Dear Wrestler Is a Gift

 How did I get so lucky?! How many times in this blog's fifteen years (?!) have I asked myself that? How can adventuring have so many miracles and surprises?

I overbooked myself weekend before last! I had more weekend gigs than usual, but I couldn't resist making plans with this very pretty face from Feeld. We'd planned to go see my favorite DJ do an early-evening set, but DW very kindly let me reschedule and stay home to watch Howl's Moving Castle with the cats that Saturday. I offered him Wednesday rope night instead and he very politely agreed.

He's so polite! That ade me think he might be beautifully subby, but he is not. He's a dom who'll stand still long enough to get ropes on. Lucky, lucky me.

DW is a street artist like me, and an activist. And busy! And so cute I didn't quite believe he was real until he was at my door. Plus, he knows where the play parties are! I think we'd look so cute there!

After ropes, I took him to bed. Or he took me?

He's a couple decades younger than me, but/and he has depth and maturity as a lover. He listens and responds with his whole body, covers me like a blanket.

"How did you get so good at this?" I asked.

"Practice?" he replied. I wanted to send thank you notes to whomever he's been practicing with! I still do!

He didn't mind when I got overwhelmed and needed breaks. He DEFINTELY didn't mind when I screamed out in pleasure. In fact, he grabbed my wrist and pressed it to the bed so I wouldn't try and cover my mouth. He looked into my face like he wanted to devour me.

And the spanks! And the way he held me down to administer the spanks! Sting and thud and ahhhhhh the relief. Oh the relief. He's just so thorough in his strength.

But friends, my favorite part: He feel asleep for a little while afterwards. I held him and listened to him snore a little and felt dazzled by the loveliness of the moment. I still do. :)

Knotty Thursday: Pretty Triangles

 

I know I'm always calling people gifts from heaven, but Dear Wrestler is a gift from heaven. I'm dizzy and sore this morning, mostly too well-seen-to to form sentences.

I felt clumsy with the ropes, a little stage fright this time! But he was kind and calm and patient. It felt good to wrap my arms around him and around him again.

Some nights feel like good karma, like rewards for some unknown thing I did right. He got the ropes on, but at no point did he flip submissive. At no point at all! Oh happy, happy day!

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.

Sweet Valentine Part Two: The Way He Kissed Me Makes Me Wish I Were Still a Poet

 

Currently, Sweet Valentine and I are on a pause, taking stock of things. I need time and space to feel some griefs and manage some OCD/codependency stuff, and he needs time to think about what he really wants and can offer. Usually I would just let someone go at this point, good old "If it's a maybe then it's a no." from Cuddle Party rules. But I didn't want to let him go. I asked if we could be in touch in a month and see where we're at, and he agreed. I don't know if that decision is hopeful or just avoiding the inevitable, but I really, REALLY hope I get to kiss him again.

Back to the perfect coffee date. When it felt like we were wrapping up at the coffeeshop, I said "Well, should we take it slow and say goodbye here, or should we go to my place?"

He picked coming over, hooray hooray!

This all felt easy and natural in a way that's rare for me! Letting chemistry carry us forward like a slutty and helpful wind. No overthinking, no negotiations, just him on my couch. <3 <3 <3 Just pouring ourselves into each other.

He may not, in the course of the processings and ponderings, turn out to be the right one for me, but we kissed like we were absolutely meant for each other. His mouth tasted of nothing but mouth. He didn't mind when I bit his lip. Our tongues slid together and apart and around and across. His beard skritched and sanded my face in the most satisfying and life-affirming way.

It's hard to believe something so beautifully transcendent could happen on an ordinary Wednesday morning, in the middle of my ordinary couch nest. Surrounded by books and blankets and Squishmallows, with Younger Cat nosing her way in with typical comic timing. Home. Magic. Peace.

Sweet Valentine, Part One: The Perfect Coffee Date

 

Every once in a while, there's just a transcendently good date. In this story, there are two! 

I planned our first date for right after yoga, maybe that's why the vibes were so easy and flowy. He sat down beside me and there was instant cozy chemistry. He gazed at me and said "I'm just looking at your face." I put my head on his shoulder. I asked him if I could kiss him on the cheek and he said yes.

Oh friends! The talking was so good. We had so much in common spiritually, both grounded and floaty at the same time. Our separate lives felt like puzzle pieces clicking into place. I wanted to tell him every single thing and he was share-y too, an avalanche of getting-to-know-you. No small talk, just big talk. Home, safety, joy.

He has long, beautiful musician hands, and they were holding mine. We kissed right there in front of the vegan scones. The kiss was at the far edge of chaste, and it was JUST RIGHT. 

"You're in," I said, with the biggest smile. In that moment, he felt absolutely meant for me! And, just for that moment, he was.

He knew I was still tender from Christmastime stuff, and I sort of meant to take this slow. But when I asked, "Should we take it slow and leave it here or should I just take you home?" He chose coming over. I'm so glad he did but I'm also wondering what would have happened if we'd left it there instead of having the most beautiful/sweet/hot morning and early afternoon. 

Knotty Thursday: OMG I have a Valentine!

 

Yesterday started with yoga class, maybe all Wednesdays should! About halfway through the class, I got overwhelmed and hot, so I just lay down and breathed for most of the sesh. It's not always easy to find a sense of privacy, stillness, peace, so I rested there. The teacher pulled an oracle card for me about the ocean, about making the unconscious conscious. I left the class hot with energy and so excited for my coffeeshop date right after.

I want to keep the story close for now, but friends, the ropes liked this guy! The day felt easy and blessed, like faith. After he left midafternoon, I ravished myself and spent most of the day in bed. I feel lucky, giddy, and full. I can't wait to see what happens next! <3 <3 <3

Oh, Mr. Breakfast!

 I liked him on Facebook Dating, but I heard from him in my DMs. He said he'd accidentally swiped left when he scrolled through my music selections, so he sought me out through one of our two mutual friends! Effort! I thought that was so sweet.

His answers to my screening questions made me feel like I was in good hands. I liked his job and his face. We made a date for the best diner in his neighborhood. He took two busses to get there, despite the fact that it was blustery and like ten degrees. Honestly I should get some kind of reward for doing anything at all when its this aggressively February out!

He charmed me right away with his love of breakfast. It's one of those old fashioned diners that has a million things on the menu, but we bonded over our love of breakfast, and we ordered enough to have dinner and take some home for the next day. A man I can eat in front of! I felt so free and happy and full of French toast and bacon and damn fine diner coffee.

And the conversation was the perfect combination of overshare-y and polite. We both talked about our therapists--how hot is it to be on a date with a guy who's in therapy?! He was fragile, though, apologetic. "You're allowed to exist, " I said at one point. I was being either very Ma'am or very codependent. Por que no los dos?

His face was sweet and soft, mostly made out of smile. He's a little taller than me, soft in places but strong. Dark-skinned with charmingly scraggly locs. Extremely my type, of course he was.

After diner, it was decided that I should come over and meet his dog. Once we got in the car, I realized I'd left my hat inside, and he faced the weather to go get it for me--gallant. Effortful. Kind. So promising!

 He apologized in advance for the parking situation--his neighb is one where I've had can't-find-a-parking-space panic attacks before, and our city is filled with glaciers and mounds of hard, frozen grey snow. We agreed that if a spot couldn't be found, it meant we would take it slow and try another day.

Driving around looking for a spot with him was so much fun! Even though he, a non-driver, had driving advice aplenty! At least he could laugh at himself being a side seat driver. And he joined in my little stim songs like an absolute champ. I felt far from panic! This guy made me feel so strong and grounded, or maybe it was just me making myself feel that way.

Anyway, I parallel parked on a part-glacier, on a narrow street, with a car waiting impatiently behind us! It was beautiful, how neatly I parked. Honestly the biggest rush of the night.

When we got to his place, we kissed, and I asked to be under a thousand blankets please. Two very fluffy ones were enough, and the very good dog joined us for a snuggle. The perfect place to be on a freezing cold night, but he wanted the basketball game on TV. I asked if we could put on something nice instead, and he had to go find batteries for the remote so he could put on Steven Universe for me. Having the TV off was not an option, and eventually, the game would have to come back on.

The non-negotiable sports TV might have been the dealbreaker, if not for this:

We were talking about fetishes we had and he said

that he likes to initiate sex

while his partner is asleep!

I called him out for how not-consensual that was, and he admitted that he felt bad about it, and obviously he wouldn't do it if I'm not "into that."

I was tempted to name him "Sleep Rape Guy" but thought it would be too triggering right up top. The thing is, I went home feeling like it was a good date with a few red flags. It didn't sink in how scared I was until the next morning, when I texted and told him WAY TOO FUCKING GENTLY that we weren't a good match. Because of the SLEEP RAPE FETISH.

Dating is so hard and scary and de-humanizing sometimes. There's an OCD thought that's trying to be loud right now, telling me I'm only good for taking advantage of, for raping or using up in other ways, while other women have value and deserve to be treated with kindness. I don't know if other women are having such an easy time either though.

It's been a triggersome, hurty couple days since. I'm proud of (belatedly) saying no to Mr. Breakfast and of caring for myself as best I can. My next date is Wednesday, and I think it will probably be a lot gentler on my poor heart. Here's (Somehow! Still!) hoping. 

Okay, I'm Completely Lost

 

Mulholland Drive helps me.

Okay, Christmas was very cute, but I've been living in a fantasy for a little while and it's time for me to do as the cowboy says. Hopefully with a happier ending than Naomi Watts gets.

Skipping ahead in the story, The Guy Next Door and I had our first date! That's what he said it was! We had so much fun! He said I was beautiful and said he wanted us to try putting ropes on each other!! I can't prove that this happened, but it did. I can't prove that he was ever attracted to me, and to be fair, no court of law is asking me to.

(He told me yesterday that he's not "traditionally attracted to me," but that he felt something. It sounded really close to calling me "not traditionally attractive" which, in fairness, I am not. I have other qualities!)

Jesus fuck though, is there anything worse to hear than "I'm not traditionally attracted to you?" Just tell me I'm ugly already, this is taking forever.

ANYWAY we got back from the date (Which I don't really think is what it was.) (He called our two apartments "our place" though.) we settled in for a cuddle, which we'd tried a couple times, but this time, we were in my bed.

It felt good, so, so good. I felt hopeful and safe and beautiful. My head was resting on his heart and the moment felt almost right.

I said "I'm gonna kiss you, I'm just waiting for the right song to come on."

And he made the saddest little sound. It was the same sad sound he made when I put my head on his shoulder for the first time, back when we were watching some post-Christmas Bob's Burgers. (He'd downloaded a bunch for us to watch when my Roku was out for a day. I thought that was so sweet because it was, in fact, SO SWEET.)

Anyway, saddest little sound, so I asked, is that okay? and he said

"Not yet." Which a very good and appropriate thing to say when you don't want to kiss someone. Technically a Good No even though I hated it.

He kept acting like this was the start of dating though! I even tried to plan our regular (never was really that regular) Thursday Art Night, and he said he thought we should see each other sooner, so we picked Tuesday, which is today, and for which time slot I've booked a somewhat-emergency therapy appointment.

After he left on Saturday, I was very close to panic. I didn't understand the not-kissing! And I didn't want to ask because, that's just not the thing to do! I didn't want him to feel like I was complaining when things had gone so well. I wanted to have space to understand Saturday before I tried to understand what was going on.

With OCD, reassurance is the addiction, I have to keep it to a minimum. But in a new thing, you need reassurance! I need to stop thinking about that contradiction or my brain will loop forever.

I gave myself space from the panic, and eventually I chilled out and was able to experience the warmth and promise of what had happened so far. So I reached out and told him how beautiful I felt, and how I did want to do the ropes with him if I could put them on him first, and how I hope he was understanding what's going on in the new season of Stranger Things, because I couldn't make heads or tails of it.

OF COURSE that cute and very nice text was met with a mini-radio-silence on his part, and I got triggered. I wanted to ask "Am I being too much?" and then was LIVID that he was making me feel like I was too much. I am SO MUCH but I like myself this way. Or I usually do when it's not yesterday!

I told him about the trigger and he seemed very understanding, he even offered to change a few things so I could feel a little more oriented. It seemed like I was talking with someone I could trust, so when he said "Any other questions?" I went ahead and asked:

"You said it was a date, but you didn't want to kiss me. Can you tell me some more about that?"

He said he was just figuring things out and needed to give it some thought.

So I asked the real question: "Are you attracted to me? I'm seeing about 40% attracted, 60% terrified. Am I getting the math right?"

And he said he needed to ponder that too! 

What in the world were we gonna talk over on Tuesday if on Monday he had to ponder whether he was attracted to me or not?!

I went over after work to ask about that, if there WAS anything to talk over, and it just kept getting worse and worse. I said things like "How come they're (Girl Next Door and Yoga Camp Hottie) kissable and I'm not?

Questions there are no answers to and shouldn't be answers to.

 Questions I know I'm not supposed to ask and still can't let go of yet:

Why them and not me?

Is it the fat?

What am I missing?

I'm trying so hard to do this right, what am I not doing?

I teared up with a little self-compassion typing those questions. The longing, the hurt, the loneliness. The everlasting torment that there exist more kissable girls with more  (TRADITIONALLY) yoga-y butts.

On my part, there's love here, even a little acceptance but I can't get to it through a wall of obsession.

I have a mental illness that makes me and my experiences feel unreal, and sometimes I choose people who help make us feel even more unreal. People who are shifting, mysterious, in flux, at sea. That's who I've chosen for my last two crushes and my most recent play partner.

It's hard to have any hope for love right now. I have to give up on him, but I don't want to give up on love. I'm glad I booked a therapy appointment instead of waiting for him to come talk to me tonight. 

I don't know how a person with a brain like mine can be loved, and I need my higher power to help me find faith in myself again. Probably not today, but soon.

Knotty Thursday: Yay Mermaid Wrap!

Guess what! I had a cute date Tuesday night, and it was made magical by a mistake! The bar I'd picked was closed, so the cutie and I walked a little ways--and found a little beer garden with no one in it but us! Songs were played, Hidden Folder was shown off. Not sure where it will lead but there's no better cure for tunnel vision!

I'm really proud of this tie! The last time I tried it, I was so wrecked by the (thoroughly unsurprising!) proximity of and rejection by The Guy Next Door that I couldn't find my connection to my ropes or myself. Last night was the opposite. As soon as I crated Younger Cat and tied two thirty-foot strands together, I sank into concentration in such a beautiful way. Yayyy!

Southern Charmer: The Satisfying Sequel, Part Two

 

First date ropes, winter of 2022

In the midst of the birthday gloom, a glimmer. The possibility, however remote, of somebody SO PRETTY to get stoned and snuggle and maybe play ropes with again lit a little fire in me. My HSV-1 thing is listed on my Feeld, so maybe it wouldn't even be an issue. Maybe I could get...dare I say it?! Kissed?! I remembered him being a good kisser--my mouth remembered him so vividly.

I felt a renewed drive to practice my ropes again, and it didn't feel nostalgic or pine-y or performative--the idea just felt like play.

But! Something even better happened--we texted like friends. Even the day after my emotionally stormy birthday, even with both of us processing grief about other people, my heart felt lighter talking to him. After I paragraphed my birthday existential fear, I apologized for the brick of text, and he scoffed. Hardly a brick by his standards.

He told me about his tangled heart too, and somewhere in there, we talked about the possibilities between us. The hope that I might be a Ma'am to him again was a warm little flame in my heart. A sweet and trusting Good Boy felt like such a vulnerable thing to wish for, but there was something about the angsty, friendy chats made me feel peaceful enough to imagine that kind of trust.

We put a date on the calendar, a coffee date to see if we still liked each other's vibe. But before we could get there, the mentionitis! Oh the poor dear could find any old way to mention one of his partners, he was melancholy-preoccupied with her, like something between them needed ALL of his attention, even as he was aiming to give some of it to me.

So I sent one of my all-time favorite texts:

I am so, SO proud of this text!!! Not only was I honest about what I'm really looking for, I sincerely meant it when I offered friendship! My heart felt so full of the entire situation. And he did want to stay in touch as friends! Hooray!

There's already a Part Three of this treatful story, but even if there weren't, the confiding and the breakthrough text would have been enough. Thank you, Southern Charmer, from the bottom of my searching heart.

Bitterness and Giddiness Part Two: Infinitely Better Scrabble Guy

For a couple of days after my Instagram lapse, I felt AWFUL. I felt like I’d drunk poison—the particular rotten feeling of going backwards. There was no one to blame but myself, Usher, and Julia Roberts.

I wondered if I should take a dating break until the rottenness passed, at least until this breakup-versary month is behind me. But there’s always going to be something, some flower or sunset or moon giving me the excuse to be in a wistful funk. Forward is the only way to get unstuck and the internet is so full of faces!

I don’t know what possessed me to plan a call on the way home from a loooooong workday last Friday, but I did. (Boy, I work a lot in this story! I really work so much these days. It’s mostly wonderful and the gummies help!)

Infinitely Better Scrabble Guy was a sweet, gentle cutie from the facebook dating app. (Actually my favorite dating app right now, partly because I feel like I’ve used up the other ones!) We had like seven friends in common! I liked the way he went back and forth with his son about gaming while we were on the call, like I was immediately welcomed into his world. His work is similar to mine. When he mentioned that he plays phone Scrabble, I immediately invited myself to play.

Possibly some, though definitely not all, of my giddiness about IBSG was because it felt so good to return to Scrabble! I’d sworn it off after the long-ago Scrabble Boy saga, but I loved getting back in touch with my two-letter words! After not too many turns, IBSG placed “sex” on the board and then I added “thine” and “deepen.” I was in romantic Scabble heaven. He looked SO CUTE in his thumbnail picture, framed in gold with a little crown.

The next morning, before getting ready for my Saturday job, I strewed the peach and pink petals of my Valentine roses all over the snowy yard, feeling buoyant and set free.

IBSG wasn’t ultimately at match—I have GOT to stop pretending that “smokes occasionally” might mean just weed or just-at-a-party-sometimes. Boundaries are real and they suck, but love is addictive enough without smooching nicotine.

But it felt sooooooooooooo good to get totally silly about someone, to let my heart soar a little. I hope it comes around again soon! And I hope IBSG finds the very best partner, who’ll spoil him all to heck! He deserves it so, so much. He made me so happy.

In the meantime, it’s not such a bad thing to be all messed up a year later about a broken love thing, and it’s not a bad thing to revel in a Scrabble crush who wasn’t a match. I want to give my big weird heart time to appreciate both, to appreciate ALL the things, and to take it a little slow towards whatever adventures are next.

Fear and Devotion, Part One

I still think closure is a thing, just not the whole thing. Not a cure-all. My newfound friendship with The Shy One didn’t stay tenable for long—that probably comes as a surprise to exactly no one. I loved being able to share a little bit of my life with him, to send him a sunrise, a ring around the moon, a short video of my work area looking just so. I loved the glimpses of his life that I got while we were avoiding almost all topics. It was such a lovely respite from missing him. I felt peaceful, hopeful, and complete in a way I hadn’t for such a long time.

But.

There was a moment last fall that I’ve always meant to write about. I was at brunch with Rainbow Pal (Not too long before a 5% difference on Palestine/Israel made Rainbow Pal and me feel unsafe to be around each other—a different heartbreak for a different day.) It was a rough week—I was just back from a family trip and my body was pretzeled with grief. The war had just started and everything felt brutal and mean.

Anhedonic, is the word. But joy prevailed: RP and I were talking about whether we think I’m poly or not (the eternal conundrum) and I said something like “I don’t know, when I was with (The Shy One) I didn’t want anyone else in the whole world, it was all about him.”

Saying that unlocked my heart, and a butterfly swarm of giggles came out. An unlatching, a relief. A bubble of assurance and self-knowledge so profound that I couldn’t stop laughing. RP said later that they loved seeing me come back to life—they helped me come back to life. I miss them so much.

But anyway, devotion.

Back to the present day, dating is just being a little bit scary. Talking to so many people, sometimes rematching by mistake and feeling like I might be stupid or mean, sometimes not matching because the person looks a little familiar, getting a “Hello?” when I hadn’t written back in like ten minutes, it can feel so depersonalizing, so disembodied.

Most app-suitors are kind-if-boring, but the ones that aren’t kinda add up in my body and heart. Accreting.

A Bad Dating Year is Not the Worst Thing

I’ve been studying awe lately. This is one of my favorite brain books of all time, and I haven’t even finished it yet!

So maybe that’s why the titular epiphany was easy to recognize when it came along. I’m sorry to be a Spotify commercial, but I love the Wrapped time of year so much. When I saw that I started listening to Frank Ocean’s cover of Moon River on February 6 and remembered that that’s the day The Shy One broke up with me, I was overwhelmed with giddy joy. With love. The beautiful absurdity of this year. It felt like my heart was laughing. It felt like a being-set-free.

After week-before-last’s bad review situation, I settled into it: There were highlights, but this was a bad year of dating. The past ten months especially have been full of grief, false starts, acting-outs, minor deceptions, and not-quite-right connections. Too many hookups in relationship-potential clothing. Deleted email drafts. More than one art project about grief. Setting a timer for ten minutes so I could moon safely over the Hidden Folder. It’s beautiful and ridiculous and I love it.

I rang in the New Year overjoyed, in a balloon-bopping collective effervescence with Rainbow Pal, singing to a sassy and sparkly cover of Dancing on My Own. When I left the club, WhatsApping across the ocean to the beautiful Shy Ones, a single golden firework popped over the parking lot. I felt like it was just for me. I kind of still do.

This year gave me so many gifts, not just the beautiful string of coconut-shell beads that well never look right on me. The wallpaper on my desktop is the lush pink and purple flowers I got from my Birthday Good Boy/Hookup. I’ve been building my collection of frilly things. My Duolingo has five languages going. I’m obsessed with Afrobeats, even though the genre gives me all the feelings. BECAUSE it does.

December is a relief, too full of crafts and gifts and next-year’s-goal-setting to worry too much about dating. There are three cute guys at work but I love myself and my job too much to hit on them. I’ll bring the car in before Christmas trips and flirt with the car place guy. I’ll visit the museum I was supposed to see last February. I’ll spend New Years with BFF or on my own or who knows where. Maybe I’ll just be starting a new puzzle.

Dear Shy One, dear Rainbow Pal, dear EVERYONE, I’m overflowing with love for you as if it were the first time and the last. You shine out of me permanently and I hope I can glimmer out of you sometimes too. We’re doing the thing, I’m so proud of us. We’re exquisitely and exhaustingly and delightfully alive.

Dearest, DEAREST 2023, thank you for all you’ve given me. Let’s type in some Rumi for the road:

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and
rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase “each
other”
doesn’t make any sense.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell
you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across
the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.”

Sudden Hotel Date Part Two

 

As I left my lucky parking space and set off toward the hotel, I felt off balance. I should have probably turned around and gone home. Even though I was in the gridded middle of the city, I got turned around and blew a few blocks off course like a leaf.

When I walked into the hotel lobby, it seemed entirely fictional, a piped-in version of artsy, like a set on some tech-bro sitcom. There he was in the middle of all the primary colors and fake Lichtenstein vibes, wearing something like a Captain America t-shirt. Definitely cute—Black, bespectacled, with that adorable combination of sculpted arms and soft tummy.

I complimented his butt on the way to the elevator, and he made an extremely dreary remark about parental weight gain. His daughter was twelve.

“That door’s mine, and so is this one!” He said proudly, ushering me into his suite. It was...two rooms.

Okay, I am Toxic Romcom Girl. When he’d enticed me with his “upgraded suite,” I pictured fluffy robes, snacks, okay yes I may have pictured some champagne. I wanted to be spoiled. It was shallow and silly but I kinda stand by it.

But! The bed was big and the pillows were many. The guy was cute. I took off my work clothes, brazenly walking around in my workday, go-all-the-way up undies and comfy utilitarian mint green bra. I pulled the blue-rose bobby pins out of my hair and put them in the pencil case I’d pulled out of my work backpack and drafted as a purse.

I snuggled in with him among the pillows. Theres such a well-being that settles through me when cuddling a stranger. As he drifted between chitchat and sleep, I loved the intimacy of hearing him snore. I had a pleasant daydream about all the lone travellers who must be occupying the downtown hotels. I could make it my literal business to snuggle them all! If I weren’t already working four part-time jobs, Snuggler of Strangers would be a great side-hustle.

Chitchat-wise, he wasn’t the romantic free spirit his profile promised. (Who among us is?!) He was a pretty-recently-divorced guy who was irritated by the return of condoms to his life. I was really glad I wasn’t there to have sex. May I live a thousand lifetimes before I have to listen to any more dudes gripe about condoms in a post-Roe world. Fuck that all the way to heck.

“Uh,” I said, struggling to keep the pillow chat light. “You’re old enough to remember the Nineties. We’re all just out here trying to not DIE.”

That terribleness aside, I still felt safe and cozy next to him, so I asked for spanks. He’d described himself as a “pleasure Dom,” but I felt a not-unpleasant sadistic sting and said so. I thought we were bantering, but his tone shifted abruptly.

“I want to touch you, but you don’t want to touch me.” It was so out of left field that I felt like he was saying it to somebody in his past, with me as a proxy. (I have 100% done this to people!)

Yikes though. The whiny, entitled tone drove home the point—To him I wasn’t a potential friend or a comet prospect, I was the human equivalent of a Doordash meal.

 “I don’t like this.” I said. I hopped out of bed and started getting dressed. I gathered my things carefully, stopping to pee before the drive home.

I have lots of thoughts about the transactional parts of dating, the constant risk that I might be a fantasy or an opportunity without being seen and treated like a whole human. The following week, a text flirtation went south in a similarly entitled way.

Dating makes me sad sometimes. A few paragraphs ago, I was daydreaming about snuggling all the lonelyhearts in the downtown hotels, but I’m the loneliest lonelyheart of all. I want kindness. I want to make friends with someone cute and get to know each other and snuggle forever. Sudden hotel dates are probably not the way to accomplish this, but who knows?

Frilly Friday: Ribcage Harness

 

I'm really missing The Boy Who Brought Flowers, even though we only chatted for a week! Many happy paragraphs to come! 

In the meantime, I'm really grateful that he inspired me to pick up the ropes again, and I think this is just so cute!

Knotty Thursday: I Think It's Past Ghost O'Clock Buuut...

 

I wanted this treasure to be my Wednesday guy, (He clearly wasn't available for boyfriending) and he seemed amenable to that last night, but shrug emoji! My Inner Patriarchy is making me feel ashamed for having semi-accidentally had a hookup, but I'm sure once the disappointment wears off, I be glad he was at least *A* Wednesday guy!

Plus! I asked him to bring me flowers and he did! That gives me all the Ma'am feelings and all the hopeful feelings.

These ties would be prettier if they were tighter, I wanted to be very gentle on a first night! I'm happy to be reunited with my ropes, and hoping the Thursdays will stay knotty! Wish me luck! 

A Tender Date, A Little Ghosting, Part Two

 

Rainbow Pal and I have decided that all weird dating things require a romantic French term!

There was a moment. I was toying with Thoughtful Guy’s dick through his underwear, just kind of nuzzling around down there, when he placed his arms around my shoulders in a soft embrace. A breeze of kindness blew all through me, an almost supernatural affection. Stillness. Peace.

He couldn’t stay late, he had to get home to his kiddo. As he started to get dressed, I wrapped up in my aqua-blue summer robe, feeling flushed and decadent and beautiful. “You look so good,” he said, with a little growl in his voice. He backed me up against the pillar on the pony wall of my loft, and kissed and kissed and kissed me.

He picked up his phone and said absently “Annnddd one of my partners is texting about making a date…” then went back to kissing me. When I finally, reluctantly got him out the door, I felt happy and hopeful, like my life might actually make sense! I’ll never stop believing in that feeling.

The next day, instead of feeling lonely and insecure, I felt grounded in my own life, sure I was cared for. But when I told him as much, he abruptly cut off the conversation and said he didn’t want to be keeping me up. I was up! I was working on my 2000-piece puzzle! It’s an intricate undersea scene! It was only like 10.

Oh, the little ghosting. When I texted in the morning to start planning our next date, his tone had changed. He said laughing emoji to the time I suggested, not whether it was too late or too early. He suggested a better night for our date, and I said sure. Then he left me on heart-reaction and disappeared.

By the time it was ten again, I hadn’t heard from him all day, and plans hung in the thread unfinished. The internet, always the most toxic, let me know he’d had time to change to an even-sexier profile picture while he was busy not texting me.

So I texted to suggest that we might not be a good match because our rhythms were off. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I hate le petite fantôme. You liked me the day before yesterday, I wanted to say, then radio silence.

He texted back ALL the paragraphs (OH, the self-justifying man-paragraphs of polyamory. May I never again read them.) including “Do you know your attachment style? You seem insecure.”

First of all, I find attachment theory to be the most unhelpful therapy thing of all time, like oh, you weren’t loved properly as a baby and now you’re fucked up forever. What is anybody supposed to DO with this?!

I mean, misnamed Thoughtful Guy was probably right, but you don’t get to psychoanalyze me after ONE date, if ever! And you don’t get to make it my deep personal flaw when you mini-ghost instead of finishing a conversation.

I’m grateful to Summer Therapist and a lifetime of self esteem work that I got mad instead of accepting his assessment of me, instead of accommodating and building something new and cute and misery-making.

It was a fantasy that he could be boyfriend material while already having five partners. Like, who do I think I am, hoping that I wouldn’t slip his mind among all that beauty and tumult and day-to-day? Like so many precious darlings before him, he just wasn’t the right match. I miss him, but onward.

A Tender Date, A Little Ghosting, Part One

 

My date with Thoughtful Guy last Sunday was so lovely, even if the naming was a little premature. We met on my Favorite Woodland Trail. I instantly felt comfortable with him. By coincidence, we both wore pink. I saw a fellow hiker smiling to herself as she passed us. We were CUTE. I took the perfect selfie of us with the trail and bright trees and was sooooo excited that he’s out as poly and I could post it! Probably even tag him!

I had wondered if the trouble with past folks hadn’t been the poly at all, but the closet! This sweet connection seemed like a good way to find out.

Telling Rainbow Pal about him earlier in the week, I said “I listened to him talk about bringing his five partners home for Christmas. It kinda made me want to join him like a cult.”

(I’m not saying polyamory is a cult. I’m saying that there are tendencies there, just like there are with any ingroup that involves humans and our tender need to belong. I definitely have a culty relationship to poly. I’ll say more about that in Part Two.)

Since I’ve committed to the (Maybe long! Maybe futile! Definitely worth it!) quest for Actual Boyfriend Guy, I’m not sure why I swiped right on such a very poly character, but I absolutely could not resist the face. In a long text thread before the date, he said he was very concerned, rightfully so, that I was describing myself as “probably poly.” (And that was probably rounding up. Today I’m landing on the admittedly wishy-washy “monagamish.”) He didn’t just want to be a fling, he said. “Don’t worry,” I told him, “We’ve already flung.”

(Why are we talking like this before we even met in person? The word “lovebombing” has whispered through my brain all week, though I don’t think it’s fair. Attraction. Hope. Affinity. Fate?)

Back to us being cute on Favorite Trail, it was humid and buggy and I really wanted to take him home, so we didn’t walk far. Back at the trailhead, as we parted to go to our respective cars, I kissed him on the cheek and felt giddy and sexy and joyful.

Once I had him in my apartment, we kissed for real and it was perfect. A kiss like this is a miracle all on its own. A lifetime worth of goodness. Soft, wet, firm, emphatic. I was breathless.

“Okay, I’m ready to join your team,” I gushed. “Contact HR. Send me the packet. When is orientation?”

(I’m just gonna stop and notice that Thoughtful Guy shares a name with a famous cult leader. It’s not relevant, but it a little bit is.)

Upstairs, he was INTOXICATING. As we cuddled, kissed, grinded, looked for tickle spots, I went from swoon to swoon. I felt both urgent and stunned, an almost debilitating bliss. This guy. <3

He did a thing no other lover has ever done—he treated the fat at my waist as part of the hotness! He grabbed and kneaded and I groaned with delight and surprise. More of this please!

“Just lay there and be you,” he said, and I did. He was like a day at the beach and I lay there, we lay there, still and sunny.

Dear Ribbons! My Date Will Be Here in Ten Minutes Annnnnddddd…

 

Trust the Pink Haze of Horniness!

If you would like some heartfelt and experienced-but-nonexpert advice and love, etiquette, grief, self-compassion, and/ or what emojis to use, please write to me! Email thekittencalendar@gmail.com and put Dear Ribbons in the subject line. I promise to love you and your story, and to steer us both/all towards optimism, self-love, liberation, hope, and hotness!

Dear Ribbons,

I have a super exciting date coming up with a cutie I met while traveling who is coming to visit my town. I’m monogamous and they’re not, but we both are interested in casual but ongoing sex. I checked my date’s Feeld and it said they’re looking to hookup with people in [my city]. I know they’re poly but I was more hurt than I expected to be? Even though I’m also on this dating app! I am trying to get my emotions together and close down the tiny part of me that was like ‘it would be cool to really date someone like this.’

 

Help?

 

Love,

Can I Please Just Get (Safely!) Tied Up?

 

First and foremost!! No closing down any parts of you, no matter how tiny! I’m glad you listened to your heartful hesitance and sent me the question! It is, as my Gen-Z niece would say, extremely valid!

 

We’ll get back to the heartfelt hesitance in a bit, but first let’s get your ass out the door!

 

It’s so vexing, isn’t it, that the cuties in our lives would be attracted to ANYONE but us! Look at us! We’re so cute! But even if this weren’t a poly/casual date, we don’t get any claim on the rest of their weekend. I know! What the heck, right? There’ll be time to figure out what it all means, what you mean to each other, how often you’ll find “work trips” to take to their town, etc.

 

But this is not that time! Get your body near the cute person and see what you feel! Trust in the pink glow of horniness to guide you forward for now!

 

(If this were a situation where exclusivity might eventually be on the table, I’d say have that conversation about five to seven dates in, unless you get a strong intuition about it before that. If you’re me, you’d know faster probably!)

 

Back to the “it would be cool to really date someone like this.” part—pay attention to that information. Start making a mental collage about what a lovely relationship would look like. Learn by doing, by stepping into grey areas, by listening to what your mind, body and spirit tell you about this particular person and about partnerships in general. Trust yourself!

 

Whether this particular connection sparks or fizzles today or in six weeks or in ten years, try to remember that dating is something you’re doing for yourself, rather than an assessment of your worth or charm. It’s way easier said than done, but it’s a reframe that will ease the inevitable anxious moments of dating.

 

Somewhere, my Summer Therapist applauds the advice I’ve just given you and also myself.

 

Worth and Charm Forever,

Pretty Ribbons

Two Hauntings and a Lovely Monsieur, Part Deux

Last Monday was my first pool day of the summer. It was a glorious, shining day to read a mystery book on a blanket under the tall trees, listening to the chatter of the families nearby, but the water was too cold to go in. I went home for a nap but before I dozed off, emboldened and about to be rested, I asked Le Monsieur if he wanted to come over that night for a walk. Maybe we could hold hands in the beautiful mild first moments of summer, beneath a waxing half-moon.

Le Monsieur came up my driveway more beautiful than his picture: tall, angular, bespectacled. He was wearing a pretty orange-gold woven print shirt and pants that matched. He looked cosmopolitan and assured, if a little mystified to suddenly be here.

As we walked along my well-worn woodsy neighborhood route, his first touch beyond handholding was to gently grab the back of my hair, right there in front of the moon and everybody. When we sat down in my favorite little park to chat, he delicately took off my shoe and rubbed my foot. I was glad I’d done a pink and gold pedicure the day before.

When I brought him home and to bed, he taught me the word chateullement,tickle. He thrust his dick into my mouth and his hand deep inside me, my legs up the wall. Beneath him, sucking him happily and deeply, I felt an oasis of unselfconsciousness, just me and the beautiful dick and the smell of summer and sandalwood and subtle cologne. He came easily for me, saltier than the sea.

Since then, I’ve put Duolingo back on my phone, re-taking-up not just French but Spanish too. I’ve even started learning the Hebrew letters just for fun. Oh, the languages, les langues, the tongues. I’m picturing Elizabeth Gilbert practicing Italian in the tub at the beginning of Eat Pray Love and hoping for a summer of pleasure, one way or the other. All the ways.