Autistic Euphoria and the Guy Next Door: Part Five

 

Even though I was on edge about how to talk about (Or not talk about? Who can say?) Girlfriend Next Door, the second Art Night went even further into the magical realm of Autistic Euphoria. It's not too different from the joy of meeting someone the ropes really like! It felt so profoundly liberating to have someone to play with! He bought over his music (some complicated situation with a private server) and we played songs back and forth.

If I'm playing songs back and forth, my heart is 100% in the mix. I try to tell myself it's no big deal, but that's a lie.

I was hypervigilant for Signs He Might Like Me Back. He talked a little about Girlfriend Next Door and it didn't sound like they were that serious of a thing, but he was definitely not as touchy-feely as he'd been the previous visit. A couple of times I touched his arm for emphasis and he looked apprehensive. I can read signals from time to time, and it's concerning to me that sometimes I just want to ignore or counteract them. Maybe everybody feels like that sometimes but it makes me wonder if I'm a predator. I don't think so, but I could do better.

No polite "thanks for having me" text this time. He'd offered to watch the cats for an upcoming trip, but he didn't write back or acknowledge when I sent him the trip dates. So my brain did what it does for inscrutable texting rhythms--made it about me. Was he Backing Off or just busy.

Why, at any point, didn't I just tell him what I was feeling or ask him anything about what he wanted this connection to be? Things I could have asked if I was being true to myself at any point during our sadly abbreviated friendship:

After the first hangout: "Hey I felt a spark last night, what do you think? Any potential there?"

At any point: "Am I texting you too much or do we just have different rhythms?"

After I found out about GFNS: "Are you two poly or exclusive?"

I have these skills! I've been poly or poly-adjacent for nearly my whole adult life! But, when The Guy Next Door first came onto my radar back in August, my OCD therapist suggested I wait and let him say something if he liked me in a romantic way. This had a certain logic to it, especially since we live so close together.

So, as if the work of this blog had never existed, I'd accepted the don't-tell-him challenge. And it brought me so much pain. Probably caused him some pain too.

What I Want, Part Three

7. SEE ABOVE.

8. I want to keep getting better and better at the ropes, learn all kinds of new knots and harnesses. It’s time, too, to learn a little more about restraining the cuties. I want all kinds of Ma’am and Sir pleasures. And I ESPECIALLY want to tie The Shy One to the bed a BUNCH more times.

9. I want to take, send, and receive lots more superhot pictures. Lots of beautiful cute-iful pictures. Something about the way The Song Sender saw me made me super-smitten with selfie-ing. I got bolder in asking for and sending smutty pictures, collected so many new ways to photo-flirt! I’d love to keep that going. Photoplay was such a big part of my early adventures-- I can’t wait to see what lands in the Hidden Folder next!

10. I want good communication. I want to learn good communication. I’d love to break through my layers of crush and guardedness and just figure out how to say what needs saying, with way less angst and drama on my part.

That means figuring out how to say “I miss you” instead of panicking that I’ll be forgotten. It means writing though layers of old bitterness and hurt so I don’t take it out on the sweet people of now. I could be so much better at this!

I want to let people be in touch the way they want to, but I’d also like all the cute texts all the time please! With emojis. And pictures of flowers and trees and pets and clouds and hot, hot bodies. I want to know each dear is thinking of me and let them know I’m thinking of them.

11. I want to fall asleep easier when I have company in bed. I love being in The Shy One’s arms listening to him snore sweetly, enjoying the warmth and peace, but it’s SO hard for me to fall asleep that way! That’s partly because of the excitement, my heart won’t stop racing with him no matter how many (SO many) times I’ve come, racing with happiness and exertion and oh-my-goodness-how-am-I-so-lucky-ness! But I would love to relax into him, into any of them, and fell asleep. Not worry about farting. Not worry he’ll disappear. Just know he’s with me, and drift off.

 

Unicorn Stuff Part One: Less Than/Equal To

 

As I tiptoe back into playing/dating life, I have trouble getting my head around that one day. The day I thought I could have The Shy One for a boyfriend and Mrs. Shy One for at least a friend. I can’t overstate the fulfillment I felt in those 24 hours or so. Included. Appreciated. Was it over so quick because I wanted it so badly, because it scared me to death how badly I wanted it? Did I need to sabotage that happiness because it was too much to hope for?

Probably not. Probably what happened is what happened: Her overstep with the writing brought the truth out about my feelings, made the closet of it all more untenable, or made me see that it just was all along. I didn’t know how to make a boundary around my (broken, I hated to admit) heart, but I did know how to fiercely defend the writing. That part seemed clear—if it’s the writing or the cuties, it's got to be the writing.

But I did feel a DEEP fear around the happiness that was them, and only a fraction of that fear (maybe ¾? 5/8?) could be attributed to the present. I do have a unicorn chip on my shoulder. I “knew” I was going to be treated as less-than, vetoed, cast aside. I’m giving myself the assignment to read all my couple-trouble posts and see what exactly is wrong with me.

Confusingly, with The Shy Ones, my trouble wasn’t really with the hierarchy. I was more than ready to defer to the wife-and-kids of it all. I felt honored to put my desires on hold for Ramadan, to, in my own spiritual-not-religious way, submit to something higher. Even/especially since it wasn’t my something, even if the thing I was submitting to was just what time the sun set each day—that’s a lot. I liked letting myself be small, treating his life and his faith with honor and deference—it was one of the most meaningful relationship months of my storied life.

That lovely feeling of letting myself be small, the relief of bowing to him/them metaphorically if not literally, was possible because I felt equal as a human being. I was equally-but-differently valued, adored, and praised. When he momentarily balked at the idea of getting mail from me, that egalitarian feeling began to crack. When he told me I needed to pretend we were just friends if I posted pictures of him on my public feeds, the possibility of any kind of equal footing shattered.

Does that possibility of equal-not-the-same exist? I tried to make it clear to Mrs. Shy One that I knew the right role to occupy, but that I wanted to be seen as a whole person. I begged her not to see me as a threat (I should’ve been saying all this to him, I’m so sorry.) but I absolutely was a threat.

If I’d been allowed/allowed myself to love as much as I wanted to love him/them and if by some miracle he/they felt that big love back, all of our lives would have had to grow and change. They were years and years away from that kind of expansion, if ever.

In these lonely-then-less-so couple of weeks, I’ve asked myself over and over why I couldn’t fit, why being out of the closet with him was so important, why the deal broke when I really, REALLY didn’t want it to.

“I want my heart to be free.” I said, and I have compassion for myself about that, but what does it even MEAN? What good is a free heart when I’ve lost someone(s) so dear? I guess that’s what I aim to find out.

Oh Wait, It Wasn’t My Drama

I’m sorry to revisit the same stupid playdate-that-wasn’t over and over again, but it’s still weighing on me and it’s still taking away my fun. This seems to be the month of unpleasant conversations that give me lots of insight—this morning, when I touched base with Steampunk Girl to apologize for not saying hello and tell her that I miss them, I found out the truth about those cancelled plans: It wasn’t my expectations and drama that he was aggravated with, it was drama and expectations that she invented and projected onto me.

It turns out that she was upset that I hadn’t cancelled after she explained that I would need a more loving situation for my first ass-time. In fact, I had cancelled, but then I uncancelled when I realized that we weren’t the same person and didn’t need the same things. I felt perfectly capable of doing the gentle breaking-it-in parts myself (I think we’ve established that I’m awesome at that!) and taking care of the emotional parts on my own too. There are many other valid reasons besides love to play with somebody, and in this case I chose him for competence, chemistry, and release. And also because (I thought) he was my pal. I think I’d have rocked at that playdate, if the planning process hadn’t turned crazymaking.

She was then bothered when I declined to have my first anal time with Cute Master, which she’d deemed a more loving situation. Actually, it probably was, and CM may still get the honor, though it would only be in the most casual and matter-of-fact of ways. But even if CM WAS the better choice, who in the world was SHE to decide that? Whose asshole are we talking about here?

It was also her issues causing the schedule mess—she thought I’d have all this “aftermath” that he would have to deal with, even though I’d already taken responsibility for that part and asked him to just tell me when he was expected home. All that I’d really asked for (besides wanting to make him cupcakes) was a time-margin away from the school week so I’d be more relaxed, a high sex-to-snuggle ratio, and to be treated gently about the scheduling part.

I did romanticize the friendship, but that doesn’t mean I expected more than friendship. Regardless of my feelings, I never asked him for anything that went beyond the bounds of an FWB or play partner. And even if I did, all he had to say was no, there was never any reason to put me down and e-yell at me about it.

All this time I’ve been feeling like I failed to be friends with them, especially with her, but they were the ones who dropped me over one mismatched set of expectations, most of which they’d invented. They were callous, mean, and defensive all along. It if weren’t for something she decided I needed and shouldn’t have, the plans would probably have come and gone, a nice story and a happy step along the way, and I could have kept my muse and friend. But I guess if he let all that happen to me, then it was never really a friendship to lose.

I wish this had been a conversation with him and not a way-after-the-fact whisper-down-the-lane with her and more stupid paragraphs. I wish he would have acknowledged that I deserved better, that I had the right to prefer whichever partner I preferred, that just because her first time meant “loving” and “aftermath” didn’t mean that mine had to. It’s helped to realize that for all of my mess, I’m actually much more self-contained than she is, and certainly less insecure.

Of course any good poly reader could say that all of this would have been avoided through direct communication and a more transparent approach by all parties, but I knew those things weren’t there for them from like the second date and I proceeded anyway. I hope that I can treat myself more humanely in future partnerships—how many times have I said that?

As for the dungeon, TPG was so sweet and posted pictures of her bruises just as if I were a real Dom. Hopefully Old-Timey Guy will forgive me for running out, I’m sure he had a million other fun things to do. I may not go back for a while but when I do, I hope that I can find the brave person I used to be there, or at least find myself able to cry soulful tears.

A Girl-Crush, A Wall of Grief, and Gold Star Breakup

This’ll be a long post, but I appreciate the way the three things fit together so here goes.

Way back in May when I met Steampunk Guy and Steampunk Girl, I hit on them both but I kind of backpedaled, so there was confusion all around and awkwardness between me and her. When he asked me about it the day after our first couch-date, I gave my standard not-usually-attracted-to-non-Sweetie-girls-but-I-wouldn’t-rule-it-out answer.

But when (a little over a week ago) the day finally came for our first metamour coffee, I thought back to my intentions that first night and realized that my first thought on seeing them was “I want these two to do stuff to me.”

We were meeting right after I’d just had a job interview, so I was feeling all competent and happy. I changed into my favorite blue dress in a café bathroom and felt glowy as I drove out to the suburbs. She’s chosen a coffee shop on a little Christmas village of a street near where they live. When I saw her, there was just no question as to whether I’d been hitting on them both. She’sjustsopretty. She’d come right from work and was wearing a vintage white wrap dress with cap sleeves and pearls. She had on pretty white sandals with wedge heels. I imagine we looked like an adorable pair of ladies.

She took charge, which was helpful since I’d wondered how a submissive and a bottom would fare. She bought me a perfect iced latte and even though it was eight million degrees out, I was glad to stroll down the street with her.

I felt like I bonded with her immediately. We talked and talked and talked. She made me feel superwelcome in their life, even suggesting adding me to one of their Google calendars. (Swoon, I know. I just couldn’t picture him actually doing that.) Even though he’d made it clear that I was just borrowing him from her, she made me feel like we were actually sharing, smoothing over the things about him that don’t always make sense, finding lots of things in common about what else we’re looking for. We’re both really strong women who like to stay that way until it’s time to submit, and out in the world that presents us both the same vexations sometimes. I told her I’d love to be her wing girl when it’s time for dom-hunting.

And here’s where it gets really swoony: She was amenable to the three of us doing snuggly things. That just made my heart giggle. I felt my inner unicorn wanting to come out and romp around, and why shouldn’t it? Without the weird half-monogamy I’d been arbitrarily giving Sweetie, a whole new set of possibilities opened up, and I was giddy with the release.

After I hugged her goodbye and texted him a high five, I drove back into the city inspired as all getout. My smutty imagination and my friend-making heart were all fizzy with hopes and dreams and scenes.

But. She’d reiterated their semi-rule about not dating people who are midbreakup, and I did feel that hanging over me. That was a particularly optimistic day in divorcetown, but what if they decided it was too big of a risk? And trying to make my divorce seem adorable all the time seemed like a recipe for disaster. I couldn’t stand the idea of them joining the overlarge pile of friendships wrecked by my mismanaged love life—I want that to happen exactly no more times.

Then Sweetie and I took our trip up to my mom’s and my sister’s. We didn’t acknowledge it at first, but it would be our last trip together for a long while. It was kind of okay. We played with my niece and nephews, chatted with the family, set off bittersweet fireworks. I felt numb-to-anxious most of the time, and when I hugged my baby nephew, my recently-admitted family urge twisted up an ache in my belly.

But it was alright until it was almost time to leave. I was doing one of my favorite things in the world, playing Mario Kart with the kids (I play as Peach, obviously.) when I started to get a really bad headache. I went out to the porch to get away from the game, and while I was out there I checked my phone, and it was dead. I get really attached to things, even gadgets, and I hadn’t backed up my numbers or my favorite texts, so the broken phone just went ahead and opened up the grief floodgates.

I didn’t quite escape crying in front of the kids, but we got out of there and once we were driving away, the sobs came hard and fast and ugly. I realized that my family would never be the same, and I felt like such a bad person and a failure for breaking up the marriage.

With pauses for friend and job search stuff, the sobs came hard from Sunday to Wednesday. I felt like I was gonna die.

In retrospect it seems crazy that in that state I was trying to make plans with Steampunk Guy, but we did have a whole bunch to talk about. I kinda felt like he was already gone, but you know I’m generally open to goodbye sex. But because of where I am on his list of priorities, his plan-making style takes a lot of self-confidence to deal with. I’d generally find out the day before if he could fit me in, and that worked fine for the little spate when I was working 60-hour weeks and having four partners, but it wasn’t working now. In the process of trying to convince him to include me more, I realized I was negotiating for a thing that had already passed.

If I really had seen him as a treat, it would have worked, but once I realized I liked Steampunk Girl too, I wanted real relationships with both of them. I knew he didn’t have room for that, and I was in no state to navigate it anyway.

I’d hoped to have the conversation in person, but it was weighing on me so I wrote him a bye-for-now love letter. He wrote back kindly and understandingly. Being a reader and a listener, he’d noticed the difference between what I want and what he has to offer. Although I was feeling sad about having to let go of him/them for now, reading his replies made me feel like I’d unlost him, like the warmth of the connection between us was still real. I hope it comes around again, lord knows I’d still love to climb all over the two of them, maybe someday when I’m all happy and settled in. But for now I’m really proud that I put the friendships first and did what I needed to do to take care of myself. There’s a lot of power in admitting what I want and I’m glad that they both helped me see it so clearly.

“We are being awesome at this breakup.” I typed, “Two gold stars.”

“Two gold stars and a pony sticker. High five :)”

I told him he could go ahead and make that a sparkly unicorn sticker and that’s the story of my first breakup that ever ended in a high five. Compared to that mess of a breakup with The Man, this feels like a miracle, it feels like I’ve come so far. Thanks for getting me here, pals. I'm sad we're not snuggling, but I’ll be so happy to see you around town.

Worries, Wishes, and Resolutions, Post-Heartbreak

Sweetie says it’s not always the same story, but the last year is really looking like a pattern to me—girl meets dom, dom breaks limits, girl panics and feels unplaywithable. It takes so much to rebuild myself after each breach of trust, and it’s very hard to live with the fact that these kinds of things are happening all the time, that he’s out there ready to dehumanize the next girl.

I don’t want to be using words like “dehumanizing.” I want to have fun. I want to be the brave naked girl with a well-spanked behind and ropes in various shades of Hello Kitty, but that girl seems really far away. So I’ll start with the worries:

--I am worried that there isn’t a dominant guy in the world who doesn’t secretly want me to just shut the fuck up. No matter how clear I’ve made it that messing with my voice is a hard limit, I always seem to end up with a hand across my throat, literally or metaphorically.

--I’m worried that I’ll never be able to tell the difference between red flags and just fears. Since I’m a fairly anxious person anyway, I tend to dismiss intuitions and deal-breakers until it’s too late. In the case of the last guy, so much of my psyche was like a horror movie audience hollering DON’T GO IN THERE but somehow I always end up in there. It would save me a lot of trouble if, as Sweetie suggests, my intuition could please speak in complete sentences.

--I’m worried that I’m just someone who can’t gain respect for some reason. I worry about this a lot in my classroom, as well, on the days when the first graders won’t simmer down long enough for me to finish a sentence.

--I worry that submission is just something that I try to exchange for love, but I don’t think so. After a good, connected scene, I feel clearheaded and centered, closer to my better self. It’s only when I play without connection that things go off the rails.

Now for the wishes:

--I wish for a man who’ll be happy to belong to me, no matter who else he belongs to, no matter who else is at the table. I would love to sit there and know that he loves me, even as he gazes lovingly at his wife. I want to feel cared for and secure enough to enjoy the love between him and his other partner(s). I don’t mean belonging to each other in a M/s sense, only in the Breakfast at Tiffany’s buy-some-furniture-and-give-the-cat-a-name sense. This is the hardest thing to believe in.

--I’m trying to figure out a non-hurtful way to say I wish for a guy with a regular-sized penis that works most of the time. But it’s not really about the size or hardness; it’s more about having the depth of character to handle mishaps and insecurity with aplomb. In my somewhat limited experience, there seems to be a connection between frustrations in that department and misogynist tendencies.

--Speaking of depth of character, I wish for a man who is as good and careful with knots as my wife is. Learning ropes takes discipline, practice, and patience, all things that I need to be looking for in a partner.

--I wish to be able to make mistakes, talk things through, ask for compromise. It keeps getting to a point where I’m afraid to ask questions, and by then it is certainly too late.

--I am not a unicorn, and I do not want to date or bottom to his wife, girlfriend, friend, other sub, or anybody else, unless I expressly say so. I wish for a man who can have healthy boundaries between relationships and who can even (Do I dare wish for this in modern times?) PUT THE FUCKING PHONE AWAY on date nights. (Except for check-ins and emergencies, of course.) It’s not that I don’t want to know his people; I just would like a chance to know him first.

--I wish for a man who can see me broken and sobbing, who can see me at my ugliest and still think I’m beautiful. I know this is a possible thing because my wife has been doing it since 2001.

And the resolutions:

--I will not ignore red flags. If something in me says “RUN!” I will run as if Matt Smith himself were telling me to.

--I will not do things I don’t like. Even if other people seem to like them. This seems obvious but I need to tell it to myself.

--I will not date men whose other partners have “Veto power.” I will gladly meet folks but I won’t be vetted. I want to be treated like a potential friend, not a potential employee.

--I will not date anyone who makes me feel secondary or tertiary. I have room in my heart for a real second partner, and I want a man who does as well. This doesn’t mean I would need equal time, but if I see him once a week, I want the time to mean something.

--I have friends with whom I will happily play casually, but when I am on a date and someone asks me what I am looking for, I will not give some wishy-washy answer about “Oh, well, I’m open to however things turn out…” I will say “I’m looking for someone at whose house I could eventually leave a toothbrush.” and if he seems toothbrush-averse, I’ll move on.

The Lessons of Mister Hazel Eyes

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

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

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.

Huzzah! A Good Date

Sometimes, I’ll hit on someone on OK Cupid just because they remind me of my ex-boyfriend-from-the-techno-years/current pal Pagan Boy. This was one of those. The other thing that made me attracted to him was that in response to the “Did you have a goth phase?” question, he said “It’s wasn’t a phase.” I got a feeling in my belly that he’d be fun to hug, just from his emails, and boy was I right. He looked sweet and game in his picture, with big soulful hazel eyes and fluffy eyelashes. How could I resist?

Getting ready for our date, I debated with myself about whether a spiked collar was first-date appropriate. I went for it, just to have the excuse to wear it. Also I can proudly say I was leading with my boobs—there they were right in front of me…He found me a bar that serves mojitos, which isn’t always easy because not every bar stocks fresh mint. It was a good mojito, it felt like a reward for a whole bunch of things. We fell into Moonlighting-level banter right away, is there anything more fun? Sometimes I turn into this really brassy, candid version of myself and just yammer a whole bunch about my various adventures—he looked happier and happier as we went along. He looked into my eyes a lot while we talked—boy are those pretty eyes.

We decided to take a walk to the river, joking as we went about the really intense snuggling and hand-holding we both enjoy from time to time. I revealed my quest for my inner Bettie Page, and he told me he has a tattoo of her on his leg—I’m sure that isn’t uncommon among guys who also have Black Flag tattoos, but I like the coincidence and I’ll consider it a good sign. I could feel my inner Bettie while I was next to this guy, that’s for sure.

He kissed me by the water, as little waves lapped up around the bottom of the walkway, in full view of the swan boats and tourists. He pulled my hair a little, because I’d told him I like that, and I’m sure later I can convince him to pull it harder.

We talked on and on and on about sex, I’m sure we might get to other topics some other time. If this were considered an assessment, I think I’ve made a lot of progress since Bill said to me “You keep telling me what you don’t like, tell me what you do like!” When I feel comfortable with someone, I just keep talking, and we went over likes and dislikes in great detail. I feel confident that he’s up to the challenge of LOTS of bare-handed spanking, and he assures me it wouldn’t have occurred to him to make me ask permission before I come. I even told him about the love affair I’ve been having with my ass, though I didn’t go into detail. (Oh, yeah, I should write that soon, too.)

He reminds me of the good parts of Bill; he’s strong, soft in places, swaggery, about the same height as me, with reaaaaaaaaly nice arms and good hands. But unlike Bill, he’s got his own house (I liked the way he said it, “My house.”) a cute car, a good job, a basement full of records from when he was a DJ in the Nineties.

There was a kiss in the parking garage elevator that made me want to press the Emergency Stop button like they would in the movies. In the car, he said I was evil for making him so turned on and I said “No, I’m a good girl.” And he said “You’re a very good girl.” and put his hand on the top and kissed me some more. Swoontown.

When he dropped me off, he said “Tell (Sweetie) good things about me. Tell her I was respectful and not gropey.” When I got inside, Sweetie (Whose pre-date advice to me was “Don’t flee.”) was on the couch, glowing with love and support. We watched an episode of Queer as Folk and went to bed. I love her even more when my face is all stingy from beard-burn.

This morning I have that what-if-he-forgets-to-make-more-plans-with me feeling. I’m happy and daydreamy, even if I should be studying.

Cuddle Party Part Three: A Very Chaste Threesome

Writing about this particular adventure made me notice a contradiction I’ve got going—how does my desire for lots of respectful elbow-room jibe with my desire to be mauled and ravished? In the years where I thought about men but didn’t do anything about it, my fantasy was always to have a guy who’d push me, take me, ravish me, to not be able to put up all the barriers I am usually inclined to put up. (but all in the spirit of friendship and fun) I’ll probably always love Bill for fulfilling most of that fantasy, but I didn’t realize until later just how dangerous it had been.

But still, there was a daredevil purity to what he and I were doing—no negotiating, very few spoken limits, often getting pushed past no—it felt good, it was a relief at first, to be free of the way I’ve mostly held passion at arm’s length. Even after all these months I still can’t square the gleeful, nasty pleasure of that relationship with the way that it plunged me into blackness, made me totally hate myself. Part of it was that every time I truly go into sub-space, it dredges up issues from my subconscious, but I know that darkness came from actual real-time him as well.

I’ll never get to be devoured like that again, because I’ll always have to take care to have a voice, to communicate. There’s no such thing as just being able to abdicate all of my power to someone, and I am honestly a little disappointed about that. But to really love and be loved (and ravish and be ravished) I have to create some inner structural integrity, a fidelity to myself. So that’s what we’re working on here.

When it came to the part of the welcome circle where we were to join two other people and negotiate a cuddle, I was delighted with who I got triaded up with—just the two that I would have chosen: The Lady of the House and Massage Therapist Man. Two of the prettiest people in the room. We had eight minutes to both negotiate and cuddle. First, we had to take turns saying what we wanted. They looked at me to go first (I like to go first, it helps me listen better) but I was suddenly speechless. I didn’t have the words for what I wanted to ask for. The LOTH said that she wanted to be hugged and held, and MSM said that he wanted to make a “heart circle.” I had to ask what that means and he said that’s when you put your hands on each others’ hearts and run energy between them. That sounded nice. I still equivocated and couldn’t quite get to what I wanted—“smushed” was the closest I could get. I said that I usually want to be rougher than seems appropriate for a cuddle party, and thus the phrase “rough cuddling” was born.

LOTH said that the heart thing sounded best to her, and I agreed, so that’s what we started with. I welcomed the chance to physically experience loving male and female energy at the same time—that’s a goal I’ve been inching glacially towards for a long time.

It takes a lot of trust to put your hand on a near-stranger’s heart. For each stage of the hand-placing, we had to ask “”May I put my hand on your heart?” “May I put my hand on your hand?” and so on. We sat like that and breathed and sort of circle-swayed, MTM making breathy yummy noises. I didn’t feel any jolt of energy running through us, but sitting with them that way felt so soothing. I was I was able to lose myself a little in the circuit of us, until time was called. Then it was time for free cuddling.

Next Time: A Foot Rub, Some nice Reiki, and! Wrestling!