Sweet Valentine, Part Three: The Ropes Really Like Him and I Do Too!

OMG how did he get so beautiful?!

As I sit down to type this, I feel half "we went too fast and I lost my chance to truly get to know him" and half "whoa our bodies (and souls?!) really knew what they were doing that Wednesday morning after yoga!" Since I can't fully understand what it means, I'll focus on how it felt, which was unequivocally, dizzily wonderful.

Putting the ropes on Sweet Valentine, I didn't really feel like a Ma'am. Part of the appeal of this connection was how evenly matched we are in some ways. He IS a sweet precious baby boy, but he's also a man with a real, full life and a big stake in his/our community. AND he's in therapy?! So hot.

It's hard to latch onto details because the morning was such a blur of joy and release--I felt both very present AND in a fog. The Pink Haze, my name for the way horniness steers the ship in the right direction sometimes, was in full effect.

His shoulders are made of the most beautiful triangles in existence. His body reminds me of the Greek hall at the Met, so perfectly carved by nature and light. I felt perfectly carved by nature and light too! The sun was shining directly into my body, heart, and soul.

And I felt secure, like all of me was in such safe hands. Dad vibes I guess, or just his open and beautiful attention. Maybe both. My word for the year is trust and on this day I felt like I was living it.

I found out later (or maybe he told me at the coffeeshop and I just missed it) that this was his First Ever Poly Date!!! Not the first one he made plans with, but the first not-his-wife lady he kissed since they started their adventure. I wish I'd taken this into account, asked him questions deeper than "Are the ropes pinching anywhere?" and "Am I doing a good job?"

Or maybe it's better that the ropes and our bodies did most of the talking? Praise flew out of my face like it always does. And much as I get vexed by the just saying stuff aspect of dating, boy did I say stuff. Such as:

"When I put the ropes on you, that means you're mine. And when I take them off...you're still mine."

The kissing and the sex both felt like we were trying to meld into one body, one spirit, not tangled but interwoven. Bound but free. Grounded and kind.

No wonder I've been feeling such floods of emotion following our (first?) two dates--having my needs met so thoroughly and kindly is BEAUTIFUL and also so big that it freaks me the fuck out a little. That be not afraid feeling of encountering angels.

Not that day though. All I felt when he left that afternoon was:

1. THANK GOD The Guy Next Door didn't kiss me!! What if I'd gotten distracted by his mess and MISSED THIS?! Sometimes it's so clear that Love Itself is looking out for me.

2. Sweet Valentine is someone really special to me.

3. This is the kindness I deserve. I hope he feels that way too. He deserves every single happiness in the world, such a precious sweet baby soul.

I spent most of the day in bed, napping/glowing/napping/glowing. I felt peaceful and fulfilled and happy. I knew OCD would chime in with the thoughts soon enough, but that day found me with a quiet brain and a full heart--a miracle just as it was.

Knotty Thursday: We're Not Helpless

 Last night, my church held a vigil for all those killed by ICE. About a hundred people came. The songs were my love-and-light favorites, and I found ways to sing while crying. We all did. It was helpful to just sit there and watch the candles burn, let my heart just go ahead and break for a while. Grief is healthy and warm when it gets to live, gets to be heard. The candles eventually became a small fire in a dish, and we let it burn.

Someone had 3-D printed whistles and strung them on cords, as talisman, the pastor said. There were little pamphlets about how to use your whistle when ICE comes. For us, it's not if, it's when. I already have my whistle, but I hung some in a beloved tree as hopefully helpful street art.

So as your good sweet Ma'am, I have directions for you: Find a whistle and learn how to use it. Call your representatives and tell them how you feel about state-sponsored murder: Bad I hope! Tell them to defund ICE. Tell them anything and everything that's bothering your heart. You can write if you don't want to call, but tell them.

I love you all a bunch, my dears. Do this and I'll send you all the praise, just like I always do. 

Knotty Thursday: Oh, Dreamy Playlist Angel

 

<3 <3 <3 Look at his shoulders. <3 <3 <3

Me: Oh sure, I'm up for casual.

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.

It might just be beautiful.

Trauma Work Summer Part Six: Fire Prevention

IT'S A MAP!

Camp Overshare was supposed to create a Fire Prevention Play. There was a contest. It's one of my boss's most dreaded tasks. She assigned it to me, ostensibly because of my teaching artist background, but also maybe because nobody else wanted to deal with it. I tried to conscript Summer Princess to be my play buddy, but she demurred.

I was in a pretty scary house fire in the Nineties, but that was far from my mind as I helped kids create characters and compose a few lines for themselves. They already were pretty expert on fire safety, at least a few sentences worth! The table read went so smoothly! I was so proud.

When it came time to film the play, everything turned to chaos. Something about opening the Fire Prevention Play costume box made everybody a little nuts, and EVERYONE was coming to me for help. And YELLING.

And, horror of horrors, my Squishmallow had gone missing! Holly, the little purple owl with flowers on her head! I'd made her her own (Bi colors!) friendship bracelet at the beginning of camp. She was my comfort object and helped the kids sometimes, too! 

So in the midst of the swirling Fire Prevention Play chaos, Summer Princess and one of the campers were looking for Holly. I found this unbearably touching and ended up crying in Summer Princess's arms. About a misplaced toy! I was not okay.

Holly was eventually found, under a bookshelf. I asked my boss to cover me and went outside to sit on my favorite bench (OMG I loved that bench! I already miss it so!) and do some breathing. What I actually did was cry and be overwhelmed. Summer Princess came out to sit with me. I asked her if I could put my head on her shoulder, and she said I could.

<3 <3 <3

I just want to pause here and say I appreciate this connection so much. I know it was just a summer camp friendship that my own love and attraction blew wildly out of proportion, but it was also real and special.

For me, it was an affection as much as it was an obsession. There was wholesome love there, even as my desire for her made me want to dismantle the inner structures of myself. There was something beautiful between us, even as it descended into what a friend (obviously a friend around my age) described as a "Jerry Springer situation."

I did want to possess Summer Princess. I would have loved to live out my imagination's Ma'am scenarios with her. But also, I got to know her heart a little, and I hope, even amid the panic and OCD and misunderstandings, she knew my heart a little too.

 

A Bad Review, a Glimmer of Faith, Part One

 

On my Feeld profile, it says I’m looking for “Boyfriend Material and/or Good Boys to tie up.” I’m wondering if I should get rid of the latter part, dispense with the “and/or” and let go of the hope that any more meaningful “Ma’am” experiences are coming my way. I feel demoralized and SO tired of dating—I’m wondering if the apps are maybe too harsh for me, if I even know what people mean when they say “connection.” Some of this is just..winter, but some of it is last week’s adventure with Entitled Guy.

He started out with a sweet curiosity that reminded me of 2022’s Good Boy—plus he’s a little older, 33 to TGB’s 27, that seemed good! He started out as kind and thoughtful. We talked about books! He’s really into brain books! So am I!

I don’t usually sext before I meet someone in person, but I was feeling cozy and adventurous last Tuesday night so I asked if he would like to tell me what he would do if he was over. Tuesday is one of my loooong workdays, so I microdose THC when I get home. I was open and wet and tired and game.

He wrote back! With voice memos! In a sweet, careful voice, he told me very respectfully (Maybe even a little too respectfully) all the things he would like to do to me. It was meticulous and detail-oriented—I was impressed that he could just TALK OUT such lovely smut! His story made me so swoony that I couldn’t find words! I told him that and he sent! More voice memos! With more kindly details, gently working his way to a more explicit but still very respectful story.

He asked if we could Facetime, and I said that I didn’t want to, but he could send me a video if he’d like. Sometimes guys think you’re a catfish if you don’t Facetime-on-demand, so I made him a cute video with angles I liked, just me saying hi in my pajamas, nothing naked yet.

He sent me a video I LOVED, playing with his gorgeous dick, but also sent a text pushing for Facetime again.

“On FT you would get my face AND my toy.”

(Is this really a selling point? The face part, yes, but did I need to see his Fleshlight or whatever?)

When he tried to push past my first Facetime no, I should have cut off the conversation, but instead, I typed back, “I really don’t want to Facetime, but your dick is so beautiful!”

And I made him a playing-with-boobs video that I liked a lot. I felt like I was being so generous and fun! He was calling me “Ma’am” over text and seemed to be having a LOVELY time!

When we were done, I sent a voice memo praising him for making me feel 

The Kindest Hookup, Part Two

 

Since I’ve been officially looking for Boyfriend Material, I’ve wondered on and off if I should give up the more casual kink connections. Conventional wisdom, aka my Inner Patriarchy, tells me that I only should be going on Serious Dates with Serious Relationship Potential, but that seems kinda high-pressure! I think I can find true love again while slutting it up, especially since internal happiness feels key to finding the right folks.

Plus, ahhhhhhhh…service. It’s so magical when I get to play as a service top! The world is so harsh to all of us, I love giving someone cute a soft place to be for a while, a chance to feel special and cared for, to rest in pleasure and be wholly celebrated. I deserve that for myself too! There’s so much power in bringing a sweet stranger kindness and joy, it’s one of the best parts of adventuring.

I’m so grateful to The Boy Who Brought Flowers for helping me touch base with the benevolent power of Ma’am-ness!

“Meet you upstairs,” he said, as soon as I released him from our taking-it-something-like-slow makeout time on the couch. He bounded upstairs, eager to do a good job.

We were listening to my Liked Songs because none of my other playlists were feeling quite right. I’d asked him if he had a playlist to share, but he said something really sweet like “No, I want to be in your world.” A lot can go wrong with a playlist that’s not really a playlist, but I gave him the power to skip anytime! He never used it.

I had him strip to his briefs before I gave him the gentle ribcage harness. He’d mentioned that he wanted to be restrained, wanted to be swept away.

Side note: Are people sometimes using kink to dissociate? To be jarred all the way out of themselves and be ready for whatever self comes next? I know I’ve subbed that way, especially during those hard, hard divorce times! But I am not that Ma’am!

I wanted us present and slow. I held him close each time I reached around to cross the ropes at his back. I breathed him in, the smells of sweat and soap and, very faintly, of cannabis. His shoulders and back and arms were sculpted with care, and there was something dear about that, something vulnerable. His body reminded me of the motivational books he was reading—every part of him wanted to do what he saw as a good job, every sinew reaching out for approval and praise. I was so happy to give it!

The effort of being a person, any person, is such a heavy lift. This ambitious, aspiration-filled young man deserved a moment to just be.

Like the Thoughtful Guy said a few weeks before: “Just lay here and be you.” I hope my Flower Boy felt that peace. I hope we all do, as often as possible.

As he stood over me, I wound the purple ropes between his legs, echoing the knots and loops of the harness above. His dick was fat and joyful beneath his grey briefs, beneath my pulling and adjusting and re-adjusting. Each time I grazed it lovingly, sparks of happiness sparkled in my fingertips and all through my body. I hope he felt sparkly too!

Knotty Thursdays: Worship Me a Little, Sure!

 

It’s just kind of the best when a cutie reaches out on Feeld and says something like, “You can practice your ropes on me if that would be helpful?”

It was! I was superexcited to work on the back of a harness for once, having worked on just me for a while. And what a sweetie pie he was, deferential and kind, calling me Ma’am in nearly every sentence, once I offered him the option. He was very, very good. He had the floppy hair and wholesomely handsome face of a Disney prince. It’s a thing I said to him: “I’ve never tied up a Disney prince before!

I liked the bright flash of his green eyes, just a momentary glimmer. So pretty.

(I’m maybe a little more chatty than the average Ma’am, and maybe a little too sweet? I don’t know.)

There’s a certain kind of casual date I associate with post-pandemic life, where the boy under my hands just kind of…needs a rest. A relief. A little cloud of peace to live in for a while. Okay, wait, I just explained submission.

After I decorated him (“This is more ropes than I expected…” he said. Guilty as charged.) he asked if I would tie his hands. I don’t usually restrain anybody on the first date, but he asked so nicely! And I liked putting a chain stitch onto those pretty wrists! I liked how he obediently clasped his hands behind his back before I even asked him to. I would’ve gone for tying in the front.

Then he lay down on the bed on his tummy, ready to be petted. “I like being your little pet” he said. He was so good at it!

I didn’t let him be restrained for long! Yes, I was concerned about safety, but really I just wanted his hands on me.

“May I worship your tits, Ma’am?” I mean, it’s only one of my favorite things! He pulled my lacy purple bra down enough to get my nipple into his mouth while he played with the other one. It felt so good that I curled up into a human comma around him and yowl-moaned.

As good as it felt, I wanted no part of me losing control. I told him to turn over for a spanking, and he obliged. I pulled his underpants down just enough and spanked and spanked, leaving cute red circles on both of his sweet, soft cheeks. Then I felt the relief too, like a string of tension inside my body had been loosened, if not untied.

I wanted no part of the bonding chemicals my brain would give me if I let him get me off, so I regretfully told him we wouldn’t fuck. He lay next to me and got himself off, good boy.

When he did that quick-zippering-gotta-go thing after, it didn’t make me sad the way it usually might. (Oh aaaaggggony of The Shy One’s quick zippering the last night we were together. Sometimes my whole heart just wants to write a small opera about that moment. Eventually several paragraphs, at least.) The other night though, I felt like, “Oh, this is great, I can finish my library book that’s due.”

Besides that pleasant good-job-everybody feeling, there was another feeling, oddly pleasant as well: the Not Yet feeling. The deep, kind acceptance that I’m not ready to open my heart again, that it might be a while. The knowledge that while my mind might be antsy to move on to my next loves (Or even, come on! Likes!) my body, heart, and soul still belong to the Shy One(s), I don’t know for how long!

That’s the person I am, and the only person I have to be. No wonder taking my time feels good, it’s love. And loving myself.

Knotty Thursday: Three-Braid Harness and The Shy One Sexts!

 

I think this one is so pretty! Definitely one of my favorite rope selfies so far! If I do it again, I might start with an overhand knot and do the first braid a little lower-it got too tight on my neck after a little while. 

I adapted the harness from this Rory's Brainworks tutorial: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6exY0MxmC8 It's one I'll probably refer to a lot, there are lots of different ways to finish it off, none of which ended up in this tie. I like how the weave-y bit looks kinda like armor, that part was my own fuzzy-headed creation.

Most exciting though! A wonderful first! I sent The Shy One the picture above, plus a face-showing version, and he took us to sextingtown! Where we've never been! I loved having GORGEOUS pictures of his cock, both under undies and free, to keep me company while I fired up the Rabbit. I loved learning about some more things he wants to try! I loved sending him a sleepy-grateful picture of my post-orgasm face snuggling up with my Snorlax squishmallow.  

I'd mentioned wanting to sext during our DTR talk week before last, and I'm so so happy that he remembered and went for it! I remain the luckiest Ma'am in the universe.

Ma’am Stuff Part Two

Quote from Rumi

Friends, last night I dipped my toe into some nice warm Ma’am waters again. No one I’m ready to talk about yet, but it both moved me on from AND stirred me up about The Good Boy. This new possible one has a very different vibe from TGB, and I was wholly present with him, but everywhere I went today, I saw guys who reminded me of The Good Boy. Like a bunch of sexy, bright-eyed ghosts. And of course I’m convinced I will never see the new one again, even though he has indicated otherwise. Grieflust. Melancholy joy. Ravenous wistfulness. Newness and time loop. The urge to cling and the urge to leave a me-shaped hole in the wall as I flee.

Anyway, back to those first Ma’am texts with The Good Boy. He typed something like:

“Ma’am, I’m getting hard thinking about being all wrapped up tightly in your ropes.”

He texted so generously and sweetly. Everything he said read like innocent, available happiness, and it opened me up like flowers.

So I told him every time he got off thinking about me, he should let me know so I could send some praise. I told him it was the best way to be a Very Good Boy for me until we had time to meet.

The combination of flirting and coaching was an absolute delight and revelation—not sure I’ve ever felt more like myself. His texts were nicely chaste somehow, despite often being jerkoff reports. He felt MINE so fast, bravely, nakedly, openly so. Just so sweet and mine.

AND. A thing that’s rare for me in dating and actually in ALL things—I knew exactly what to do! I didn’t feel the performative pressure that so often makes up early dating chats, I knew that whatever praise I gave him would be okay, would be gratefully accepted instead of seen as overwhelming or overbearing. There’s such a RELIEF in knowing that it’s okay to give. There was power, yes, but also a new kind of love. By lavishing him with praise, giving him my whole self in a new, unfiltered way, I was also better able to love myself.

And once we met, once I started to know him (And OH BOY fuck him) as both his own person and as my own work of art, I also got to love him in a very Marie Kondo kind of way—the joy and attachment I feel towards my most precious objects. My Valentine car, my vintage 1970s tulip glasses, my weighted blanket, my magenta ropes. Mine to maintain, to gentle-as-a-verb, to make sure he didn’t break. He was in my care, and he was mine.

Of course, while we were in this beautiful mist of submission and care, he was also his own person, of course he was. He seemed happy, cozy, and present, but I couldn’t see inside his head to know if there was fear or revulsion or impatience (there was definitely impatience) or (way less intense than mine) real affection. I want to be able to know. This is why the end of an attraction always feels like a trick—there’s no way to really know it was real, nothing I can hold in my hand as proof.

A Nice Break from Being TOO MUCH: Thinking Through the Ma’am Stuff, Part One

 

I am Love-Kaiju, hear me roar.

Trying to access the emotions of my first real time as a rope top is like trying to make a map of Narnia once you’re already back in Britain: It was so magical and I think it was real but I have no other witnesses, I don’t know where or when it is there now, and I might have to accidentally fall into a painting to ever visit again. I really, really need an oversized anthropomorphized lion to show up and tell me what’s what. Maybe I should put that on my Feeld profile.

Being my own Aslan is especially hard at this moment because my ego is bruised and I want to detach from the whole experience and outrun the heartbreak. Through the annoying magic of the stupid internet, I know he has already moved on. (In Feeld, someone who has previously deactivated their account will show back up in your inbox, there’s no way to unmatch until that unfortunate moment. Yes, I too am reactivated, but it still irks my entire soul. I unmatched right away before I could be tempted to check what he’s looking for post-me.)

It's hard to reach the warm, generous, expansive Ma’am emotions thorough my brain’s David Lynch roomtone of bitterness and self-recrimination (Like, fucking LOVE, really?! Fucking AGAIN? What is WRONG WITH ME?) but I think it’s important to honor the big feelings, and maybe to learn to love them. So I need to retrace my steps.

So. Back to six weeks or so ago. It only took a few Feeld messages to settle into a new kind of flirting for me; A conversation between a Very Sweet Ma’am and a Very Good Boy. To me, it didn’t feel like taking on roles so much as stepping into a space. When he typed to me that he was fantasizing about my ropes wrapped around him, I wrapped around him in some spiritual or metaphysical sense.

I felt fully myself in a new way. Being able to lavish affection on somebody so beautiful and (thus far) worthy, being able to bestow praise and pleasure and have them (I thought) be unreservedly received was such a relief, such a feeling of stepping into myself.

As with anyone, there’s a LOT of me that has to be held back in order to be a somewhat functional and productive member of society. If I didn’t hold back some of my affection, awe, and wonder, I would be constantly exploding into a cloud of glitter, gratitude, and unhinged, terrifying-to-many joy. I would be a kaiju of affection, maybe that’s why I identify so much with Godzilla. There are plenty of non-dating ways to let out the giddy world-love that don’t feel like I’m being superscary: art, activism, teaching, friendship just to name a few. But paired with attraction, all the glittering gratitude makes me feel just like a crazy person. Like glitter, a mess that clings to everything and is impossible to clean up.

Even now, as I try to convince myself to write about the shiny joy of being free to praise a receptive partner, I don’t want to let it out. Because I always seem to land back in the same place: I’m too much. I’m too intense. I’m too open. My transparency asks for too much in return without meaning to. My affection for attached but presumably available poly partners gets me vetoed. My love makes me terrifying. I’m too much, I’m too much, I’m too much.

“Sometimes it’s all just…too much.” said The Southern Charmer on our second and last date. Granted, he’d taken too many weed gummies before coming over, and he might have meant *gestures widely* and not my whole thing specifically, but I heard it as feedback and it hurt my heart. What’s the former Good Boy out in the goddamn field looking for now? Probably someone who is NOT TOO FUCKING MUCH.

The thing of it is, though, EVERYTHING is too much sometimes, especially right now. The guys who panic and flee or who turn into human lo-fi or who sabotage the whole thing, and I, when I flee too soon or too late, we’re all relearning things as simple as how to touch other human beings. Thinking back to the first time I had a man in my bed post-pandemic (Nearby Guy last August) I remember how much awe I felt just at the gift of just being NEXT TO another human being, being able to smell and kiss and cuddle someone besides myself. When I arrived at The Lovely Guy and This Charming Man, that awe and overwhelm continued.

It doesn’t excuse my bad behavior or anyone else’s (SHALLOW, BRATTY, SELF-CENTERED, ENTITLED) defensiveness, but it does make it easier to be compassionate with all of us: the big emotions of attraction are roller-coastery in the best of times, but alongside the need to relearn and reinvent being around other people, it. IS. A. LOT.

Next time I hope to get to the Ma’am emotions, but I’ll also welcome whatever paragraphs stand in the way.