Snuggling under the covers with a roped-up cutie is like a whole vacation in itself. I recently redid my bedding all in soft pink, it's like curling up in an aggressively cute cloud. The perfect place for a perfect boy.
I like holding him close, protecting him from the world. I like his angel-floppy hair and his open, sincere face. I like him lots. The confidence he'd shown when he kissed me at the door was here in the cloud bed too, eager and game. Both of us, just so happy to be here.
(Side quest: so many of these stories culminate with me on my face, screaming into a pillow in joy and delight. Is this scary for partners? It recently sunk in that I would be jarred by this level of emotion and noise from a partner, maybe others feel the same? I remember Lovely Guy saying he felt like he was being violent even though he wasn't. Poor dear! Maybe I'll talk to people about this?)
Anyway, confident. He bent me in a way that felt new, one knee over his shoulder. He hit the spot so neatly and thoroughly, a heave of relief and pleasure. Fitting together like puzzle pieces seems like a thing I should have gotten used to by now, should have learned to take for granted, but I never have. He just made me feel so, so good.
When I came (and came, and came) I cried out "Thank you, oh THANK you!" over and over. I remembered briefly that "grateful" is a stereotype about lovers my age, then realized I don't care--I was born grateful and I hope, in fifty to seventy years, to die grateful too.
The rest of the night was sweet snuggles and music-and-movies chitchat, what else could anyone on this earth ever need?
It took a couple days for OCD to start yelling at me about it, obnoxiously moralizing and strictly anti-fun. Here are some of the things that my brain decided:
*If he's not texting in this moment, I am forgotten and humiliated.
*I'm sabotaging my chances at romantic love by letting myself play casually.
*He is automatically going to choose the other lady he's casually dating, therefore proving I'll never measure up or be any good.
OCD is an asshole! I felt a little relief from breaking things off, but my body didn't want that! After a few more days, the anti-fun obsession machine quieted enough to hear my body's opinions, which were:
*Yes!
*Yay!
*More please!
He was admirably copacetic about the breaking-off and then un-breaking off. I want him to keep coming over as long as it's fun for us both, and who knows what that will look like! He's coming over Friday night for Mulholland Drive and ropes, wish me luck! :)
I would really like to bite this butt next time I see it! And also spank it! Possibly also spoon up next to it and go to sleep.
Despite the name, I've totally been forgetting to tell you about his playlist! In Such Great Heights, A Complete Cultural History of the Indie Rock Explosion, (The book I'm still reading and which The King of Carrot Flowers finished weeks ago!) Chris Deville says it's a typical male fantasy that some girl (Or in my case, some Manic Pixie Dream Mature) is gonna come along and tell a guy he has great taste in music. I guess I fulfill that fantasy pretty regularly! When I was younger and (even) sillier, I thought new music could only come via a cute boy, even if that's never really how I collected it.
ANYWAY, since Dreamy Playlist Angel introduced himself by way of complimenting my Sleater Kinney t-shirt and mentioning a Portlandia rewatch (What would the Gen-X equivalent of this be? Complimenting a Strawberry Alarm Clock tee and mentioning a Monkees marathon? Either way, I'm in.) I had no qualms about asking him to choose the music for our rope time--and that was the correct choice.
Off the couch and upstairs with the candles lit and the cat crated, I felt a jolt of joy as we found the bight and square-knotted the ropes. Dreamy Playlist Angel, with his sculpture-y shoulders and sweet-but-not-too-sweet demeanor, was such a warm and beautiful and inviting canvas.
I hadn't practiced on anyone besides me in the longest time! The ropes felt easy on him, flowy and smooth. I reached around his waist to loop the ropes around, rested my cheek in the crook of his neck for a moment. Kissed his sweet neck and his soft, politely-eager mouth. Good Boy. He's so good.
I wish he'd wanted a picture of the front of him, the harness came out so nice! He looked so pretty and sexy with the loops and knots over his chest, swooping up between his legs and squeezing his butt crack all snug.
His music was dreamy but not overwhelmingly feelings-y! Sweet and swoony at times (Thinkin' Bout You by Frank Ocean! My favorite thing to sing!) but leavened by silliness. Plus! Surprising amounts of saxophone!
Dancing around to indie-rock sax while putting the finishing touches on a beautiful man's hishi karada seems like a very wise way to spend a few moments of my one wild and precious life.
Sometimes I worry that I'm just telling the same stories over and over, and maybe I am. How many different times did Monet paint the cathedral at Rouen?! Am I saying I'm the Claude Monet of describing dicks? Kind of.
We stayed in front of the TV, kissing and petting and chatting and snuggling and sort of also watching Twin Peaks. He said, "I want you to lean this way and tease me while I cuddle you."
His cock reached for me, hard under his soft pants. "Oh, you ARE a good boy," I said, just grazing my arm over his lap, then feeling the contours of him, friendly and hopeful and utterly here to serve. Not mine at all, but also, mine.
I played with the tip of his cock, thick and reaching. I'll never get over the jolt of it, of a dick that likes me. I would like to have him in my hands and mouth right now, or expertly folding me over, or just cuddling under a blanket watching TV and feeling him hard for me, like it's the first time I ever felt that. Every time, it feels like I've never experienced this before. Every time, a surprise.
Despite the ropes that will delightfully happen in the next installment, this wasn't really a Good Boy/Ma'am situation. It felt more equal, a delicious taste of vanilla, a warm friendship all full of kissing. I'm starting to feel so excited for everything that comes next!
I've done this one a couple times before, but this time is special! I'm practicing it so I can teach it to Dreamy Playlist Angel next time we hang out! It's one of the easiest ones to practice on myself, but I look forward to trying the cute weave that Rory does in the back: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADN90FVYty0
It's been a few weeks since I did my Wednesday night ritual, and it made my brain feel...organized. Serene. Grounded. I just got a bunch of candles out of the Christmas stuff, so I had the scents of raspberry, cupcakes, and sangria all at once. Sweetness all around.
Some rope nights are about ravishing myself in all the ways, but this was more of a spa-evening. I brought a cute book upstairs to read, my favorite romcom author.
My smaller cat doesn't need to be crated during ropes, and it was lovely having her snuggle up to my face while I was reading. I spent the evening feeling cozy and celebrated, and then I slept so, so well.
Is it weird to feel all swoony making out in front of "She's dead, wrapped in plastic."? Probably!
I think Dreamy Playlist Angel sent me a ping on Feeld. He's 29, theoretically below my oft-ignored and somewhat arbitrary lower age limit (35) but the floppy-haired vulnerability of his picture and the boldness of his texts convinced me he was not to be missed. Plus, he reminded me of my dear friend/crush/friend The King of Carrot Flowers, the quintessential Cute Boy With Records. (You don't have to have records to be one, you just have to not mind when I stop the proceedings to change to a better-suited song.)
(Side note: There might be paragraphs to write about the worry and protectiveness I feel around playing with twenty-somethings. Not now though!)
He'd never seen any David Lynch stuff! So I picked the coziest possible thing, the Twin Peaks pilot. Fish in the percolator!!!
He (the boy, not the percolator fish) arrived at my door at 9pm, Friday before last. I don't usually like to do things on a Friday night, I'm more likely to be in bed playing phone games and bingeing Normal Gossip by 7:30 pm. But he gave me time for a nap, and said he didn't mind a pajamas date, so here we were.
He was prompt! He didn't stand at the entrance of my apartment complex and wait to be shown in! He just used the directions I gave him and came right to my door! Perhaps I should not be THIS excited not to go down the driveway in my pajamas, but it's the little things.
Is there anything better than opening the door and finding out your cute date is also tall!? Yes! The confidence!
I don't think I'd even closed the door behind him yet when he said "Do you mind if I kiss you?" He held my face and took me in, his first kiss both gentle and reassuring.
We made room on the couch and snuggled up, easy as if we already knew each other. Comfortable. Peaceful. And so, so hot.
The thing that sticks with me the most is kissing his wrists. I felt a sweet, devouring spark there. Pausing briefly to identify with vampires. I wanted all of him in my body, just from knowing that soft pulse. A heave in my chest and an absolute river in my pajama pants. Ohboy.
I'm a teacher. I'm always ready to teach, but he didn't need it. He treated me like my body was already his home, already lived in. I love how somebody can belong to me without belonging to me at all, mine and his own, eternal and also time just flying by.
Snuggled under the downstairs comforter, his hands found their way inside my bra and just stayed there, friendly and gentle. I felt a brief worry that we were going too fast, but my body hushed me with deep wellbeing, and got still, let myself be held.
Also me: Holding him and kissing the top of his head while "Pictures of You" by The Cure plays.
He felt shy about showing the front of the tie, but it was a lovely hishi karada.
It felt so good putting this good sweet boy in my ropes, especially the parts where I had to reach around him, and would just pause to hold him and kiss him and breathe him in. How can just a regular middle aged lady be blessed with so much beauty and softness and hardness and desire?! I'll never stop being surprised and delighted.
For a few days, OCD wouldn't let me claim the experience--if he doesn't belong to me, how could I know it's real, like, a real thing that happened?
My heart wouldn't let me keep him. I don't want to try and fit the (somewhat elusive) definition of casual. I want a thing my heart can eventually run with, a thing that can last and grow.
We said a cute goodbye yesterday, and as soon as I let him go, my heart filled with light, as if it were Christmas morning. I love that I can adore him and wish him well without worrying that he's going to choose the other lady, the one who lives around the corner from him and is closer to his age. Maybe she's perfect for him!
I tend to beat myself up for the times I don't make it to a second date, but there's such a power here--to wrap him up and spoil him, talk about music and movies a bunch, then let him go into his own life again, maybe a little shinier and knowing some new secrets.
A few weeks ago, something really nice happened! I wasn't even sure if it was real until I checked in with a mutual friend. I thought it might be a catfish situation! A friendfish!
I hadn't been in touch with Summer Princess since I left the camp job a week early in August. This is partly because I was embarrassed/finishing up trauma work, but the main reason was! After The Future Mrs. Summer Princess found out about my crush, she had written a few unhinged, gently-threatening-yet-somehow-friendly DMs and texts, and I wanted absolutely no part of any of that. I missed Summer Princess but I never would have imagined she would miss me!
But she did! She messaged me on Instagram to apologize for her fiancee's notes and for how bad everything had gotten. She said she valued our friendship and would understand if I just told her to fuck off.
But of course I didn't! Her fiancee had every reason to be protective of her, and I was being so weird. But Summer Princess said she knew there was nothing to be protective about!
With OCD, I've had to train myself not to seek reassurance. When my mind tells me I'm bad and scary, I'm practiced in just telling myself "Maybe, maybe not." But knowing that Summer Princess liked our time together and felt safe meant a lot to me. My heart filled up with fluffy pink relief.
We don't talk often, but I'm so happy to consider her a friend again, to be out here rooting for each other. I like when I'm playing Animal Crossing and my Switch tells me what she's on there playing. I like being able to send her a K-Pop Demon Hunters song to wish her a happy Friday.
So, a friendship appreciation post. If you've been here for me reading or in person or *swoons* both, just know you're appreciated and loved. I want to take better care of my friendships, cause I would be absolutely NOWHERE without you.
I promise I will eventually get back to the hotness, but I have a few platonic updates I want to share first!
Back when BFF Formerly Sweetie and I were first together, there was a third pal with us all the time. I'm naming him the King of Carrot Flowers because we were and are talking-about-music soulmates, and the early 2000s were a very Neutral Milk Hotel-y time for me. For us all!
King of Carrot Flowers was with us ALL the time! On Sundays, Sweetie and I would do the big New York Times crossword puzzle, and then head over to his place to watch The Simpsons and Malcolm in the Middle. We all went to see Rilo Kiley (Openers: Tilly and the Wall! Tapdancer as percussion!) in the dead of winter in a very subpar car. He was in our wedding.
He lived right by the nice pool in the park, we swam there and agreed that yes, it DID look like those Ice Mice candies inspired by the Harry Potter treat trolley. We drove weirdly far to get ice cream, and I got blissed out and swoony about the albums he played on his first-generation iPod, plugged in with the aux cord. He burned me my first and only copy of my favorite album, The Execution of All Things. It conked out in my car's CD player about 5 years ago.
Modest Mouse. Of Montreal. The first time I learned what a collective effervescence is, I was flirting with a religious studies grad student in King of Carrot Flowers's kitchen during a snowstorm disco party.
He used to housesit for us when we were away. He was our cat's favorite because he always brought sushi.
The song he kept on his MySpace page:
Sometimes, when no one was looking, I would just hit refresh on his page over and over, just to feel connected to him.
We LOVED each other as friends and it's not at all surprising that I got a crush! Almost immediately upon marrying Sweetie, I fell into a WHAT IF I NEVER SEE A PENIS AGAIN panic so of course I would want to bi it up with this very romantic (to me) friendship.
I confessed the crush one night, walked over to his place after a spat with Sweetie and, to the soothing sounds of The Colbert Report, told him I was having feelings for him. He was very kind about it but said he wasn't interested in sharing with Sweetie. Polyamory was a few years away, I didn't even know the word yet.
If you've been a reader for any length of time, you can guess what happened: I felt sad and rejected and picked a fight to get space from him. That space lasted for about twenty years!
Then, the other month when I was babbling to BFF about how much I love dorking out about stuff with Guy Next Door, she said, "Why don't you call (King of Carrot Flowers)? You guys loved talking about music!"
So I did that thing where you send a friend request out into the universe and never expect to hear back. But I did! He accepted my apology and said "We're all better at giving each other grace these days."
It felt like I'd found a missing puzzle piece. We've been in touch ever since and I could not be more grateful.
Friends! I had such a cute rope date on Friday! Maybe I'll tell you all about Dreamy Playlist Angel sometime, but first I want to wrap up another story.
So, a couple weeks ago, I sold my dear red car. It was hard to let go, but she was costing me like 1500$ a repair visit. I need to be saving up and improving my credit in case I need to move (Because rent keeps going up, not because of Guy Next Door) so BFF-Formerly-Sweetie is very generously letting me share her car.
So that meant that, because BFF does poll work on Election Day, I didn't have a car last Tuesday. It was a particularly stressful workday, fun but with lots of moving parts. So I was dazed and a little giddy when I was getting in my Lyft at the end of the day. The backseat door handles were the hidden kind, I still don't understand where they were. I got in the car a little flustered, just wanting to go vote and then take the most emphatic nap ever.
The driver was cute and maybe mid-thirties, and his day job was adjacent to mine-lots to bond about on the short ride. He bragged that (swoon) he'd voted first thing in the morning, and I told him that's where I was headed after home. I put my chitchat on autopilot and listened to his answers, each one more charming than the last. But my head was all swirly from work, from the person who would come to be Dreamy Playlist Angel, about how pretty the bright yellow fall trees were, about how good it would feel to lay down and take my scheduled after-work nap.
When I got in the door, I discovered that my phone was not in my purse. Or in the pockets on the outside of my lunch bag. It wasn't in my hoodie pockets, and there weren't any pockets in my very work pants-y work pants. I had left my phone in the cute driver's car.
Okay. Well, I had my laptop, so I hopped on customer support and reported my lost phone. The driver wrote back pretty quickly that he had the phone, just needed my address to bring it back. And I would be charged an extra 20$ for his time--so fair! But there was a glitch and the chat with the driver cut off. By the time I started the request again, both my address and the driver's number became unavailable. I needed a phone to get my phone back.
I almost kinda begged for them to do it by email instead, but they couldn't. Online impossibility is my worst trigger, so I let myself melt down for a few minutes, a good scream-cry and lay on the floor combo. Then I got up, wiped my face, and resumed trying to solve the mystery of how to get my phone back.
There are five apartments in this complex, four sets of very lovely Weak Tie neighbors who would have been more than happy to help, and Guy Next Door, who had *just* gotten back from a monthlong yoga retreat. I was feeling like we could be on good terms, but I didn't want to find out in the middle of an internet void meltdown.
So, in the latest installment of the demented romcom that is my life sometimes, I knocked on his door. He opened it, smiling and smelling of after-work weed. He was in his work clothes too--like we were both in our cosplay as grownups.
He gave me a hug and agreed to help right away. I invited him in and we sat at my very cluttered table, covered in everything I'd just dumped out of my purse, some undies and socks that needed to be folded, and various other midweek detritus. I was behind on the dishes as always, so I hoped he wasn't too grossed out by my perpetual Dishhenge.
I told the very unhelpful Lyft chat that I had access to a phone now, but they told me I had to re-report it, but the reporting-it link kept looping back to the unhelpful chat. There wasn't anything I could do at that moment but to stare at the void. And catch up with Guy Next Door.
I told him I was sorry for being a jerk, and he said, "Even if you were a jerk, I'm here for it. I just like being your friend,"
!!!!!!
While I went a few more rounds with The Void on my laptop, I was so happy to be updated about GNS's adventures! And he was an excellent emotional support neighbor! He looked up my very uncalm calm-down song:
I had him set a timer for me (he picked singing bowls) so I could only try my futile online quest for eight more minutes instead of looping around on it eternally. He had some helpful ideas to try, but he is tech support, not Void Support. When the timer went off, I said goodbye and a million thank-yous and went off to vote.
Voting is a big social event in my neighb, and it cheered me up a bunch. As I was walking back from the polling place, I heard a man's voice saying "You!" in just the cutest way.
It was the Lyft driver. He'd been driving around for an hour trying to figure out where he'd dropped me off. He remembered I'd said I was going to vote, so he thought he would ask around at my polling place to see if anyone knew how to find me! He said if that didn't work, he was going to go back to my work and drop it off there! My HERO!
OF COURSE I asked for his number--I can never resist a possible meet-cute! We exchanged numbers and I went home, elated to tell GNS that all was well, delighted to have voted, and very, very ready for gummies and Gilmores and sleep.
It wasn't a meet-cute with the Lyft driver, just a golden moment of possibility that made me feel so entertained and hopeful and silly. So that's where I am now. I wonder what will happen next.
