Knotty Thursday, A Blue Ribbon for Me!

 Friday before last, it was my yearly work evaluation. It was fine! I'm on my way to a fourth year (!) in a job, that's long for me. I lost a few points in the "positivity" category, which felt vexing at first because with a few accommodations in place and way less masking my autism, this was my happiest work year yet! It makes me sad (And enflames my sense of justice!) that maybe the less-masking cost me those (TWO) points, but I'm thinking maybe positivity is something I can let go of a little. Maybe some of my general Polyanna-ing is armor I don't need anymore. Shrug emoji!

Anyway, that night, I wanted to reward myself! A good work year, a lovely new summer job on the horizon, so much peace and growth at every Codependents Anonymous meeting, OCD a much quieter influence--I'm really really proud of myself. I'm glad I gave myself this reward, I really have been the goodest girl! <3 <3 <3

Princess of Livid

Bridesmaid dresses were kind of wild back then!
Or maybe the ladies in my family are just weirdos?

 It seems like the dumbest thing I've ever been mad about, but I think it's important. Week before last, on a Sunday morning, I was figuring out what to say to Mr. Breakfast and feeling jangled about some other stuff, when I heard The Guy Next Door talking in baby voice to whoever his date was:

"...and I treat her like a princess. I treat you like a princess, too. No fetish is ever gonna..."

Now, I'm pretty lucky for someone who lives next door to her onerous unrequited kryptonite crush. I've only run into him once since our break-off conversation, and I don't overhear anything blush-inducing. I almost always have white noise or music on, there's only just a sliver of space where I can hear anything at all. But there he was in that sliver of space. I wasn't eavesdropping, I just heard it.

I'm sure he wasn't saying it for me to hear, he was just saying stuff. I know him well enough that I'm pretty sure he's not treating anyone like a princess, but that's not how it landed.

The message my tangled heart heard was that I wasn't good enough, that other women deserved to be treated like princesses and I'd failed some mysterious test. This is one of my oldest and loudest and most destructive intrusive thoughts: "You're not as good as other women, they know something you don't and can't know."

Why my brain appointed him the designated arbiter of my worth is a question for infinite Codependents Anonymous meetings, but in that moment, I felt like I winked out of existence, the woozy, drowning feeling of being not there. If they were the princesses, if they had somehow gained his fleeting and sand-castle-like attention, then there was no reason for there to be a me at all. 

(How am I ever supposed to date men when I have thoughts like that? Makes me want to get myself to some kind of non-denominational anti-Fascist nunnery where I could garden and call congress and read books and forget that men ever were.)

He wasn't saying it for me to hear, but he knew it was a pet name I loved. I'd showed him my Feeld profile mentioning being a princess. (In fact, when he read the part about me looking for a sweet dom who's good with ropes, he said "Well you found him." That motherfucker could really SAY STUFF.)

Anyway, the morning of the overhearing, I was LIVID. I'M the princess, goddammit, how could he take even that away from me?

(The 30 Rock joke about "sexually transmitted crazymouth" comes to mind, although I guess it was transmitted via weird nebulous friendship instead.)

(Semi-platonically transmitted crazymouth?)

Anyway, it made me want to think about why the word "princess" feels so important to me.

I remember a moment, not too long after my teenage sexual assault, dressed up for Halloween in the above bridesmaid dress and looking in the mirror. The lipstick I'd just applied looked like clown makeup to me. All of me felt false, artificial, foolish, absent. I had some nerve dressing up as a princess, I was barely even a woman. I was barely even anything. I wiped the makeup off but wore the dress.

The next time I wore that dress, I was in my very early twenties and part of an art happening. My project was to create a pink-themed pyramid of everything about me, and let people take home anything that spoke to them. A stranger went home with a box of my love letters and I can't say I regret this choice! My brother got livid with me because I gave away the Barbie he'd given me the Christmas before.

After the show, when most of the pink pyramid was gone, I felt empty but also less alone. If I couldn't figure out how to be close to people, at least I could get them to take a piece of me home.

After that night, the friend who ran the art show started calling me Princess (My Name)--he even wrote a song about me! I LOVED being Princess Me. These were my raver years and also my shoplifting-at-my-friends'-mall-stores years, so I was never without shiny too-short dresses, manic panic hair, and Urban Decay makeup. And glitter. So, SO much glitter. And sometimes bubbles that were also candy. It was a magical time.

One time a guy I flirted with at the coffeehouse told me I looked like I was from space, and that felt like the highest compliment.

Between the mid-Nineties and whenever I made my Feeld profile, the Princess persona got less plasticky, but never lost its glitter. It morphed from a costume to a gender expression, a femme way of fiercely, adamantly claiming womanhood in a world that was never gonna declare me to be womaning properly.

Calling myself a princess was a way to give myself what I felt like no one else was ever gonna give me, a way to treat myself like a magical treasure, the way I saw (or more likely imagined) other, smaller, quieter, more conventionally beautiful women being valued, being attended to. It was a way to attend to myself, a skill I'm still trying to learn.

In the weeks following my unfortunate overhearing, I have been treated so, SO kindly. 

For example:

Sweet Valentine: What song is this?

Me: I Wanna Be Adored by The Stone Roses.

Sweet Valentine: And you are!

I've been treated kindly by my friends, too, and my Higher Power, and by the gently-thawing weather. And most importantly, by myself. People are welcome to join me in my princess-ness, but I have to treat myself that way, and keep doing it.

Right in this moment, I feel the truth: No one can decide whether I'm a princess, or any other pet name, except me. Right now, I feel like I'm up to the challenge of self-love.

Knotty Thursday: Simple Gauntlets and Bowing Down to Love

 

Good morning dears! So for the past few weeks, I've been in a battle with love. I've been doubling down on all the self-care, which is good, but it's gotten so my head feels like a tangle of Twelve Step rules and others' opinions and especially my own impatience. Why can't I be over this heartbreak already? Why can't I just feel gratitude for the good parts of The Guy Next Door adventure, wish him well, and be healed?! 

Because love is big. And ineffable. And important to me, which means OCD wants to rip every memory of it to shreds. I've been trying to feel armored against it so I don't accidentally respond to an eye-twinkle in the driveway, so I can HURRY UP AND ACCEPT THINGS AS THEY ARE, god dammit.

But I don't want to treat love like that! I don't want to treat ME like that anymore. So when a darling potential dom asked me how I could practice submission on my own, like I practice ropes on my own, I decided to start a new ritual:

Every day, at the end of the day, I'm going to get into Child's Pose and bow down to love. Not any one person (or flower, or bird, or color) but the entire concept of love. The universal source that drives me, tends me, and occasionally puts a metaphorical hand on my head.

Rope night was the perfect night to try it. After I put lofi on, put on some rose-scented lotion, and wrapped up my arms, I put a shiny sheet and a few pink Squishmallows (Archie and Laura) on the floor next to the bed, and got down to it.

And it worked! Not the overpowering WHOOSH of submission to a person, but something more cozy and less fraught. Attachment and detachment at the same time. A blessedly quiet mind. I felt faith enter my heart like it was coming home after a long trip. And it was!

Yelling at my heart to hurry up and get better was not working, and it was pretty cruel of me. My aim now is to treat myself like a little kid who has had a big disappointment, but also has a lot of scaffolding and hope. That little time to rest in love made a difference, and I'm excited to let it take the wheel for a while while I rest and heal and probably watch a fair amount of Bluey.

Thank you for being with me on this journey, dear readers. I woke up so grateful.

Calling Out to Myself: A Solo Adventure

One of my Codependents Anonymous friends suggested this and I love it so much. It's hard and takes discipline to love myself instead of focusing on what's lost, but every once in a while I can feel it pay off in progress and peace.

 Last week was a week of continued self care and good decisions, including an inbox abundant with dick pics (One million heart-eyes emojis) and fantasy flirting with all kinds of beautiful dears. None of them ended up suitable for in-person-I'm (mostly) actively trying to avoid any more fuckboys or overly complicated situations, but they were all dear, and they all made me feel glowy and flowy.

So Saturday afternoon, with nothing on the schedule til dancing o' clock, I took myself to bed. Pleasure felt a little out of reach at first, what with intrusive thoughts about how much more desirable Yoga Camp Hottie is than me. Plus, my Rabbit conked out a while back and I'm still getting used to (getting friendly with) my new one.

But I told YCH and her boyfriend to fuck off out of my brain for a while, and got myself to the pink sparkly glowy haze eventually.

And! When I was coming! I cried out:

"I love you! I love you! Oh! I love you!

That's happened with partners before, of course (Especially The Shy One, oh boy!) but I don't usually form ANY words while I'm getting myself off, let alone THOSE words.

It felt like such a release! Like those words had been waiting on my tongue to be hollered out, waiting maybe for a lifetime.

And yes, I was probably saying it to past and recent loves, to the gods and goddesses, to the sky and the trees and the flowers, but the important thing is! I was saying it, sighing it, to me! Oh my goodness!

Sometimes the feeling of having to love myself feels frustrating and lonely, but on good days, it makes me feel treasured, important, chosen. All those things I'm absolutely desperate to get from men, that keep me away from the men probably, I'm able to give myself. It was real. I heard myself breathe out the words in pleasure.

I love you.

Typing that gave me a warmth that started in my belly/soul and spread outwards. Maybe someday a partner will meet me in this place of self-love, but for now I'm happy and curious to practice on my own. Just like I practice my ropes! :)

Knotty Thursday: Ribcage Harness and a Cozy Read

 

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.

Knotty Thursday: Ankle Weave

 For some reason, the end of summer always makes my feet hurt. So I decided to give them a little treat! I think I could do these a lot prettier, but this was a great first try! Here's the tutorial if you want to try for yourself:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsuZi9f4ul8

This tie felt more soothing than sexy, I liked taking a gummy and laying there feeling cozy, just playing scrabble on my phone and listening to an episode of You Are Good.

I'm so happy to be back to this routine! Summer-to-fall is always a rough nervous-system transition for me--all the changing schedules and routines!!! So it feels healing to put this time aside to be kind and romantic with myself. Thanks for being here with me, I always appreciate the company.

Knotty Thursday: A Little Carried Away

 

I think this is so pretty! But I need to be a bit more disciplined next time! Sometimes I just get in the flow and keep braiding, weaving, and knotting, and then it's hard to get out of!

And okay, my right arm got the teeeeensiest bit tingly, so I couldn't lay around in the ropes as much as I like to--next time!

But it was really nice to come back to my ropes, to light some candles and incense (rose) and turn out all the lights. I tried music, but silence was nicer.

OMG! Briefly Unbored By Dating! Part Two

 All of that felt kind of nuts to tell him! But it also felt really good! It also seemed to open him up a little, or maybe he's just like that?

We have a profession in common, so I really liked hearing about his career and telling him about mine. He sent a voice memo about a particularly meaningful day at work, so soulful! Plus a gorgeous, warm, gravelly voice. *swoons forever*

The couple of days we were texting felt exactly like springtime--beautifully peaceful but full of blossoming possibility. I let myself hope that this might be, not just a thing, but the thing.

And then, he stopped texting. I knew he was travelling that Thursday and I ALSO knew that this would be the perfect chance to do my Relationship OCD exposure therapy. 

It's possible that I have a good intuition for when someone has lost interest or switched gears. There seems to be a rhythm for "interested" and a different rhythm (or lack of) for "wandered off." Still, I'm learning to live with uncertainty a little better--I worked hard all day at sitting with the discomfort of not knowing, trying not to be already writing off the connection.

Here's what it feels like when someone I really like isn't texting and I don't know why: I *know* I don't have any claim to their time--in this case, we hadn't even met! But OCD doesn't give a single fuck about being chill for five seconds and letting people live their lives! Or about letting me live my life, for that matter!

Here are some of the things OCD tells me when someone isn't texting RIGHT THAT MINUTE:

"You were stupid to think he might have liked you back."

"You're humiliating yourself and being so pathetic."

"He has already forgotten you. You are so worthless, you might not even exist."

Sitting with the feelings and fielding the unhelpful things my brain was telling me put me in the foulest mood.

Knotty Thursday: Ribcage Harness

 Well, it's supposed to look like a ribcage, but every harness just looks like fancy boobs on me. I remember doing this one on The Good Boy way back when, it was nice having that memory for company!

Happy Halloween dears! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADN90FVYty0

Knotty Thursday: Spider Web Weave!

 Friends! The kitten hung out peacefully in her crate and I finished a whole rope tutorial! It's a joyful new start for our household. Once I decided it was a rope day yesterday, I lifted out of my post-Southern-Charmer gloom and got a little giddy.

It was so much fun getting the whole ritual ready--putting on a little makeup, lighting a rose incense, slathering on rose-scented lotion while I fired up Rory's Brainworks. The real version is so much prettier than mine, but I don't mind! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVN1iRcdJfI

It was supposed to be the same knot the whole way round, but I had a hard time being consistent. So it ended up alternating between a half-hitch, a Munter hitch, and a just-sort-of-figure-it-out hitch. But I'm so proud!

Also, I think it's time for some new rope colors, definitely need a light blue. A bright new palette would be lovely to try before too long!

New Guys, Old Triggers, Real Dating Break, Part One

 

Please send good luck that this therapist will remain a match! The last one I tried used the phrase "sister wives" in reference to poly. She'd said some helpful stuff before that though!

Last Thursday was a two-date day, and I was excited about both! I was meeting the Guy With a Big Telescope for lunch at Emotionally Neutral Diner, and then Le Monsieur was picking me up (in his faaaaancy car) in the evening to come visit his new apartment. I felt horny and shiny and new, amazing how the optimism always shines through.

GWBT was sooooo cute, just the right combination of grown-up and boyish. (He’s 39.) I liked him because his profile mentioned the possibility of stargazing dates, perfect for summer! The big telescope is not a euphemism, he really sent a picture! He was hesitant about the writing-about-stuff aspect of things, but otherwise seemed like he might be a lovely match!

GWBT had warm vibes and was such a gentleman, even offering to have them make me a to-go order in case my French toast didn’t end up being filling enough. Less charming was when he watched out the window as a lady parallel parked, critiquing her entire process.

Still, SO cute. He loved to travel and talked about wanting to whisk me away for a weekend sometime. He was installing a new speaker system in his car just in time for beach trips. (He mocked his current system for having not just a CD player but a TAPE DECK, and I felt envious because I just have a CD player in mine.)

(Side note: Many things are uncertain, but it’s very clear to me that I would like to not be the one doing all the driving in my next relationship.)

Anyway, he was a somewhat plausible catch until:

He: I like your first date outfit, can’t wait to see what you’ll wear on our tenth date!

(Okay I like this line.)

Me: It’s cute that you’d think I’d wear clothes on our tenth date!

Okay, I was being a little obnoxious, but he literally said:

“Shhh!” and looked around like we were going to get in trouble.

I’ve had enough of that particular look-around for this lifetime and the next. And shushing on a first date!

Knotty Thursday: Pretty Armor for My Heart

 

Last night was my first try at a new tie in a while, and it felt so good! I need to practice weaving on some less-curvaceous part of me, because it keeps looking bunched up! Plus I had to keep it loose because it's so close to my neck and I was on my own. But still, I felt gorgeous! Here's the how to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfuGMaqXyKo

Because it was a neck one, it wasn't a lounge-around-for-a-while situation, but something even more exciting happened!! While I was puttering around afterwards, having a snack and getting ready for bed, I had the "I love you" thought--and it was directed at myself! I'm not sure when's the last time I felt that way about a self-date, but it's been at least months. It feels pretty great to be reunited with myself and with my friends the ropes. I've already got something picked out for next Wednesday night!

After I got everybody untangled and put away, I gave myself a treat: Paid for a month of Feeld so I could see my likes. Maybe I'll find a nice casual good boy to practice on? That would be a treat! :D

I'm sorry the back picture is blurry! But I like it anyway!

Knotty Thursday! A Stitch, A Loop, a Hitch!

 

Hooray for this tutorial! I've been starting a new round of (depression/anxiety/family insurrectionsists, etc) therapy work, and yesterday's session with a new therapist had me feeling productively drained and a little jangled--I wasn't sure if I was gonna get to the happy rope place! (So may of these posts start out that way, huh? why are Wednesdays always a LOT?) I thought I might just try the alpine loop and call it a day!

Getting it right was so satisfying, so I kept going with the cow hitch "clasp":

And by the time I got that one right, I was unsurprisingly ready to change into the pretty bra and give the whole thing a whirl! It's supposed to go all the way down, but I felt like I'd learned enough for one night! 

Back to the Nude Beach, Part One

A few weeks ago, The Shy One texted me on the way to The Nude Beach, and just picturing his cute little butt there convinced me it’s past time to try and go back!

I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be the nudist I once was. Until yesterday, the last time I walked around naked outdoors was my ill-fatedsecond visit to The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, but a LOT of things have changed/regenerated since then. I'm not out here looking for a husband, that's for sure!

Even still, I knew that in the course of this 2022 beach trip I might find myself feeling too vulnerable, raw, overexposed. So I planned myself detailed during- and aftercare. I packed glitter sunscreen and spray sunscreen, lots of good snacks, iced coffee, two different beach books. I brought lots of tampons because OF COURSE this day coincided with a rogue perimenopause superperiod.

I even put grapefruit-scented face wipes and cotton candy lip balm in a cooler in the car for before the drive home. I was well-loved and well-cared-for on this riskier-than-usual self-date, that’s for sure.

I got a little lost at first, looping around the state park where they keep The Nude Beach. My GPS was like, no thanks, but I eventually figured it out. The walk from the parking lot to the beach wasn’t as long as I remembered. The sky was perfectly blue and decorated with very fancy clouds.

When I got there and claimed a spot (A little too far from the water, it was CROWDED) there they were, the dear, dear bodies, even more beautiful than I remembered them. Every category of human and every body type. The proud penises and the shy ones. All kinds of cute boobs in various states of tan-line-or-not. Enough adorable butts for Tina Belcher’s whole entire the right number of boys for me is more lifetime.

The tattoos winding across backs and down arms and curling around sweet ankles. The fat hips. The drape and spryness of age. The chaste affection in all kinds of constellations. The boldness and ease—yes please.

Knotty Thursday: Hishi Suspenders (Kind of)

 

I really liked sending a nakeder version to The Shy One this morning. Such a lovely muse.

Okay, so this might actually be prettier if I'd stopped sooner, but the winding and tightening and adjusting and scooching all around just felt so good. So hard to follow directions when my head's in that loopy knotty place. Had the best time with myself last night and woke up in SUCH a good mood. 

Knotty Thursday: Athena Self-Tie and The Relationship Anarchist

 

I have to say that the best thing about this Athena Harnessish thing (Go here for the version I started from: https://youtu.be/2m7F-Tos2S8) (OMG I need longer ropes! 30 feet goes so fast!) was sending a (hotter, I think) picture to The Shy One while I was still playing. I miss him a wholewhole bunch, 24 days left at least! I've been sending him a kiss emoji every day around sunset, seems like all's well there. 

Another cool thing happened too! On Monday night, I had a first date with The Relationship Anarchist. They're so fun to talk to but the chemistry was off. But! The ropes really liked them and they were a very good canvas! Then they had the idea to do platonic ropes and cuddling some more sometime, I said heck yeah! Excited to see what I can come up with for them next. This came out so pretty, yay me!

Knotty Thursday: Hot Self Date

 

The face-having version of this picture might be my favorite picture of myself ever. I feel a little guilty for not going out into the world much on self-dates, but this one was a real treat.  I lit all the candles Saturday night and settled into bed to watch a Lee Harrington talk on Spiritual Kink. I learned a lot, but it was mostly his soothing voice and dreamy green eyes that gave me the inspiration to pick up the ropes without a specific plan. Can vibes be transferred via recorded Zoom? If anyone could do it, it'd be him.

Knotty Thursday: Lark's Head Double-Column Restraint

 Hooray hooray! I've never made knot-practice time a self-date before, but this morning I did. I even felt little wisps of the brain-quiet. I combined this new friend with some not-much-to-look-at (well.) chest harnessing and my supefave the thigh girth hitch. Nothing else is like all that tension/release/gentle struggle, even on my own.

And! I may have found a new casual guy (Way too soon to try for feelings, not while I'm still sometimes struggling to not call This Charming Man!) who is amenable to being decorated--we shall see! 

Good Second Date to Ghost, Part Four

When it came to Nearby Guy’s lovely dick, I found myself frozen with self-consciousness. When, during my moments of touch-drunk subby sleepiness, he took my hand and placed it there, I was relieved to know exactly what I was supposed to be doing, but sort of at a loss about how I was supposed to be doing it. I’ve had such lovely times with such lovely penises all these long and multifaceted Kitten Calendar years, but I haven’t known any man well enough to get used to his dick’s ways, maybe since my early twenties, maybe never. (Possible exception: The Mayor of Kittentown. Pause for nostalgia…)

Nearby Guy lay on his back, basking like a cat in a sunbeam while I played tentatively with him, then worried my heart out that I was being too tentative. His body responded to me the way his personality did: leisurely, friendly, happy to be there and not in a particular rush. There wasn’t any reason for me to worry other than that he was being SO still and my hand sort of felt like it wasn’t my own.

I was sure that his other partners must know exactly what to do, sure that if I didn’t figure this out her would have no reason to ever come back. There wasn’t any reason to jump to such defeatist conclusions, except that I was tired and insecure and so many things had just happened all at once.

“I’m not a penis expert,” I said apologetically, “So feel free to give me directions.”

He did for a while. In my fantasy version of this situation, I’d have put his dick in his own gorgeous hand and let him show me what pressure and motions turned him on the best, playing with myself and looking him in the eye. This braver version of myself would have ended the evening happily rubbing his cum into my pinch-sore nipples.

What really happened was that a not-hot song came on in the middle of his instructions. I climbed out from between his legs to press skip, (My Spotify, my fault!)  (It was “Never Scared” by Bonecrusher, a fine song in less vulnerable situations!) and then I just lost the rest of my steam. I kissed him and then lay down on his belly, sighing “So much just happened!”

I felt overwhelmed, extra-naked, and small. I needed some aftercare, some sleep, some perspective. I have many compassionate thoughts for myself about this moment and those that followed, but let’s leave me there for now: Feeling stupid and wistful and lustful and satisfied, lost but still tangled in warmth.

Bye and Thanks to The Socialist

My third date with The Socialist (a week ago yesterday) was just as warm and snuggly as the first two. I drove out to visit him in the suburbs, to his very guy apartment with a goth mix playing and Smiths posters all over the walls. He was wearing a Smiths t-shirt that matched the rest of the aesthetic, and all of it felt very homey and familiar. When I was nineteen, my boyfriend-type-person was a goth guy who took me to a rave club on Friday nights, and that seems to have influenced most subsequent decisions.

I felt so cozy sitting on his (velvety black) couch with my feet in his lap, talking about books and life and politics. I was SO RELIEVED when he made fun of the idea of a rigged 2016 primary! I told him he deserved ten blowjobs for that, and I meant it, but maybe I need to set my bar higher than “only buys into SOME misogynist news cycles.” Kinda where we are right now, though.

In bed, it was easy and warm. He knew just how to kiss me and just how to fuck me, didn’t mind when my exuberant moans rattled the walls of his crowded apartment building, though he did eventually get up and close the window. I couldn’t contain my joy, and he didn’t want me to.

After a couple of snuggly hours, I got tired of the goth music and (this is seriously one of the best date things that ever happened to me) put on one of his TWO Monkees playlists, singing along to cheery retro deeps cuts with his whole heart and his whole face. This, to me, is the miracle of dating, the way that, in spite of every wall and flaw and trope, a near-stranger’s perfect goofball humanity can shine out of him like the sun, and I am sometimes lucky enough to be there, naked and satisfied, to witness it. (And, in this case, laugh my head off.)

Definitely not hot songs, but I climbed all over him some more anyway—"Another Pleasant Valley Sunday” indeed.

The trouble started when I tried to tell him what I needed in terms of post-snuggle communication. He had disappeared for most of the week following our excellent second date, and as I tried to ask for something other than radio silence I felt stupid and needy and a little flower of hurt bloomed in my chest. I knew I wanted him to be more present by text, but everything I said felt like it had the potential to scare him away, everything kept coming out wrong.

We did spend a very pleasant half-hour joking our way through the emoji keyboard (Upside-down-smiley-face makes a much better ping than the businesslike thumbs-up, don’t you think?!) As I was putting on my pants, though, I knew I had to try and get serious, and he could not have looked more miserable about that.

I explained that praise is a really important part of sex for me. “Praise” makes it sound more BDSM than I meant it to. What I really meant was…softness. Kind words. He hadn’t given a single tiny sparkle of a compliment, and I explained that I couldn’t read his mind to tell if he liked me. He argued that he wouldn’t have had me over if he didn’t like me, but that is just nonsense when it comes to sex. (And I have, like, five years of blogging to prove it.)

“I’m just not good with praise” was the verdict and so was “I just don’t like all the talking.” I said that if we were fucking, he needed to communicate better, and he seemed to take it to heart.

On the long drive home, my phone chimed, and I got my hopes up that maybe he’d said something sweet. When I pulled up at home, I opened the phone and saw…more bantering about emojis, which is admittedly fun and cute but also nagged at that little void in me where kind words should’ve been. I have all the kind words to offer, and I wanted to believe that I deserved some in return.

He pinged the next day, but the connection felt broken. There would’ve been so many things to chitchat about all week—the Blue Wave! The new emojis! Orange heart! But my phone was silent except for reminders from ResistBot, so I had to admit that The Socialist didn’t like me the way I liked him.

After I let him go, I felt a return to myself, a relief from the emotional hangover that had made the sad election anniversary even harder to navigate.

What I want is simple, I want the cute person to tell me I’m cute. What isn’t so simple is remembering that I deserve it.

As the dust settled and I sent my OKC app to the cloud for a breather, I realized something I’ve never been able to non-judgmentally take in about myself before: sex is a scary thing to me. It’s all of the wonderful things, too, but sharing my space, my body with someone takes a deep investment of trust. I’ve always wanted it to be no big deal but with a sensitive body and soul and a heart that will leap into action at the least provocation, I have to take care of myself. I have to admit what I need.

So it’s a sad week, guywise, and I’m disappointed, but this is also a good, big step. I listened to him when he told me what he had (and didn’t have) to offer, and I believed him. Instead of treating the difference between us with self-sacrifice and eventual resentment, I treated us both kindly, setting us free to find a better fit. Sigh-go me.