Poly Feelings and Christmas Cute With The Guy Next Door: Part One

Friends, I am FREAKING OUT. Yesterday was my first real date with The Guy Next Door, and it went well! And today OCD wants me to know ALLLLLL the possible things that could go wrong, or could prove it didn't happen at all. So it's past time to write about what happened over Christmas.

Ever since he helped me with my left-my-phone-in-the-Lyft emergency on Election Day, TGND and I have been hanging out pretty regularly, just friend time with the occasional flirty spark. I didn't know what was going on with the other two ladies, but my therapist gave me this treasure of an advice:

"Maybe you don't have to figure things out and you can focus on having an amazing holiday"

AND OMG I DID IT!

He came over the Thurs before Christmas to help me put up my decorations (Definitely counts as Art Night!) but instead of doing that, we talked for three hours. He'd told me he was poly before, but this time I actually HEARD him. As he filled me in on his relationships, I felt an old familiar golden emotion sparking up!

Compersion!

But more than that, I felt like "Oh yeah, this! I know how to do this." The generosity and lightness I've felt during the best parts of poly life--there they were!

AND

OMG

I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IT

The Guy Next Door is a rope top! Gentlekittens, start your engines! (400 scream emojis)

As we sat there, looking through each other's hot pictures, (Though I held off on sharing all but the most chaste rope pictures of me.) I felt like yes. This is The Thing. It's happening. The Pink Haze that takes over sometimes and leads me in the right direction, here it was decorating my apartment, which was good, because nary a Christmas light was hung.

The next night, he came back to actually put up the lights. I was making cookies for Angel Face's Solstice party, so I assigned TGNS to put the lights on the tree.

And I said

(because I am extremely me)

"I think I'm about to get very jealous of the tree!"

He looked shy and startled and said "You're making me blush." and all the bravery drained out of me at once. I felt an ice floe of fear and clammed up, focusing back on the cookies. We joked back and forth like "Oh haha we're such flirty people, of course we're flirting, no big deal."

But I knew that wasn't what I was doing, so I asked, "Do you think we'll get to snuggle someday?" 

And he stopped, thought for a sec, and said "Maybe!"

"Maybe's good!" I said, and for maybe the first time in my whole entire OCD life, I believed it.

Mr. Adorkable and the Ropes, Part Three

Mr. Adorkable is all pounce. At some point in the proceedings, he went down on me like he was jumping into a pool, or like I was candy! He’s so open and full of glee. All the while, because he’s an extranice match, my goth mix was on shuffle.

(NOT the goth mix I made for The Song Sender. RIP that mix. Or, see you in 2033. That gum you like is going to come back in style. Sorry, Twin Peaks digression.)

ANYWAY, back to the hotness at hand. After I asked for a break and he offered sex, Mr. Adorkable grabbed the thigh rope and spread my legs wide. I warned him that I didn’t remember the last time I’d shaved and he said “Huh. Seems pretty recent.” I don’t think he would’ve cared if it wasn’t.

Once he was between my legs, I hooked my not-tied leg over his hip and it’s almost like we clicked together, satisfying like Legos or puzzle pieces. I settled in underneath him, such a cozy fit.

He fucks with generosity, enthusiasm, and expertise. This is why you should always fuck married guys—they may have less time to play, but while they’re here, they really make it count. I may have said some or all of that thought out loud in the moment.

Another thing I had to say our loud mid-fuck was “Oops, I forgot to ask about aftercare. We can snuggle after, right?”

“Oh, of course,” he said “Though I can’t stay too long, there’s work tomorrow.”

My arms had long since been untied. The thigh rope may have been tied to the headboard. My legs were up around his shoulders and I was coming and coming and coming, ready to invite him to come too, when Cloudbusting came on, of course it did. The perfect way to send off the Kate Bush summer, in ecstasy.

Heck yeah, something good is gonna happen, it almost always does. (“Just saying it can even make it happen…”)

His aftercare was, unsurprisingly, sweet, warm, and cheerful. He told me I had been a good girl, of course, that I’d done a good job. He ran his perfect hand from my hip to my waist to my shoulder and told me that I deserve to feel this good.

I can’t wait, can’t wait, can’t WAIT to see him again. That’s next Monday.

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.

Happy Friday: Sweet Hallelujah, a Good Date

So it turns out there’s one guy I’m not currently afraid of: Mr. Sweetface! For the last month or so I haven’t known what to do with in. I was feeling hesitant about poly and we’re both going through a lot at home. For some reason, I was inspired this week to invite him to join me at the Cute Neighborhood Music Thing that my adorable alt-country duo church friends run. I liked the idea of listening to the music with my head on a nice warm shoulder, sidling up to his faintly leather-scented warmth.

So, for the first time in I don’t know how long, I put on makeup after work, curled up the ends of my needs-to-be dyed hair into a flip. I wore red lipstick and my red date-night raincoat, even though it’s still a little too chilly.

The venue’s a historic Mennonite meetinghouse; the Cute Church Couple live on its grounds. There are tall candles in all the windows and Cute Church Girl made vanilla cupcakes from scratch.

When Mr. Sweetface joined me, a band with the working title “Poor No-Name Cat” was playing and I was enjoying the Breakfast at Tiffany’s reference and the soulful lady singer, singing torch songs in French like it was a café in a movie. I was nervous when he came in—we’ve never had a pants-on date before, so I didn’t know what to expect. He took my hand and I did put my head on his shoulder, kind of swooned along to the music and felt a kind of rest I hadn’t felt in a long time. “I missed you,” I whispered, and he said he’d missed me too.

After the show (They booked me to open next month! First time reading poetry in almost two years!) he drove me home and we curled up on the couch and talked about all the things—his family stuff, the Big Therapy Project (to tell a guy that story and have him hold me protectively is it’s own therapy…), our similarly LSD-fond pasts. We compared the perils of teaching with the perils of parenthood--both involve doing one’s best and feeling like a jerk a lot, it turns out. He got deeply emotional talking about his son and it felt good to take care of him a little, to reside for a moment in a story besides my own. It made me feel true and alive, so gratified that he was kind enough to share himself with me.

I told him I’m a ways away from sexytimes--he held me tight and told me to take all the time I need. I said I’d try to make it quick so I could get back to beating his ass before too long.

His second child is due this fall, so I know I can’t expect much time with him, but I liked inviting him into this new world I’m building and that he’s willing to share his world with me too. I think I’m still poly, given how much I like sharing him with my friend, how much I liked cozying up to a date with a wedding ring. The Mystery Family thing didn’t mean I’m not poly, I just meant I prefer sanity, and so far this seems pretty sane.

On the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with my head on his heart and his (newly beardy, yay!) chin on my head, as he told me his secrets, I felt the thing I love to feel the most—simple human connection. Warmth. Life. We’re getting to know each other in a way that makes my pants-on time seem like even more of a blessing.

Though my heart is still heavy with worry about work, it was lovely to go to sleep last night with an unequivocal smile, to have these gorgeous living moments in my heart, to fall asleep and dream in pretty neighborhood love songs.

Awwww, Thanks Mystery Family! And Thanks, Polyamory!

You wouldn’t think that getting added to a Twitter list would be momentous, but it is if those lists happen to be named “the keepers of my heart” (Just two wives, two girlfriends, and…ME!) and “Family” (a whole bunch of really adorable people.) One of the Mystery Man’s wives (the hot Dominatrix) added me to her “family” list first and when he followed suit, I was so turned on that I had to take myself right to bed. And then tell them about it. And then they took themselves to bed about THAT, because we are all awesome.

I’ve been reading and admiring this particular family for…a year, maybe? They seemed like a dream come true and have always been kind friends. One of the Mystery Wives pulled me out of a panic attack last fall was I was in the depths of shame about Steampunk Guy, and they’ve all cheered me on through every challenge of such a sad year.

Watching them love each other has been hot and healing, a balm for a heart that once thought polyamory couldn’t be real for me. They’ve changed me just by being so generous and sharing all of the different ways they take care of each other.

And now I can’t believe that I’ve sidled my way in. It’s a similar feeling to meeting somebody famous, if that somebody famous were making sure that you got time to chat-snuggle. Yesterday when all those metamours were adding me to their family lists, I felt loved and accepted in a fancy new way, and ready to climb all over all of them.

The Mystery Man is a very special character, and I’m so grateful to him for the generosity and joy he brings to my daily life. I love wishing them a happy day before they go in the commute-tunnels in the mornings and saying goodnight when it’s time for him to go read his daughter bedtime stories. I love plotting against him with the Ladies. I love the light that shines over to me with every silly interaction.

So on this Valentine’s snow day I’m feeling very happy and grateful to be polyamorous. I love the way that my relationships have taken their own shapes, how I’ve grown into someone who can accept all different kinds of love and let it evolve on its own terms. At the beginning of the year, I decided that we never know what magic we’re making, and that was exactly right. I love this new life of letting everybody be near wherever they are, accepting magic when it comes, and generally just being the luckiest girl in the world.

Single Life Week Eight: Some Good Closure and a Brand New Sex Adventure

It was a hard week but full of good progress and nice surprises. First, the hard part: during the big snowstorm of Tuesday night, right at the moment I was writing that post about self-love, Sweetie was getting onto a city bus and slipped, cutting her leg open badly. She has a condition called venous stasis that keeps the blood in her legs from circulating and makes her skin there very thin and hard to repair. She called me from the ambulance and I was scared to death, both for the normal still-care-about-her reasons and the bone chilling fear that this would be she’d have to move back in with me.

I know that might seem selfish, but I felt like the universe (caution, magical thinking ahead) was going to take away all of the good steps we’d taken, and that seemed so unfair to both of us, especially to her. She finally has a good job close to home, we’ve been working so hard to get ourselves apart, and it felt like fate was forcing us back together. (Sheesh, sometimes I sound like a character on Lost)

I knew without a doubt that I shouldn’t drive through a blizzard to go to the hospital and see her. It wasn’t safe physically or emotionally, so I did what I try and do whenever I’m panicky and overwhelmed: I went to bed early.

When I woke up the next morning, there were a whole bunch of texts from her dad on my phone and a nasty facebook message from her sister, sniping at me for abandoning Sweetie in her time of need. I freaked but wrote and backed her off, saying that I hoped someone was on their way because Sweetie’s family needed to be the ones to take care of her. “I thought y’all were still family,” she said. Funny how I hadn’t heard from them in the last six months and now all of a sudden they’re family.

I felt like such a bitch, but I knew I was doing the right thing. The sister had unfriended me but I went ahead and blocked her anyway, just for the relief of it. I blocked her aunt’s number when she called, and when Sweetie’s roommate emailed me for updates, I told her to please update people herself.

It all felt really harsh, but I really love the hard-won progress we’ve made and I feel very protective of it. I’ve been calling to check on her, I’m not a monster, but it was an enormous relief when it finally sunk in that nobody was gonna make us move back in together, that her dad was on the way to look after her and she and I could keep choosing to go forward.

Sweetie was a really, really hard person to take care of—stubborn, volatile, fragile, self-neglecting, and dependent on me for nearly every single social and emotional need (I think this is part of why lately I’m attracted to people who have a million partners—I like knowing they’re taken care of when I’m not fawning over them.) I felt horrible that I couldn’t love her in the exclusive, consuming way that she loved me, but I could never make myself have enough patience and compassion to give her what she needed. I hadn’t felt that guilt in a while, but last week there was a blizzard of it. And then I woke up the next day and the knots in my stomach were gone. I was set back a little, but I knew we’d separately be okay.

Partly because my Mystery Man said the wisest, most comforting things on that hard snow day, my break went back to “mostly.” I resumed lavishing him with attention and receiving lovey-dovey notes in return—so much of his appeal is that he lets me be my ridiculous, doting self instead of expecting me to try and be cool, which would be a futile effort anyway.

I cheerfully re-started sex-brainstorming with the Recurring Character for when I see him at the Big Poly Conference in a couple of weeks, and I reached out to Mr. Sweetface, too.  I’d been wondering if maybe he didn’t have enough attention for me, but he told me he thinks about me all the time, so I thought it’d be worth another date, especially one for which I could stay in my pajamas. But the weather got all dramatic again so I wasn’t sure if he would make it.

Know who’s good to have in a snowstorm? A Twitter guy. I’d already decided that we should consummate our relationship, and what better way get some company while I was waiting for Mr. Sweetface to make up his mind.

The Mystery Man is beyond chivalrous and polite (probably I’m the only girl ever to learn how to be treated chivalrously via the internet…) so I’d kind of wondered how I was going to get smutty with him. After about two tweets, though (you can read my side of the exchange here if you promise to forgive me the sex-typos) the special underpants I’d put on for both of them (blue sheer with tiny multicolored stars) were COMPLETELY soaked and I was swooning into the desk between interactions. (Guys. How old-timey am I? Why do I not have a smartphone or even a laptop? These are weirdly intimate moments to be having at the same desk where I type in my grades.)

I LOVED the fact that we were loving each other up on the public feed, and even though I got a little stage fright whenever somebody (especially a stranger!) favorited or replied, it appealed to the showoffy part of me that’s been kind of under wraps lately. One of the best parts was when I @mentioned one of his wives midscene (she’s his Mistress, and so I felt a little self-conscious about writing the spanky part) and she sent me some encouragement. “Well, as long as you believe in me Ma’am,” I typed with an enormous grin on my face.

When Mr. Sweetface texted to say he wasn’t coming, he may have found me surprisingly magnanimous about it. I do miss him and I was sad about it later, but I loved being absorbed in my Mystery Man and I was enjoying the challenge of trying to write something good and hot when all of the blood had rushed south from my brain.

One of the Mystery Ladies had been in the room watching him and she sent her applause as he finished. I took a bow and felt very adorable indeed. Aftercare took the form of chatting sweetly about other things until I felt sleepy and typed him a chaste kiss goodnight.

There are things that everybody kind of thinks of as normal that just completely fucking blow my mind. Internet sex has been around for two decades, but that was the first time I tried it, and I’m still trying to get my head around it. Being here in my body but also out in the ether with him felt natural at the time but was really quite a shock to the system—the next day I had a hangover from it, similar to ones I’ve gotten after happy-but-harsh nights at the dungeon.

I spent Sunday feeling surprisingly vulnerable about him, afraid the friendship would change, afraid that he wouldn’t like me anymore or that I wasn’t special or that he and the ladies would somehow be gone now. I’m so proud of what I did about that feeling: I told him. Even though I’m pretty sure I was interrupting some other fun, we got to talk about it. It didn’t make the fears go away, but it feels really important that I showed him my insecurities and had them met with kindness, reassurance, and love. I’m doing my best to take that to heart.

It feels very scary to let myself like someone, even just online, but I’m glad to be letting myself feel it, letting myself play a little part of his cute poly life that is so much of what I aspire to someday when I’m ready. But sheesh, everybody, there need to be some real-life spanks in my life pretty soon. Dear heart and soul, please keep healing, so I can get the heck back out there.

Yay I'm a Happy Poly Moment!

Yay I get to share a Poly Weekly episode with the lovely Sabrina Morgan. I wrote this happy poly moment letter when I was full of dungeon endorphins, but that doesn't make it any less true. In fact, I think I'm even more of a rolling snowball of slutty awesomeness now. And! I'm glad some of those excellent penises ended up being wholehearted yesses!

The feedback letter in this episode might sound familiar too--oh, last April. Oh, The Man and The Wife. So glad you're far behind me and so is all that bitterness.

Beach Party as Benchmark: A+

Every year, a bunch of the regional poly and bi groups get together and have a party at the nude beach. Last year that party was my first day there and it went like this. Although last year’s day was a good, healing experience, being in the middle of so much sadness with Sweetie made me feel isolated from everyone and kept us from really being part of the party.

What with the divorce, it seems like this year the party should be sadder, but it was a pure joy. I drove down by myself (I could’ve carpooled, but the divorce grief can be unpredictable and I wanted to be able to make a quick getaway if need be.) and was so excited to spend the day with a favorite friend, The Lady of the House, who happens to be one of the best pals to have come out of these adventures. There are people there that I had all kinds of connections with: One friend who remembered me fondly as his first rope top, a group of adorables I remembered from a good game of Cards Against Humanity, so many nice people I’ve seen naked bunches of times.

It was the prettiest beach day you’d ever see. The sky was bright, the breeze was gentle, and the sun was hot but not oppressive. I spent the day chatting and flirting in the water or just bobbing around happily by myself, snoozing to the sound of good conversations, and making new friends over a pop culture reference laden game of Taboo. If this is supposed to be the year of connection, Saturday was one of its most successful days.

My marriage (and the attendant anger and shame) was unquestionably isolating me, and the further I get from it, the more I feel myself opening up and getting more warm and confident. It’s so cool to look back and see how far I’ve come. If I can get us safely through this transition, I can see so much flirty, friendly, lovey-dovey goodness on the horizon. That was a comforting thought as Sweetie and I slogged back into apartment-sorting yesterday.

Also! I just want to come out and say that it’s very important to me that my next partner(s) love the ocean. 

Happy Tenth Anniversary, Sweetie!

Ten years ago, in a rose garden in Upstate New York (before gay marriage was legal there) in a ceremony officiated by a poet, Sweetie and I said our vows in front of our family (even the most conservative members attended) and friends. It was a perfect day, exactly the way we’d envisioned it.

To celebrate her general state of wonderfulness, here are ten things I love about Sweetie:

1. She is beautiful. She has the most baby-deer sincere eyes, softsoft shoulders, spectacular bosoms and highly smoochable lips. My body fits perfectly with hers and the smell of her is the deepest of animal comforts.

2. She is smarter than anybody. She has absolutely no patience for nonsense except for (thank goodness!) mine.

3. She is my best friend. Sometimes, especially if we have a nice, leisurely Saturday afternoon ahead of us, we’ll lay down to have sex but seeing her face will make me just start yammering. She opens me all up, and though sometimes I know I have just a few more words than she’d prefer, she’s always, always there to talk with. I’m so very grateful.

4. I love the way she gets really worried if she sees a groundhog or some goslings about to cross the road. She’s protective of everything, especially me—once before we were even dating, it started to rain and she was worried that I’d left without a coat, so she went to my house to get me one.

5. I’m happy doing nothing with her. One of the best weeks recently was the week when the new Arrested Development season came out and we spent all kinds of time binge-watching episodes. Oh, Sweetie and me and our love affair with the couch. And the bed. And the garden. And the porch.

6. She’s so unbelievably generous! All week this week, even though she has her own full-time job, she’s been coming into school with me early every day to help pack up my classroom. She always takes care of me so well and I know I could never even BEGIN to make it up to her.

7. Strawberry waffles in bed every Saturday. Romantic trips to the Whole Foods for sushi and salted caramels. Broccoli soup in the wintertime. Getting like six fortune cookies with every Chinese food order. Morimoto for fancy ramen on really auspicious or really trying occasions. Beachside sundaes. Making dinner for her and sometimes for her and other sweeties too.

8. She listens to me cry when boys are mean to me and hardly ever gets frustrated with me for letting them. She roots for the dudes who make me happy (the whole cast of characters at the moment) but when times are tough she says the lesbians will always be willing to renew my membership. (She says she has an in with the committee…)

9. She joins me in so many adventures and happily sends me off on the ones that don’t interest her. She’s so good at knots that it makes it hard for the boys to measure up. (Yes that is a challenge, guys. Go practice!) She stands supportively by when nice men are helpful enough to hit me with stuff, and then is happy to hit me with more stuff. (Mostly her lovely hands.) She brings out the growly top in me but also can make me feel sosoothingly docile. She lets me draw elaborate doodles on her back because she likes the tickle of it.

10. She gets superpissed when I don’t love myself as much as she loves me. She is better at love than anybody I’ve ever known-she isn’t perfect but she never, ever lets me down. She never stops letting me know that I am the most important thing in the world to her. I would love to be as good at love as she is.

Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness Part Eight: Ending With a Sky Full of Stars

So, yes, it’s taken eight posts to describe a few hours. I hate to finish typing it because I’ll be lonely for them, it’s been like writing them all a nice long letter every day or so, but I guess it is time for new adventures. Plus, I’m pretty sure there’ll be other ways to stay in touch.

After Mr. Sweetheart and I were done, Mr. Shiny Eyes was rarin’ to go again. He said he usually needed more rest in between times, so this must have been extra special. I was of course ready for more as well. Mr. Sweetheart left to go I-don’t-know-where.

Mr. Shiny Eyes put me on my side and folded me so that my knees were on my chest and pushed himself blessedly inside me. “You’re okay if it doesn’t take long this time?” he asked but I was feeling such a thrill again that I panted “Just..a…couple more minutes…”

Far from being tired out, I was primed for this and the way that his dick moved inside me felt like a fucking miracle. I shouted and shrieked louder than I had all day. We came and came together, and it felt like a gold-star accomplishment.

Mr. Sweetheart came back from wherever he’d been and we all cuddled for a few minutes before we realized we were starving. It was starting to get chilly, too. I got up and (stupid clothes!) put on fresh underwear, bra, pajamas, and sneakers. (Anything you can wear that outfit to is my kind of event!)

By the time we were dressed, a few of their friends had joined us in the tent. The woman who’d been running the shop at the front said that everything had sounded great, and the guys gently mocked me for being excited about that compliment. Hey, I’m a showoff!

While he started up some snuggles with another lady, I kissed Mr. Shiny Eyes goodbye and told him that I didn’t ever want to stop kissing him.

“Well. is that a problem?”

I smiled big and said, “No, I guess not.”

“Though occasionally you’ll have to stop so that I can kiss someone else…” and with that, he pulled down the other lady on top of him and I left the tent. Mr. Sweetheart said to be sure to come back up after dinner. He thanked me for the afternoon and I said “Hey! Thanks for liking me that way!”

I was really conscious of wanting to give them space (or else I just needed a little space) and I was superaverse to appearing clingy, even though I had the urge to get them to both lie down and fall asleep with me. Maybe next time.

Shaky legs and trying-not-to-be-clingy notwithstanding, I had such a lovely time in the dining hall with Sheandhim. (Most of my dinner consisted of chocolate chip cookies, because if I’m already being this decadent, why not?) I got to learn more about their relationship and family and there was a lot of leaning my head on her shoulder, a lot of hugging. We promised to plan a double date soon and hey! I should really put that on the calendar.

It was dark by the time supper ended and I made my way back up the hill to Mr. Sweetheart and friends. They were sitting in a circle of lawn chairs still eating their dinner. Ms. Sweetheart was sitting next to him and offered me her chair, but I preferred to sit at their feet. She patted my hair, which was a wonderful bed head rat’s nest, and said “Ugh, these boys don’t know what to do with hair. Let me fix this.”

She was going to fix it with her fingers but I dug a brush out of my backpack and she as-gently-as-possible got the tangles out. The last time I’d had my hair brushed was during that terrible quasi-aftercare with The Man, and this was the complete opposite of that feeling, the perfect healing for it. Accidentally, another auspicious ritual. A soul-retrieval for my hair.

During the whole mess with The Man and The Wife, I’d started to worry that I didn’t have what it takes for poly. He’d convinced me that I was this weird possessive thing that I’m really not. Being accepted and cared for by Ms. Sweetheart brought me right back to who I really am—a humming engine of compersion ready for a million more snuggles and a whole universe worth of love. She probably didn’t know she could accomplish all that with a hairbrush.

When my hair was all smooth, I shifted over to sitting at Mr. Sweetheart’s feet. He ran his fingers gently up my neck and through my hair as he and his friends talked and I occasionally chimed in. The stars came out and I realized how much I’d missed them. New resolution: see more stars.

When it came time to go up to the parking field to meet Sweetie, Mr. Sweetheart walked me. We stopped and kissed under those stars and I just COULD NOT believe how lucky I was. Am. (I wanted to say goodbye to Mr. Shiny Eyes, but couldn’t imagine where I might find him.)

Sweetie was already waiting in our little blue car. I kissed Mr. Sweetheart goodbye and got happily, exhaustedly into the car. I was so glad to see her as I yammered all about my day and we wound down country roads to our hotel.

About the Man About Town

The week before my birthday, I kissed four people, which is maybe too many. The only one of those that you haven’t heard about yet is the Man About Town.

I’m calling him that because he’s got a lot of community stuff going on—his art is in local galleries, he’s in the pagan community, and he’s a leader of the local poly meetup, which is how I got to know him. I’d seen him around for about a year, but one night a few months ago during a poly book club meeting I noticed that he’s my type--big and bearish, warm, fond of easygoing public nudity. So I sent him a friend request on Fet Life and I guess my pictures did the trick. We exchanged emails all summer. He’s looking for a new play partner, so we made plans.

Our first date, during that week-of-kissing-four-people, was a hiking date on my favorite leisurely trail. We talked and talked and talked. Then sometimes we talked ABOUT the talking. I felt really comfortable with him and was as confessional as I would’ve been if I’d had two glasses of wine. I told him SO MUCH STUFF and he told me a lot too. It was like a miracle of yammering, I loved it.

I was trying to remember the name of a butterfly* that was helpfully splaying out its wings for us to study when I felt him move in for the kiss. He was gentle, a little tentative, technically proficient, but I’m not sure what I felt, emotionally. Still, I was impressed, and I couldn’t resist high-fiving him and saying “Good job!”

Then I was like “Wait, is that okay to say? good job?”

“Of course!” he said, “Feedback is always welcome.”

Man About Town is close with Fireguy’s crowd, so I talked to him a lot about that situation, which is good because it means that some disclosures are out of the way. It was a relief to talk about that stuff, I’d been afraid to for a while.

The Man About Town is just that, a man. So far, he makes me feel valued, understood, and oriented. My first date with him was a pretty island in the sea of insecurity that was the end of Mister Hazel Eyes. I got home that day feeling comfy in my own skin, pleased to have the rest of the day alone with a good book, not needy or clingy but self-contained.

He asked me out right away, but I was feeling really overwhelmed about everything else that was going on. I told him I needed a month or so to get back on my feet before any more non-Sweetie dates. Then, a few days later, I asked if I could put him on the calendar for the end of September so I’d have him to look forward to. He had absolutely no problem with planning things three weeks in advance, and that is so dreamy. I’m not sure how I feel about him, but I am so proud to have made plans with a grown ass man. Go me.

*the butterfly was a "red spotted purple"

Mr. Popular Gets Lucky, Part Two

There’s a lot to celebrate about my visit to Mr. Popular’s house on Monday. 

His home is beautiful. I guess four incomes (his, his wife’s, his ex-wife’s and his ex-wife’s husband’s) can buy a lot of house. It’s perfectly decorated and meticulously cared for, to the last detail. They are surrounded by a lush, beautiful garden. You’ve got to be impressed by a man who grows his own pears. He picked one for me and it was very juicy. The juice ran all down my arm.

When we walked into the house, his pregnant ex-wife was chopping up eggplant for dinner with her husband and us. Un-oh, eggplants, this caused me some anxiety—I’m a picky eater and dinners in people’s homes can be a little fraught. I vowed to myself that I would be a big girl and eat whatever was put in front of me.

Mr. Popular and I sat on his bed singing approximately one million Beatles songs—it was ridiculously fun. I was a little self-conscious that the rest of the family could hear my caterwauling, but mostly I just sang with my whole body and heart. We hadn’t even kissed yet so it was exciting and adorable when he’s put his hand on my knee or his head on my shoulder. Like any good date, there was a fair amount of high-fiving. He was singing the harmony, but when the melody was too low for me, we’d switch and he’d sing my part. We made a good team. He put waaaaaay too much feeling into “Fixing a Hole” and I laughed until tears came down my face. We both got a possessive, cathartic thrill out of belting out “Run For Your Life,” probably the least poly song ever:

We got called down to dinner and there was plenty for my picky self to eat. I felt shy around the rest of the family, but he says I did okay. They went on a Whole Foods run after dinner and left us to do the dishes. I’d rather wash than dry, so this marks the first time I’ve washed a guys dishes before I’d even kissed him. We had a nice time bickering about his terrible taste in music (He only learned about the Beatles from Rock Band, can you imagine?!) and gently brushing up against each other.

After dishes and quite the grueling Abbey Road medley, it was time to snuggle. I got under the covers and right into his arms. He kissed me and made little yummy noises that took some getting used to. He is skinnier than my usual type and definitely bottomy, so he felt a little fragile, but warm, safe, deft. He ran his hands over my breasts and I sighed and cooed. Things were going fast so I said “Okay, just so you know, we’re not going past third base.”

This lead to a lengthy, silly discussion of what the bases are. I think I’m the only adult who still refers to the base system. It’s not like I think there’s only four things to do, I just keep adding more bases. Knowing where this blog is, for example, is 29^th base.

Anyway, he felt so sweet and comforting, and was kind and matter-of-fact about my “I had HPV six months ago” revelation, that I quickly revised my third-base-only assertion.

He felt sooooo good inside me. I may or may not have alienated the rest of the household with my vociferousness. I had to hold back my yelps because the ex-wife is not a fan of overhearing—it was really hard to hold back, I reeeeeaaaaaly missed this kind of sex; I really wanted to loudly celebrate. (A little nostalgia here for the Mayor of Kittentown, who lives in a rowhouse but never minded how much carrying on the neighbors might overhear--thanks for that, pal.) It may be a little fast for me to be all the way underneath someone on the second date, but the connection between us felt real. I’m not sure how deep it was, but it was genuine. I felt him gasp and surrender and come inside me (in the condom, of course). I told him that was the first time that’s happened since the Nineties, so thanks.

We chatted for a good long while after that—Mr. Popular is very easy to talk to. His soft orange kitty joined us on the bed, oh, the joy of getting to know new cats. I may have gone on a little too much about Mister Hazel Eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind—he’s in favor of me cutting MHE some slack and letting more things happen. Who knows.

We fell asleep in cozy friendship, my arm around him and petting the cat.

There’s a lot to be said for being let into someone’s life, even if it’s just for an evening. I appreciate his sweetness and generosity and warmth so much. His calendar is very full but I hope he fits me in, even if it’s just as a sometimes treat.

YAY Mr. Popular Tonight!

I may be confused and fussing about Mister Hazel Eyes, but I’m happy to look forward to my playing-Beatles-Rock-Band date with Mr. Popular tonight.

Last week, Mr. Popular’s wife sought me out on Ok Cupid to touch base and let me know that she and the kids would be staying at the grandparents’ tonight so there’s be no bedtime concerns and I can stay over if I want to.

For a second date. I felt so special! Like I was an event the whole family’d gotten ready for.

So, putting shakiness aside and ready to get pretty and sing my heart out. Go me. 

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.

Various Happy Things: You Are What You Love

They don’t really fit the traditional mold of happy poly moments, but some things converged last week to make me feel like I am back on track:

1. Since I’ve known for a while that some (not all) of the troubles between us could be solved with, like, a half-hour conversation and I was having a hankering to watch Mystery Science Theater 3000 and be excellently fucked, I asked the Mayor of Kittentown for some snuggles. He was happy to be asked but says his new relationship doesn’t allow for extracurricular snuggles. It’s hard to let him go for real, but I’m glad to know that there’s at least one guy that I still trust enough to ask for what I want. And! I get a gold star for asking. I hope that MKT and I can keep a friendship going, even if being on his couch isn’t appropriate anymore. And! I’m really happy that his relationship is getting closer, even if it means no snuggles for me.
2. This one won’t seem happy at first, but bear with me: I’m still really sad that my therapist is on maternity leave, and the interim lady didn’t work out—I felt frustrated, confused, and panicky to the point where the interim lady asked her supervisor to intercede. The supervisor lady gave me two very nice gifts: First, she helped me understand that my bond with my regular therapist is really deep and it’s okay to not want to do therapy with anyone else. Supervisor lady asked me to imagine that my real therapist was sitting next to me and to find that sensation in my body—it was in my heart, and that made me cry my eyes out some more.

I think that experience was really important because what I’m really learning here is how to not be freaked out by attachment. Often when I try to fight attachment, it comes out as anger, resentment, fear, a real feeling of being trapped. Once I realized it was okay to have a bond, the pressure was released and I could happily take the summer off from therapy.

The other cool thing that that the supervisor lady told me was to get a pretty notebook and write letters to my therapist while she’s gone. While it makes me feel like a genuine crazy person, it really works—in fact, I decided to use it to write to other people I can’t currently talk to—it’s a relief to be able to parse out all of the emotions instead of being overwhelmed by them. Most of the letters, I won’t share or send, but it makes me feel better and like it is safer to be connected to people. It helps me to experience some of the attachments I have been fighting in a way that doesn’t force me to confront or disrupt anything—it’s another way to help myself learn love.

3. Over the weekend, I went to a couple of talks that were really helpful and inspiring. The first one was a talk on seeing kink through the lens of feminism. I looked forward to it so much that it kind of made my week. I don’t think that there’s anything inherently anti-feminist about kink, but I have wished for a while to have more friends who see BDSM from a feminist perspective. On the way there, I got caught in a romantic-comedy-level downpour—I was soaked down to my underwear and laughing my head off—I felt like I was on a very good date with myself. (Thank goodness Sweetie and I had a date for afterwards so she could bring me a change of clothes.)

While I sat there shivering, I was so happy to hear people’s questions and stories, and it was wonderful to feel safe to tell my story without fear of being seen as a bad girl. (At least, not a bad girl in a bad way!) I realized that the key to making more safety for myself in the local BDSM community is to spend more time forming friendships, so I won’t end up in the power-imbalance that automatically comes with being an outsider. So I offered to be folks’ munch-going pal, and I am so proud that the workshop’s facilitator took me up on it—she’s accomplished so many of the things that I dream about and she’s a fellow badass feminist bottom, so I think she’ll be a good influence. Wonder what her cute nickname will be!

The other talk that I liked so much was a talk on beginning polyamory. I love the way that my body relaxes itself when I am in poly company—my shoulders get warm and my heart floods with well-being—I really should do this more often.

My favorite thing that I heard in that talk was from a gentleman friend of mine, one of the most romantic souls I know. He said that one of the ways he knew that he was poly is that he just doesn’t get over people—they just stay in his heart. He knew he had room for more that one person in his heart because people just stay in there. I love that idea. It’s certainly a more positive way to look at my own never-getting–over-people, even if I do get frustrated from time to time with who takes up my heart real estate.

4. And speaking of heart real estate, in my letters-I-probably-won’t-send notebook, I sat down and wrote a letter to Fireguy. It made me realize something that will probably seem obvious to everyone else, (it sure wasn’t a surprise to Sweetie)—I loved Fireguy. I even loved Varga Girl in an aspiring-to-be-a-metamour kind of way. Though there isn’t much I can do with that love, acknowledging it is a relief and a release.

There was a moment during our public fire scene where he looked down at my face with such a look of approval that I felt like a perfect little angel. I had never felt that from a male authority figure before, and it struck me so deep. That’s why it’s so hard to stay away from him, even though we weren’t a good match. I forgive myself for the compromises I made, for all the hurt we all went through, I forgive myself for the fact that that feeling was so powerful that I couldn’t resist it. I hope to feel it again some day, in a healthier way.

We’re having a Charlie Kaufman movie marathon over here lately, and this scene from Adaptation has really been sticking with me. “I can love whoever I want.”

Happy Poly Sunday Tomorrow! Being Beginners.

 Way back in February, I attended the Poly Living conference and went to a snuggle party. I hit some Tantric roadblocks and didn’t get a whole lot of snuggling in, but I did make friends with a nice couple. The hubby was even kind enough to go upstairs and fetch a pillow for me. Last week, he looked me up-- we are a 94% match on OK Cupid and we both like being nakedy in public. That’s a good start.

So when he told me he’s attending his first beginners' rope class, I offered him myself to practice on. He said he might be fumbly, and that suits me just fine.

Sweetie offered to drive over with me, since it’s a ways away, and go do something nerdy while he and I are in rope class.

Plus, the four of us are going to lunch together! It couldn’t be more what I need right now. I feel optimistic just thinking about it. 

Little Panics, But Also Some Poly Happy Tonight

Because I have trauma in my past, I sometimes have little panics. They usually result from something invasive happening that I can’t control. When they come, I feel cut off from the progress I’ve made and my body feels closed off and defensive. I usually can quiet them by finding some time to lie under a blanket and watch sitcoms with Sweetie.

Yesterday was a panicky day, for three reasons.

The first reason is that I’ve been pushing myself really hard, and it’s left me feeling exposed, and not in the nice way. Yesterday’s story was fun to write, but it was the most explicit thing I’ve ever written, and so it felt a little scary. I’ve been making a lot of wonderful connections, but I’m having trouble finding space for myself. Old fears about being dirty, pathetic, and slutty have crept in despite my best efforts. I don’t know if it’s safe to keep writing about Bill, even though I think that part of the story is important.

Another (legitimate!) reason to panic is that we have been watching Gasland in Environmental Conservation class.  Watching it makes me feel like this project is hopeless, that it’s foolish to try to be body positive in a country where water and air (and there fore bodies) are so poisonously abused. I felt the same way after I saw Food, Inc. How is it possible for bodies to ever feel free and loved in a system that values them so little, where money trumps health and sustainability? At least with food I could change where I shop, but what can you do about fracking? Give up electricity?

After that, the third reason may seem trivial, but it still has to do with invasion and space. For a month or so, some construction guys have been working in the lot behind our yard, directly across from our bedroom where I sit and do schoolwork. They have the radio on, tuned to an endless stream of aggressive misogyny. Sometimes earplugs don’t make a difference. When I asked the guys to turn it down, they were dismissive and threatening, calling me fat and stupid. There’s really nothing I can do about it, and it feels like I’ve lost my privacy. We’re talking about getting a new apartment this summer, but for now, I can’t get away. When I’m under stress, it’s hard to get away from my deep-rooted fear that no place is safe, that men will always be threats.

Tonight, though, Sweetie and the Mayor of Kittentown have both agreed to come to Poly Karaoke with me. I imagine they’ll be to shy to sing, but maybe my two favorite introverts will both hold my hand at the same time. Their bodies are safe places for me, and so are songs. I’ve been practicing my song all month.

For now, I’m going to stop pushing myself. This three day weekend has Sweetie’s name written all over it, and maybe we’ll go for a nature walk.