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

 

I am Love-Kaiju, hear me roar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yay Knotty Thursday! (For Real This Time!)

 

Single column tie with a double knot! Also I really like being a column.

After my recent IRL adventures and text-Ma'am-ing, I decided it's past time to start up my knot-learning project again. This is the only rope I have left, from the early KC adventures. It was my crotch tope with Sweetie-Now-BFF, but it's become just a lovely low-key member of my toy drawer. I want to order the rest of a pink set, but I'm not ready to be that optimistic/ambitious.

I like this cutie-pie's teaching style so I think I'll just work my way through this video one Thurs at a time!

From Good Second Date to Ghost, Part Five

After a little while of laying there listening to the not-Bonecrusher music, we got a little less naked and moved on to aftercare mode. Being wrapped up in his strong arms was blissful and sweet, but soon he had to get going.

As we said goodbye with a few more kisses at my door, it seemed like we would see each other again. I woke up with a bad feeling, though, “knowing” he wouldn’t be back. I chalked up the feeling to being overwhelmed and relearning this particular kind of vulnerability. I remembered that thing I learned at a conference one time: Crushes make your serotonin drop even while your brain is boiling over all of the other feel-good neurotransmitters. (https://everydayfeminism.com/2012/12/the-neurobiology-behind-all-of-the-ridiculous-things-you-do-when-youre-in-love/) (That article says “in love” and that's not what this was but still.)

Nearby Guy had been a pretty reliable “good morning” sayer. Oh, good morning, how else would we know if someone’s still tuned in without having to ask…I love and hate the good mornings of dating textlife.

So no good morning the day after the snuggles. When I hadn’t heard from him by noon the day after that, I unmatched him on Hinge and blocked him in my contacts, just to leave behind the jangled feeling of waiting for that little red text number to pop up. I’ve loved/hated red numbers since they were on answering machines. They are the good mornings of numbers.

I wondered why he’d ghosted, wondered things I would never say to a friend going through the same thing: What if it’s because I did sex wrong? What if I’m too needy for saying the thing about not-casual? Does he think I’m a monster because that too-harsh song shuffled on? Probably not that last one—no one is as much of a dork about good makeout music as I am.

I didn’t expect the metamorphosis from quarantine-mode bodily privacy back to touch-world to be so profound, but it was. The ecstasy of being reintroduced to snuggling (And kissing! And spanking! Even just, hey! There’s a man in my apartment!) was so gorgeous and fragile that I felt like I might shatter with need after. I felt a well inside me, a toothache of the heart, but also a big, big cotton candy swirl of gratitude.

(I know being grateful is a stereotype both of fat women and of middle-aged women, but I think most exchanges of snuggles are acts of such wild generosity that I don’t care to tamp down my grateful awe.)

In the days after the ghosting, I felt sheepish that that one night of touch had meant so much (The same way those three glasses of wine with Poly Friends’ Partner meant so much!) but how could it not? The plague months, the good (BLM) uprising, the bad (Jan 6) insurrection, they all brought such trauma and pain and also such weedy emotional growth. I’ve been blanketed up in a protective-as-possible cocoon. I’ve thought so hard about distance and breath and interdependence.

Of COURSE it was powerful to let someone new get close!

 

 

 

 

Good Second Date to Ghost, Part Four

When it came to Nearby Guy’s lovely dick, I found myself frozen with self-consciousness. When, during my moments of touch-drunk subby sleepiness, he took my hand and placed it there, I was relieved to know exactly what I was supposed to be doing, but sort of at a loss about how I was supposed to be doing it. I’ve had such lovely times with such lovely penises all these long and multifaceted Kitten Calendar years, but I haven’t known any man well enough to get used to his dick’s ways, maybe since my early twenties, maybe never. (Possible exception: The Mayor of Kittentown. Pause for nostalgia…)

Nearby Guy lay on his back, basking like a cat in a sunbeam while I played tentatively with him, then worried my heart out that I was being too tentative. His body responded to me the way his personality did: leisurely, friendly, happy to be there and not in a particular rush. There wasn’t any reason for me to worry other than that he was being SO still and my hand sort of felt like it wasn’t my own.

I was sure that his other partners must know exactly what to do, sure that if I didn’t figure this out her would have no reason to ever come back. There wasn’t any reason to jump to such defeatist conclusions, except that I was tired and insecure and so many things had just happened all at once.

“I’m not a penis expert,” I said apologetically, “So feel free to give me directions.”

He did for a while. In my fantasy version of this situation, I’d have put his dick in his own gorgeous hand and let him show me what pressure and motions turned him on the best, playing with myself and looking him in the eye. This braver version of myself would have ended the evening happily rubbing his cum into my pinch-sore nipples.

What really happened was that a not-hot song came on in the middle of his instructions. I climbed out from between his legs to press skip, (My Spotify, my fault!)  (It was “Never Scared” by Bonecrusher, a fine song in less vulnerable situations!) and then I just lost the rest of my steam. I kissed him and then lay down on his belly, sighing “So much just happened!”

I felt overwhelmed, extra-naked, and small. I needed some aftercare, some sleep, some perspective. I have many compassionate thoughts for myself about this moment and those that followed, but let’s leave me there for now: Feeling stupid and wistful and lustful and satisfied, lost but still tangled in warmth.

Good Second Date to Ghost, Part Two

Since Nearby Guy and I had a nice d/s-ish vibe going, I maybe should have done some negotiating before welcoming him (OMG yay!) into my bed. But sometimes, a soft glow of trust feels like enough—that sweet letting-go when bodies take over safety feels easy. I just love those rare moments when humans know exactly what to do.

As we settled into my (unmade-I wasn’t expecting company!) bed together, our bodies felt so well-matched. I don’t often find anyone who can make me feel delicate and protected, but the way his arms encompassed me gave me all the princess feelings.

His kisses were skilled, assured, and leisurely, emphatic but reigning in my tendency to be a tongue-y teen about it. Sweetly and thoughtfully is a very good way to be kissed.

He held my waist with such ownership, then pushed upwards to very decisively whole-hand my boob through my PJs. He claimed it and me, wholeheartedly, nipple squeezed up into his palm. I know none of this seems like it should be a big deal, but it WAS.

As much as I envy my podded-up friends (And Nearby Guy’s cozy situations) this post-quarantine return to touch was a miracle to take in, too much to process or absorb except in heaves. Feeling the grasp I’d daydreamed and nightdreamed so much for so long made me into a full-body groan/yelp, a writhing sea serpent high on giggles and warmth. I was fully enthralled but I was also wondering if I could possibly be touching him enough, worrying I wasn’t doing it right, wondering how my one human body could possibly earn this much pleasure in this or any lifetime.

“I feel so overwhelmed, “ I pant/sighed, and he slowed to a snuggle while I caught my breath, arms circling my waist again and squeezing my shoulders toward him. When his hand wandered to my ass, I said (of course I said) “You know you want to spank it.”

He startled for a quick moment, maybe taken aback like that escalated quickly but then he grinned and his arm tensed for action. I turned over onto my tummy, ready as ready as READY could be.

“Ohmygoodnessit’ssucharelief” I exhaled sharply, my face half in my pillow, after the first hearty THWACK. Ohhhhh boy. The hard slaps, the thigh-tickles, the playful grabs. The perfect gift of him gently easing down the back of my pajama bottoms and my lacy-but-practical soft purple undies.

He smacked out yelp after yelp, my feet kicking with joy and my hips squirming with anticipation for every impact. He was pressing pain out and magic in at the same time. I curled close to his body like it was a warm cave I lived in now. He held me tight. Lightning bolts of squishy arousal pummeled into the center of me. I wanted everything, forever. I had everything I wanted forever.

Yes, relief, but also a power source flipped on, like when Godzilla’s blue lights glow up over the horizon. I was both kaiju and sea. How can a person do this for someone they hardly know? It seems impossibly generous and highly unlikely that any of this could have happened. It’s hard to believe my own typing hands!

From Good Second Date to Ghost, Part One

 

From Good Second Date to Ghost, Part One

Nearby Guy and I chatted for most of the summer, on Hinge and off. I originally asked him if we could be just friends because I was scared about poly stuff after that adorably mortifying late-afternoon with Poly Friends’ Partner. I fully owe PFP an apology for griping about his friends-ish winky-facery! When Nearby Guy and I finally met for a just-friends dinner a few weeks ago, I was a fountain of mixed signals, using the friends word a jillion times but at no point turning off the flirt.

Not JUST because his Hinge profile included “pretty good with knots” or because he’s wildly geographically desirable, but also because he seemed to be the perfect combination of hot and warm. I felt comfy with him. He’s just a little bit shorter than me and just a bit fatter, a dark-skinned black man with just the absolute sweetest smile. Plus big dommy hands I could not stop thinking about when I got home from that friendly dinner. Horniness and bravery overtook me and I asked by if we could retroactively upgrade our friend dinner to a date-date. He said he was down so yay!

So it was that I found Nearby Guy on my couch a few nights ago. We’d met up at a bar but it was too loud so he graciously agreed to come over even though I had nothing to offer but the supersweet pink Moscato I like to mix with Pasteque La Croix. (My official drink of lesson planning, and also of typing this.)

I swear to jeepers, it was a paradigmatically good second date. We chatted for hours, touched a little, then touched more and more. I had so much fun talking to him that I almost forgot to be distracted by the playlist. (It’s really time to make a new makeout playlist. The last one I made was for Mr. Sweetface in 2017 and it lives in what used to be iTunes—on the desktop! Why does that feel so old-fashioned? And why isn’t it in my Apple Music? Mystery!)

Oh my goodness he was so lovely to be next to, strong and soft and so warm. His smell, a dizzying/lush perfect musky man smell, reminded me of Pagan Boy so I felt right at home.

Once we finally kissed, I insisted that he high-five me, forgetting for a sec that he hadn’t been in the same drought as me, hadn’t just finished an epic trek through the touch-desert.

You know I love some hot hand-holding, and this was…oh boy. Our hands and forearms felt made for each other. I loved feeling his soft pulse under my gentle grip on his wrist. I loved that thing where we put our hands together to compare sizes. Oh, those fingers. So strong-but-yielding, so alive.

So of course when he asked if I wanted to go upstairs, (Inviting me to my own bed, but that’s fine!) I said yes. I changed out of my pretty date dress and into my pajamas.