was being paranoid. Have I just watched too many episodes of Mad Men or what? I just got a really bad feeling there was a lady at home who didn’t know about me, and I couldn’t stop myself from asking. He insisted that his apartment was really a mess, but it just didn’t ring true. Granted, he could be just going at a different pace than I was and didn’t expect to bring me home yet, but I really don’t buy it.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t want to be there with me, and I couldn’t stop myself from probably ensuring he’d want to be with me even less. I felt like a mean teacher trying to show someone how to be on a date. When he texted and checked his phone all through dinner, I actually told him to put it away, and the emotion I felt was exactly like a bad day in the classroom, but without the reassuring knowledge that I could re-assess and try again tomorrow.

We did get our scene negotiating done though. I really like (and will probably miss) our safeword: albatross. I love it for the Monty Python of it all, and for the fact that it’s the thing that keeps the boat afloat, isn’t it? But also a haunting burden. (I just spent a few minutes studying the “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” but it was inconclusive.)

When we got to the party though, more texting. Even after I’d lent him a collar to put on me and we had a nice moment about that. He explained “I’m texting (Nice Girl) to tell her I’ll be unavailable for a while.”

This was exactly what I had been missing from him—those little transitional texts that only take a second or two but make me feel oriented and cared for. I would very much like to say that I took a deep sensible breath and calmly talked about how that is something that would be helpful for me as well.

Instead: “You never do that for me. You just disappear in the middle of the conversation, forget to answer questions, I have to ask you two or three times where and when to meet you. What is it about her that gets her treated like a girlfriend? Maybe I should ask her. Maybe she should teach me.”

I had my own conclusions as to what the difference was—the fact that I’m not single. I was not being treated with as much respect as she was because it’s hard for single guys to see poly women as girlfriendy characters.

I explained a bit more about poly, about how I was looking for a real relationship and could belong to more than one person at once. He said that he hadn’t really understood that, and agreed that I didn’t deserve to be discounted that way. He said he was really going to try to be a better communicator, and we headed upstairs to rope class.

Even after all of the trouble and fuss, I was still really excited to be there with him. I changed into my outfit for the evening: short, soft, adorable light green pajamas with little flowers all over them, Hello Kitty nipple tape, lucky underwear and purple wedge heels. I had some hope in presenting myself to him that way, but I think he was distracted by the self-consciousness of rope class.

Sweetie says she really feels for him during this part—she says rope class can be a lot of pressure, getting the knots right and keeping your date happy is a lot to think about at once. It really makes me think about how much work I am to be with. I have a lot to offer, but still.

Unlike Sweetie, who is comfortable with the fumbling aspect of learning new rope stuff (“Practice makes pervert,” the class leader is fond of saying.) Mister Hazel Eyes clearly felt frustrated and embarrassed when it took him a few times to get a knot or when the ropes clung to a bit of velcro on his shorts. The lady who was acting as demo bunny came over to help, and I liked the times when they were both working on me.

He had to do some of the knots so many times that some of them started to become clear in my head and I started to learn them. Look! I made my own cat’s paw! I get a badge or something. He was having a really hard time and unfortunately this meant he kept apologizing for being “retarded.” I know! Am I a bad person for messing around with somebody who uses that word that way? A bad teacher? I sure didn’t have any desire to correct another thing, so I ignored it. But he said it a LOT. Ugh. As I write this, I’m feeling a little less like a harpy and a little more like it’s just a bad match.

Next: Somehow a bad match becomes a beautiful scene.

YAY Mr. Popular Tonight!

I may be confused and fussing about Mister Hazel Eyes, but I’m happy to look forward to my playing-Beatles-Rock-Band date with Mr. Popular tonight.

Last week, Mr. Popular’s wife sought me out on Ok Cupid to touch base and let me know that she and the kids would be staying at the grandparents’ tonight so there’s be no bedtime concerns and I can stay over if I want to.

For a second date. I felt so special! Like I was an event the whole family’d gotten ready for.

So, putting shakiness aside and ready to get pretty and sing my heart out. Go me. 

Things Go Haywire But a Good Scene Anyway, Part One

After I ran into the Mayor of Kittentown on the beach the weekend before last, I got seriously concerned about dating someone who is not poly. I’m not usually a jealous person, but when monogamous ladies become involved, an icky side of me comes out and I don’t know how to stop it. I haven’t quite regained confidence since that day at the beach, and I’m kind of turning things into a train wreck.

As soon as I realized I had these concerns, I was sure to schedule some extra talking time with Mister Hazel Eyes before our play party date last Saturday. Before that happened, though, facebook happened. I wasn’t even clicking on him, I swear! Just, a picture of him popped up in my newsfeed, looking all cozy with a pretty, earthy girl at some kind of formal event, maybe a wedding. I clicked on his page to check for a status change, and there was another pretty girl all over his wall. We hadn’t gotten to the point of exchanging dance card info yet, so I texted him to ask.  It turns out he is seeing a Nice Girl, and she was neither of the ladies pictured.

I told him that I was scared and that we’d talk, but I spent the rest of Friday intermittently crying. I know it isn’t a competition, but I just couldn’t figure out how to compete with this woman. I feel like because I’m not available all the time, I’ll just never be good enough. I feel so guilty sometimes because I don’t have my whole self to offer, even though (other than timewise) I do have my whole self to offer. I can love lots of people 100% but sometimes guys just don’t understand that.

By Saturday, I felt a little better. I just wanted to make sure that we got some stuff ironed out. I needed to tell him that I had some feelings for him, we needed to go over our dance cards together, and we had to somehow meet in the middle about communication—he is not a good texter/planner, and that’s actually the thing that seems insurmountable. I don’t need someone to be in touch ever minute, I just like little conversational touches that let me know what the plans are and when I might hear back. It’s hard to explain without feeling superneedy, but most people just text in my preferred way naturally.

All that, plus negotiating a scene—maybe a lot of pressure for two folks who are brand-new together.

Mister Hazel Eyes had a flat tire on the way over to get me and complained that it had been “More than he wanted to spend to go out tonight” so he seemed a little begrudging about dinner. I had sympathy about car trouble, but I felt a little hurt and not-date-like at the mention of money—it made me feel a little like a burden, which was a hard feeling to shake.

Anyway, I told him about my facebook fuss and how I’d unsubscribed—it’s a lot easier to ask someone what’s going on than to extrapolate from incomplete online info. He went over who the various girls are, and I hated feeling like he had to explain himself to me. Does he? I don’t know.

I told him about Mr. Popular and the other guy in my maybe pile, and he said he’d try not to be jealous—I said I feel fine about jealousy, except when it makes people go away. He told me about Nice Girl, who is brand new. I couldn’t stop myself from asking:

“So when (Nice Girl) wants to go steady, what happens to me?”

“I don’t know, how do these things usually work?”

“Well, in my happy magical dreamland, she knows about me, and we share, and everything works out great. What usually happens is that the monogamous girl wins and I go away.”

I told him how much our concert date meant, and that I was having real feelings for him. He said it meant a lot to him too, just being there with me. I said I was scared and then said one of the worst poly no-no things I’ve ever said:

“(Nice Girl) is probably easygoing, I’m sure she doesn’t need this much care.”

I am really not a fan of myself in a lot of this story. Please know that I know what I was doing wrong.

We lapsed into a worried silence and Badfinger’s “No Matter What” came on, which made me laugh because it was so ironic and sad. I turned it up anyway and made him pull over in a parking lot overlooking the river and kiss me until the song was over. It sure didn’t feel like a no matter what. It felt like the beginning of another long goodbye.

Next: Somehow we make it to rope class.

Song of the Week: I Fink U Freaky

It just got back from a road trip, much of which was spend driving around listening to this song and thinking scandalous thoughts about Mister Hazel Eyes. Jeez I just want to climb all over him.

Ohno Jealousy at the Beach

There are so many things I love about this new life I’m creating, but I’m kinda feeling nostalgic for the days when exes probably wouldn’t see me naked again. Yesterday I ran into my ex-FWB, the Mayor of Kittentown, at the nude beach. I just flat-out ran out of knowing what to do. I saw him bobbing around in the waves and was just going to avoid him since I was having a fragile day, but he came over, wearing nothing but sea-salt and a pained expression. I’m sure mine was equally pained.

I gave him a lean-way-over-so-our-hips-don’t touch hug, it was all I could think of to do, and he kind of acted like I was hitting on him. He was all “Well, (Monogamous Girl) is here, so…”

And I said “Okay, we’re going this way now.” and dragged Sweetie off down the beach. We were only a little way down when I just started to cry. I stood there with my feet in the waves, naked in the cloudy sun but feeling as far away as I’ve ever felt from my inner Bettie Page, crying so hard that I worried I was ruining the beach for everyone. Sweetie felt so good and soft, holding me and trying not to cry herself.

And then the jealousy rolled in, angry, ugly, rip-her-face-off jealousy, which made no sense, because what had she ever done to me? She’s just a better match! But I seriously wanted to pee on their picnic blanket. I wanted to tell her that he’d told me they had no spark together. Of course I didn’t do those things, just left them alone. I know that you all know this, but this jealousy stuff is AWFUL, how does anybody every get through it?

The worst part was how UGLY I felt. I even had that high school feeling of “Better not let them see me eating, it’ll just remind them how fat I am.” I took deep breaths and asked my body for help coming back into myself, and I eventually did, mostly.

I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN DO THIS. I don’t know if I can keep letting guys into my life, knowing how quickly and easily they can just be gone. Mister Hazel Eyes isn’t poly (yet) and it’s hard not to imagine him ending up in the arms of some more available sweetheart some day soon. The dumped-for monogamy thing just kills me, just seems insurmountable.

I wondered all day on the beach if I should break it off with Mister Hazel Eyes because the pain of MKT is so acute. Sweetie, wise person that she is, says it doesn’t make sense to break it off with someone I like just because he might break up with me someday. I know she’s right. I know that there are all kinds of combinations of people who stay together in all sorts of circumstances. There’s no reason not to keep giving him a chance. I have to somehow find the other side of my abandonment fears and stop putting them where they don’t belong. Somehow.

But I really don’t know if I am cut out for this. I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. The Mayor of Kittentown sent apologetic texts all last evening; he says he hopes we can all be friends someday. Maybe next summer, who knows?

Sweetie couldn’t have been more supportive, of course, but right now it feels like everybody’s disappearing, and I just have to let it feel like that for a while.

My Ass Is Smitten With Mister Hazel Eyes, Part 3: Die Antwoord and Romance

Aside from and annoying quasi-hip-hop preamble that inexplicably featured the six-letter f-word, Die Antwoord kicked my ass. I was sitting next to Mister Hazel Eyes, his arm protectively around me, feeling the strangest and most interesting aftercare sensation—it was like I was bottoming to the music. It reminded me of when I’d go to raves in the 90s, generally sober except for the occasional acid trip, I was almost always satisfied to get high on dancing, and this night reminded me of the fluffy, sparkly feeling I’d get during the fourth or fifth hour of dancing, when the music was part of my body and all I had to do was give in to it and keep going. It felt like surrender, and it was delicious then and now.

Between sets, I sat in MHE’s lap and made out with him obnoxiously. Why yes, we ARE in our LATE thirties, but it was so much fun to be all over each other like horny teenagers. When I went to get up from his lap, he said

“Did I tell you you could get up?”

My eyes got wide and I laughed my head off, so glad to stay put.

“What’s so funny?” He said it a little poutishly, but his pretty eyes were shining and not threatening in the least.

“I’m just happy. This is me being happy.”

Okay, so, as I said before, Jane’s Addiction was my favorite band as a teenager and they have a very special place in my heart, the lullaby songs especially: Classic Girl and Jane Says. I like the rollicking songs too, but the pretty songs have always made me feel so understood and loved.

He seemed to understand this. When they started to play Jane Says, he stopped being all grabby-sexy and just held me sort of…tenderly. I thought of all the different ways I’d heard this song, all of the different contexts, all of the many versions of myself, and I decided that this is the best version. I’m proud of how far I’ve come. When Perry Farrell sang “Jane says she ain’t never been in love, she don’t know what it is, she only knows if someone wants her.” (Which felt true in my teenage years but hasn’t been true for such a long time. Talk about an assessment.) he pulled me into a kiss that was sweet and emphatic, and I felt myself really give in to it, to him, to the romance of the moment, to whatever I might be with him. I grabbed the back of his neck and just pulled him as close as I could. The decades of want and need since the song came out felt, at least for that moment, fulfilled.

And then I thought: “Uh-oh. This is meaningful. I’m experiencing cathexis during this meaningful thing. I’m letting him in.” Recognizing that was scary, but I think that kind of metacognition (or meta-emotion?) is a good sign. In the past, I’ve formed attachments and not recognized them, reacting in a fight-or-flight way instead. So this is progress. Scary progress, but still.

I love the way that we played with each other during the rest of the concert. He held me in front of him and gave me bites gently down my neck and back. His hands meandered on the borders of inappropriate, but in kind of a sweet way. We sat down and I ran my hands over his thighs, grazing things I really wanted to grab.

After the show I climbed into his lap in the driver’s seat, cradled in his arms. I took out my pigtails so that he could get a good grip on the back of my hair. He gave me a few spanks but he didn’t have good leverage. We kissed and kissed and kissed and he said things like “I love your eyes.” (Afraid of that particular word, I said, I like yours too.”) and (!):

“You are so fucking beautiful.” I felt fucking beautiful, let me tell you.

I wanted him to kiss me all night but he wanted to get me back to Sweetie at a reasonable hour. As he drove me home, I plugged in my iPod (Who’s acting like they own the place now?) and played I Would for You the only lullaby favorite they hadn’t played. Then I played a whole bunch of dreamy covers.  I just can’t say how much I didn’t want that night to be over.

As we were saying goodbye, he got adorably/worryingly wistful: “Tell (Sweetie) she’s a lucky lady.”

I’m pretty lucky too. If I can just surrender to NRE like I surrendered to Die Antwoord, I think I’ll be fine.

My Ass Is Smitten With Mister Hazel Eyes, Part Two: Car-Spanked

When we got to the venue, it was a standard parking-lot-in-a-field situation, with tailgaters here and there. As soon as we were situated, I turned over, my head between the back seat and the door, my ass faced towards my pal in the driver’s seat. There were people fairly nearby, but I didn’t think they’d notice, except for maybe the guy who chose MHE’s car to pee next to—hate it when I look at someone at just the wrong time.

Anyway, I settled in and Mister Hazel Eyes alternated between spanking me and grabbing/massaging the underside of my ass-cheeks, almost between my legs, his fingers roving close to all kinds of supersensitized nerve-endings. I really wished it wasn’t a pad-plus-tampon sort of day so that his fingers could’ve gotten all up in everywhere, but he didn’t even have to, because with every impact and every smush, moans came out of me, big, voluptuous moans of joy and relief.

“Am I being a good, sweet girl?” I asked.

“That depends, what does a good, sweet girl do? I want to hear you tell me.”

I wanted to do a good job for him and tell him all kinds of pretty, wordy, slutty things, but my mind was a feathery, pillowy fog.

“I can’t find words. I just feel like a sleepy angel. Do I look like a sleepy angel?”

I turned around to kiss him and he said, “Well, you look like something.”

I turned back over to present myself to him again. Neither the spanks nor the squeezes were rough or harsh, just decisive, insistent, true. He spooned up against me and breathed on my neck, biting gently.

“Are you okay?” He asked “You’re kind of out of breath.”

It’s true. I think I would’ve come if we’d have kept going. I was gasping and overwhelmed, ecstatic. It occurred to me that I’d need a little aftercare before I could even think about getting up the hill to the show, so I had him stop spanking and start cuddling. “Just a little hug,” I said, and he held me for a few minutes, still breathless and stunned. Sleepy angel indeed.

Next: Die Antwoord, then romance.

My Ass Is Smitten With Mister Hazel Eyes, Part One: Spanked in a Stairwell

I feel really vulnerable writing this. Though it may not seem so from the title, last night was the first non-Sweetie date of my poly career that was truly romantic. I bonded with him. I felt cathexis. I got attached, and with that attachment comes a terrible, sad fear that he’ll go away now. (Which, okay, is made worse because I just watched the Gilmore Girls episode where Luke and Lorelai break up.) Liking him makes me feel like I’ve got to be ready to let him go, which is one of my central issues to overcome. So here goes.

Mister Hazel Eyes surprised me with tickets to see Jane’s Addiction and Die Antwoord. He bought the tickets before I’d even said I would go, which really knocked my socks off. Also, because he is sweet in a rather odd way, he asked if I would rather take the tickets and go with Sweetie: awww. But of course I was over the moon to go with him. Jane’s Addiction was my favorite band when I was a teenager, and I’d never gotten to see them. So it was a pretty big deal.

He wanted to meet him at his work, in one of the skyscrapers downtown. I stood in the fancy grey-marble lobby looking decidedly unbusinesslike in my black dress and sneakers, pigtails and spiked collar. I felt a little hookerish waiting there for him, but not unpleasantly so. When he came down, he said I looked great, and so did he, in the standard rock-boy bowling shirt and boots. He presented me with the tickets and I said “That right there? That’s some second base for you.” and he smiled.

He said he had to grab something from his car before we went to dinner, but I’m pretty sure he just wanted to spend some quality makeout time with me in the parking garage elevator. As soon as the doors closed, he crushed me against the wall and kissed me, yanking my pigtails and running his hands lightly over the front of my dress. I was more than happy to let him. I was so ready for him to be there. I’d been fantasizing pretty much non-stop about him feeling me up. (Also about bearing myself to him, ohboy, but we haven’t made it there yet…) I wish there’d have been hands inside my bra, but what can you do. Eventually he had to stop pushing buttons and get out.

On the way back down there were people in the elevator, so we took the stairs. In the stairwell, he kissed me some more, and when I was sure no one was coming I said “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” and bent over. My feet were on the landing, my ass was stuck out towards him, my arms draped up the metal railing. If it hadn’t been that-time-of-the-month, I would have pulled the back of my skirt up, too.

He hesitated for a moment but then started stroking my ass gently and thoughtfully. Then he pulled his hand back and smacked, full and strong, pushing the breath out of my lungs and into a laugh that echoed up and down the stairs. I looked down at the stairs spiraling down four levels and ooof, oh my goodness, he spanked me a few more times, and I laughed and blushed and signed.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been spanked by some experts, but boy does his guy have a talent.

I stood to face him again and he pulled my face into a kiss. With no warning, he grabbed both my nipples and squeezed, just like he owned the place. I have already revisited that moment a few times during personal time. Fucking swoon, sheesh. Nonetheless, I pulled his hands down to my waist and said “Um, tickets…”

We dawdled around making out and getting dinner. Over Chinese, we made some more plans. (He likes eluding to the fact that plan-making turns me on. He gets the Good Listener badge.) We’re going to go to the next rope party, and he assures me he’ll take a crack at learning the knots. (!) The only part of the conversation that worried me is that he says that he doesn’t feel jealous of me being with Sweetie, he would feel jealous of another guy. Seems like there might have to be a little negotiation there. Jealousy won’t bother me, unless it translates to him going away like it did with Bill.

For someone to be close to me, they have to be good at concerts, and MHE totally is. He was even thoughtful enough to pick up some pastries and water in case we got hungry after the show. I think this was the first time I’ve had actual seats to a show, so that I didn’t have to get there early and jockey for general admission space. Which is a good thing, because there were certainly some car-shenanigans to be had.

If you’re thinking that I have a strange definition of romance, you’re right, but it’s coming, I promise.

Next: Getting spanked in another parking lot.

Yay Updates! Mr. Popular, Mr. Hazel Eyes, and Sweetie With a Blindfold

It’s been a little while since I’ve been able to post. Sweetie and I moved into a new apartment last week, and while it is shaping up to be quite a little love nest, moving has been sucking the life out of my writing life.

So! Three main updates:

1. My first date with Mr. Popular! I named him that because we first started corresponding last summer when his dance card was all filled, and at the moment he lives with his two kids, wife, his ex-wife, and his ex-wife’s new partner, as well as having another girlfriend who doesn’t live with them. I’m thinking that if we work out, he’d make a nice once-a-month treat, and I’m excited about meeting the rest of the constellation some day too.

Mr. Popular is a tall, beardy, adorable engineer. He asked me out for Indian food, which means yay, he read my profile! We sat there talking for like three hours, about his family, my adventures, his love of Rock Band, and poly in general. He was all full of energy and it was easy to get excited about him. (In fact, when I excused myself to go to the restroom, I was so excited that it was hard to pee, so I think that’s a good sign.)

He likes to seduce girls by inviting them over to play Beatles Rock Band—he says it’s easy to get cozy after singing all those romantic songs together. So that’s exactly the plan for our second date, which isn’t for a few weeks. He gave me the choice of family-style Rock Band or a more datey plan, and I chose the just-the-two-of-us version because I want to get to know him a little better before I meet everyone else.

What really turns me on about Mr. Popular is that he has to be proactive about scheduling—it oddly seems easier to make plans with him than with less-busy pals. I feel like all of the stuff he’s got going on makes him more respectful of the stuff I’ve got going on—and that is HOT.

2. On the other hand, my second date with Mr. Hazel Eyes was romantically serendipitous. I was just getting out of a placement test on Friday when he texted to tell me that he needed a hug. I happened to be in the neighborhood where he works, so I was happy to deliver one. It was pouring down rain so I had to go on a quest for an umbrella—the only one I could find was a mini Hello Kitty one, darn.

I was dressed for a placement test, not a date, and my back was soaked from the rain, but he didn’t seem to mind. We met at the local indoor farmer’s market and had burgers in the little diner there. Over lunch we talked about some of the things I’ve been worrying about, my post-Bill anxieties, which he was able to mostly put to rest. I kept stroking his arm and he kept looking me like grrr. I told him his Kitten Calendar nickname but didn’t tell him where he can find it.

After lunch the rain had stopped, so we took a little walk before he had to go back to work. He whispered progressively filthier things in my ears and stopped periodically to press me up against buildings. I’m starting to get used to the fact that I can turn guys on, but he really was making such a big deal about it. I liked him hard and pressed up against me, mauling each other like teenagers in the middle of the bright day seemed extra lewd. He grabbed my ass at the bus stop and I think I’d have to call it the good kind of humiliating.

He has really good top energy and I think I might be able to teach him how to be my dom, but I’m still just not sure about him. We’ve got a dinner date for Wednesday night so we’ll see.

3. This weekend Sweetie and I went to our favorite rope-themed play party again. I’ve been really hankering for a spanking so I was really excited to be there. Two really significant things happened!

First—somebody else spanked me while Sweetie was nearby and she didn’t mind! Huzzah! There was this sort of Renn-Fair-ish  guy whose flogging techniques I’ve admired for a while and he looked like he wanted to try out a new toy—a cane tipped with a ceramic star—and without stopping to think, I blurted out an offer. I asked Sweetie if it was okay and she said yes!

We were sitting on cushy benches in sort of a square with a whole bunch of people. It was lingerie night, so had on a pretty, sheer nightgown with hardly any coverage on the boob area (but tape on the nipples, sadly) and a frilly ruffle at the bottom, with matching periwinkle blue lace undies. I climbed up on my knees on the bench, hoisted up my nightie, and stuck out my ass. The star thing hurt like a son of a bitch but the guy had such a funny spankside manner that I was laughing my head off. I asked Sweetie how it felt to see that and she said she just really liked to hear my laugh. High-five to us.

Then it was time for me and Sweetie to play. I decided I wanted my arms tied to posts and lots of ropes on my upper body and thighs. Off came the nightie and I stood there almost naked in front of everyone. It felt much more exposed than being all the way naked at the beach. I had my contacts in so I kept catching people’s eye while they watched us, which felt hot but unnerving. There’d been a munch right before the party, so I think people just felt too chatty to play.

“Too many looky-loos!” I kept saying. Finally I asked Sweetie to put a blindfold on me and it felt GREAT. I lost self-consciousness and slipped right into subspace after that. I’d been scared of blindfolds after Fireguy, and I’m delighted to have them back on the yes pile. So much to celebrate!

Your Friday Happy/Song of the Week: Driving-Around Music

My favorite album to drive around to in the summer is High Violet by The National. It's sexy in such a mooooody way and I wish I could be ordered around by that deep voice. I like to open the car windows, turn it all the way up, and belt out this:

New Heart Goal: Less Calendar Fuss

Resolved: I am going to welcome opportunities to be more flexible with my time.

I loooove to schedule things, both from the necessity of, like everyone else, having a million things going on, and as a way of staving off insecurity, especially when I really like someone. It’s as if I think that writing someone’s name on the calendar means they’ll automatically like me and stick around.

Last week, after Mr. Hazel Eyes texted on Friday to see if we could hang out Saturday, (Um, alas? Sweetie and I already had awesome beach plans.) I started to examine the anxiety that I have about spontaneity. It seems that in the course of my life, all kinds of sexist, sex-negative, pop-psychology nonsense snuck its way into my brain. There’s a cultural norm against being too available if you’re a lady—I did get worried that he was into more of a booty call thing than a..something else, but he was kind enough to reassure me that it wasn’t. (He earned major cuddle-points for that.) (Also, booty call? Thank goodness I did not use that actual term when asking him.) (And! Points to me for asking!)

Back in my early twenties I read The Rules more out of curiosity than for actual advice, but somehow that “make him really ask you out or he won’t want you” thing really stuck. Ten years later I learned that “If he’s not asking you out, he’s just not that into you.” I’m not sure why asking-out only counts if there’s advance notice, but one thing’s for sure: I’ve got to stay away from those dating-advice books. Even if I’m just reading them ironically, they seem to have power.

Bill and I had a real tug of war about the calendar. He kept asking me “Why do you always have to know what’s going to happen?” and I never had a good answer. My now-self is like, “Um, because I have a life?!” He made such a point of dragging his feet about day-choosing, and it was just one of the things he did that made me feel like he didn’t care. He’s a pretty bad example, and probably the source of some of the anxiety. Everyone else I’ve dated and/or played with has been great with planning, so I have no reason to feel self-conscious about preferring it.

I remember hearing somewhere that submissives like to be very oriented, and that is certainly the case with me. I like to be able to picture the time in front of me, to have some idea of what it looks like. It makes things seem more manageable, less hectic. Plus, over the course of this Poly 101 kind of year, the importance of calendars has been emphasized by absolutely every advice-giver, to the point where it’s maybe a little over emphasized in my head. Trying to be a good student as always, I guess.

MHE’s spontaneity triggered an embarrassing fear. For whatever reason, part of me believes that if I let men into my life, it will somehow become unmanageable, that I’ll suddenly be less smart, capable, organized because there’s a dude around. New relationship energy does make me a little scattered and distractible (just ask the midterm I’m glacially writing…) and it makes me feel like I’m going wildly out of control.

It’s time to let go of that control a little. though I am comfortable with preferring to plan, I really need to make room for spontaneity. After all, it’s the dream to have somebody to just be with, without having to plan anything, so, yeah, a little playing it by ear seems like just the thing.

MHE had minor surgery this week and I’m in the middle of packing up the apartment and eventually writing a midterm and going on some tour dates, so I’m not sure when I’ll see him again. I don’t feel too anxious—I think the liking-each-other thing will keep if it’s meant to. Meanwhile, I’m having fun making (and flexibly changing) plans with other nice guys, too. But jeez, I really do want to snuggle him

Dance Card Update and a Book to Recommend

This is a rare moment where, as if having a lovely knot-savvy wife weren’t enough, I have four guys on my dance card, plus an extra one I feel a little hopeful about. They’re three first dates, a promising FL flirtation, and of course, Mister Hazel Eyes, the only one who has earned nickname status. Other than my dreamy-eyed crush, there’s a beginning rope-top who needs a practice pal, a nice nudist, and an apparently very popular guy I was friendly with on the OKC last year and who got in touch with me when he got a little room on the calendar. (Kinda like waiting-list guy, I like it.) The other one’s from the local poly meetup, and I’m only pretty sure he’s flirting.

Besides just generally feeling optimistic, there’s another source of my expansiveness this week. I love books where someone does a thing for a year to see what happens, and MWFSeeking BFF, by Rachel Bertsche is a good one. She’s feeling lacking in the friendship department and so she decides to go on “52 friend dates in a year” to see if she can find a new BFF and feel more connected to people. Even though she’s looking for a platonic connection, there’s a lot that a new dater can learn from her story. Reading about the author’s willingness to chat to anyone she felt a connection with, reach out in new ways, and realize that lots of other people are looking for connection too made me a little more courageous and open-minded about how to go forward. Plus, thinking of guys as potential friends kinda takes the edge off some of my anxieties. Even though it’s not meant that way, I would call this a great poly read.