Perfect Friday Night With Dreamy Playlist Angel, Part Four

 

Snuggling under the covers with a roped-up cutie is like a whole vacation in itself. I recently redid my bedding all in soft pink, it's like curling up in an aggressively cute cloud. The perfect place for a perfect boy.

I like holding him close, protecting him from the world. I like his angel-floppy hair and his open, sincere face. I like him lots. The confidence he'd shown when he kissed me at the door was here in the cloud bed too, eager and game. Both of us, just so happy to be here.

(Side quest: so many of these stories culminate with me on my face, screaming into a pillow in joy and delight. Is this scary for partners? It recently sunk in that I would be jarred by this level of emotion and noise from a partner, maybe others feel the same? I remember Lovely Guy saying he felt like he was being violent even though he wasn't. Poor dear! Maybe I'll talk to people about this?)

Anyway, confident. He bent me in a way that felt new, one knee over his shoulder. He hit the spot so neatly and thoroughly, a heave of relief and pleasure. Fitting together like puzzle pieces seems like a thing I should have gotten used to by now, should have learned to take for granted, but I never have. He just made me feel so, so good.

When I came (and came, and came) I cried out "Thank you, oh THANK you!" over and over. I remembered briefly that "grateful" is a stereotype about lovers my age, then realized I don't care--I was born grateful and I hope, in fifty to seventy years, to die grateful too.

The rest of the night was sweet snuggles and music-and-movies chitchat, what else could anyone on this earth ever need?

It took a couple days for OCD to start yelling at me about it, obnoxiously moralizing and strictly anti-fun. Here are some of the things that my brain decided:

*If he's not texting in this moment, I am forgotten and humiliated.

*I'm sabotaging my chances at romantic love by letting myself play casually.

*He is automatically going to choose the other lady he's casually dating, therefore proving I'll never measure up or be any good.

OCD is an asshole! I felt a little relief from breaking things off, but my body didn't want that! After a few more days, the anti-fun obsession machine quieted enough to hear my body's opinions, which were:

*Yes!

*Yay!

*More please!

He was admirably copacetic about the breaking-off and then un-breaking off. I want him to keep coming over as long as it's fun for us both, and who knows what that will look like! He's coming over Friday night for Mulholland Drive and ropes, wish me luck! :)

Frilly Friday: Hi Barbie! And a New Friend for The Drawer!

 

I made this nightie part of my going-to-see-the-Barbie-movie, along with a turquoise sports bra (This has been my summer of Sports Bra as Shirt! It feels so good, especially the breeze on my shoulders!) and a long pink tutu. Barbie night was one of the happiest nights of my life, one I still don’t have the chill to put into words.

Last night was a happy one too! I was gonna use a picture I already had this week, but the old picture didn’t have the amount of over-the-top femmeness I wanted, so oh darn I had to put it on!

I wasn’t really in the mood for a self-date, I was headachey, pondering a graduation from Summer Therapist (I did it this morning! I’m really proud and it might be a good story for another day!) and I was working on a puzzle that was making my brain itch. (That fucker went back in the box this morning, unfinished! I’ll put a warning sticky note when I drop it off at the Little Free Puzzle Library!)

But by the time I had the picture the way I wanted it (I literally JUST learned how to use the timer on my camera’s phone. In the year of our lord 2023. Better late than never?) the soft lace had worked its magic on me. The push-pull of the day left my body and time slowed down. The power of pink lace got me present.

I haven’t been able to find my rose quartz face roller anywhere, so I bought a new one a few weeks ago—I didn’t realize I’d gotten a vibrating one! I had it on the nightstand waiting for relaxation purposes, so this was the perfect time. It felt like such a lovely release for my poor tense face! And when I got to my mouth, it changed to a different kind of release!

I’m sad that I don’t have anybody to kiss at the moment (Just turned the apps back on Monday!) but it’s cool to think of ways to include my mouth in self-love times! I definitely slept well last night and I woke up full of sass and forward momentum and optimism.

Texts With Mrs. Shy One: A Burst of Uncomplicated Joy

 

The Fourth Date Tears happened last Tuesday night. I woke up the next morning at five, antsy and bereft—of course I called BFF-Formerly-Sweetie. She was kinder than I deserved about having her last hour of sleep stolen. BFFFS said it sounded pretty clear that I wanted to break things off with The Shy One, but she was wrong, I didn’t. I fell back asleep after we talked and woke up with a completely flipped perspective.

Why should I reject him for not being out as poly? Our lives are so vastly different. Yes, outness is a thing I’ve worked and cried and given up social capital for, but it’s also built out of privilege. I have so much more leeway to move around in the world with my (mostly) fuck-off-if-you-don’t-like-it attitude. It seemed mean and against my values to fault a Black, immigrant, religious family for not being as comfortably publicly slutty as I am.

Most importantly, I knew that even though he’d asked me to be untruthful about our relationship, he did care for me very much. He’d been one of the most generous, kind, and loving partners I’ve had, so why should I let this mismatched aspect, however important, decide the whole thing?

So, another few days of good mornings, pretty flower photos, and sweet-if-guarded-on-his-part attention. Another rope design.

And THEN. Oh choir of angels! Oh butterfly swarm of happiness, Mrs. Shy One reached out and we made friends over text! I felt a flood of sure, ecstatic well-being. I copied her and put a crown on my Bitmoji (Hers is fancy and regal, mine is flowers) We bonded about being on Team Bi and about the general difficulty of girlfriends.

I felt so situated and so welcomed into their lives just from that little while of texting. She told me that The Shy One was smitten with me, that I mattered to her because I mattered to him a lot.

I felt so shiny and lucky and tuned-into-the-universe after that. I apologized to both of them for being so defensive on Tuesday night. I felt hopeful and brave, even ready to put on a full Lady Mary amount of reserve if he wanted me to on public dates. The keep him safe. To serve them. To honor these connections that had miraculously appeared out of the cold internet in a harsh world.

(Ummm I wonder how much less fraught this all would’ve been if I hadn’t been so deep in the Downton Abbey the whole time. Or if I would have cut it off sooner without all the Abbey’s fetishization of reserve.)

There’s one more tearful installment to come, but I’m glad I spent even a little time with that perspective flip. I’m glad to have lived that shining hopeful day of home and welcome. Even though the connection still came undone, I’m glad I pushed myself to change and let them in.

Dungeon Love and a Happy Anniversary

This place where you are right now, God circled

on a map for you.

Wherever your eyes and arms and heart can move

against the earth and sky, the Beloved has bowed

there,

the Beloved has bowed there knowing you were

coming.

-Hafiz

This week was the 11-year anniversary of Sweetie and me getting together, of the night she told me, okay, she’d give it a try, and that I would be her first partner of any kind—it’s a lot of responsibility, and I took it, and I am so glad. She and I have had rocky times this past year, and in some ways our relationship is still in limbo, but we have a lot to celebrate, too.

Last Saturday was the holiday party at our regular dungeon—just the phrase “our regular dungeon” just fills me with pride. We missed the dinner part of the festivities because some dear friends were having a going-away potluck, but we got there early enough that the crew was still setting up the furniture.

Everyone looked so pretty and festive—lots of fancy red dresses, formal kilts, shiny studded gauntlets. There were cute little glowy candle lamps everywhere, and a Christmas tree. When we arrived, Old-Timey Guy was shrink wrapping a girl in a red and white plastic corset.

HempRopes was there with his beautiful wife, and meeting her made me wish that I hadn’t sworn off him—she’s strong, vivacious, and smiley, just the kind of lady I wouldn’t mind being tied to—oh well, maybe someday.

I think my decision to swear off casual play was a good one, though. Instead of resenting HempRopes for having a long line of ladies, I felt happy love for the good time that they were all about to have.

Old-Timey guy asked if I would like another star mark from him and looked taken aback when I said “I’ll think about it.” He’s still calling me his “little girl” but I felt distinctly like a woman, and I’m excited that I’m reserving my right to play as one.

Sweetie and I set up our scene in a triangle with the people we love to play next to: Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl were on the St. Andrew’s cross to our right, and Hot Switch Couple were getting their bag of tricks ready the next kneeling bench over. We all hugged and smiled about the prospect of being near each other.

It was one of the happiest nights of my life. Sweetie made me feel like a rope-covered princess. She ties me to a kneeling bench and figured out how to spank nice and firmly without hurting. I don’t always go all the way to a subby place with her, but this time I did—I felt like I was getting spanked inside a glowy pink cloud of well-being. As I was spacing out to the comfy rhythms, I noticed that Punk Rock Girl was getting flogged to the exact same beat—it was such a lovely feeling of oneness.

I knelt there giggling with joy, mostly naked in from of my friends, just like I love to be. I am so proud of the life that Sweetie and I have created in the last year, the way we have made a space for ourselves in the world where we can be in love and hot and safe and in front of everybody. Even though I’m often distracted by what’s missing from my life, I have to admit that this new life is like a miracle.