Calling Out to Myself: A Solo Adventure

One of my Codependents Anonymous friends suggested this and I love it so much. It's hard and takes discipline to love myself instead of focusing on what's lost, but every once in a while I can feel it pay off in progress and peace.

 Last week was a week of continued self care and good decisions, including an inbox abundant with dick pics (One million heart-eyes emojis) and fantasy flirting with all kinds of beautiful dears. None of them ended up suitable for in-person-I'm (mostly) actively trying to avoid any more fuckboys or overly complicated situations, but they were all dear, and they all made me feel glowy and flowy.

So Saturday afternoon, with nothing on the schedule til dancing o' clock, I took myself to bed. Pleasure felt a little out of reach at first, what with intrusive thoughts about how much more desirable Yoga Camp Hottie is than me. Plus, my Rabbit conked out a while back and I'm still getting used to (getting friendly with) my new one.

But I told YCH and her boyfriend to fuck off out of my brain for a while, and got myself to the pink sparkly glowy haze eventually.

And! When I was coming! I cried out:

"I love you! I love you! Oh! I love you!

That's happened with partners before, of course (Especially The Shy One, oh boy!) but I don't usually form ANY words while I'm getting myself off, let alone THOSE words.

It felt like such a release! Like those words had been waiting on my tongue to be hollered out, waiting maybe for a lifetime.

And yes, I was probably saying it to past and recent loves, to the gods and goddesses, to the sky and the trees and the flowers, but the important thing is! I was saying it, sighing it, to me! Oh my goodness!

Sometimes the feeling of having to love myself feels frustrating and lonely, but on good days, it makes me feel treasured, important, chosen. All those things I'm absolutely desperate to get from men, that keep me away from the men probably, I'm able to give myself. It was real. I heard myself breathe out the words in pleasure.

I love you.

Typing that gave me a warmth that started in my belly/soul and spread outwards. Maybe someday a partner will meet me in this place of self-love, but for now I'm happy and curious to practice on my own. Just like I practice my ropes! :)

Knotty Thursday: Spider Web Weave!

 Friends! The kitten hung out peacefully in her crate and I finished a whole rope tutorial! It's a joyful new start for our household. Once I decided it was a rope day yesterday, I lifted out of my post-Southern-Charmer gloom and got a little giddy.

It was so much fun getting the whole ritual ready--putting on a little makeup, lighting a rose incense, slathering on rose-scented lotion while I fired up Rory's Brainworks. The real version is so much prettier than mine, but I don't mind! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVN1iRcdJfI

It was supposed to be the same knot the whole way round, but I had a hard time being consistent. So it ended up alternating between a half-hitch, a Munter hitch, and a just-sort-of-figure-it-out hitch. But I'm so proud!

Also, I think it's time for some new rope colors, definitely need a light blue. A bright new palette would be lovely to try before too long!

Merry Tinsel Shibari to You!

 

I wanted to write a whole thing about Elfness and darkness and pleasure and melancholy, but I got a cold for Christmas so my head is all fuzzy.

I'm profoundly grateful for self-tie nights, for this lavish way of loving myself. And I'm profoundly grateful to you, for rooting for me and for giving me a safe place to show off! Wishing you every magical thing, this week, next year, and forever.

Knotty Thursday: Heart Harness and Princess of the Orgy

After! Blurry again sorry, I have no discipline.

The Song Sender is SO much fun to show off for. The pictures I've taken for him show me a different version of myself, prettier, more brazen, more bold. I have no idea how he does that but I've LOVED IT.

Monday night, I was supposed to have a date with The Chef but he rescheduled, so all of that energy had to go somewhere! I decided to get ahead on the week's ropework, and asked The Song Sender if he was available for praise. He was running the projector for the local weird movie club, but he could manage both.

I love the before picture I sent him so, SO much. His version has my face, 

After I sent him the after picture, I asked what should I do now that I was all tied up.

He typed back, "You should cum for me. And tell me what you were thinking about when you did."

I don't always hang on to text threads, but friends, I might have to keep the transcript on this one. Oh it was BEAUTIFUL. I'll keep most of it for myself, but there was this:

"I tell them you are a good little slut. and that you are mine.

And because you are such a good girl you get to pick two to play with you.

...

While I hold you down and tell you how pretty and good you are."

And THEN:

"I can be meaner with you later. (kiss emoji)

You get to be the princess of the orgy."

There are still some kinks (ha) to iron out, but so far The Song Sender is an absolute treasure. I am the luckiest slut/princess/whore/good girl in the universe.

 

Knotty Thursday: Stopper Knot and Book Friend

On the weeks where delicate feelings make a whole self-tie too much, knot practice is the best. I love this book because I love thinking about the vanilla lives of knots (Boats! Fishing line! "Decorative!") and there are so, so many things to learn. I'm still about 40% in pining mode, so a sense of knotty abundance is comforting!

I used this one in the crotch rope for last week's tie! In addition to being so pretty it's a gorgeous match for my clit. I might have to make a date with some stopper knots tonight.

Knotty Thursday: Hishi Suspenders (Kind of)

 

I really liked sending a nakeder version to The Shy One this morning. Such a lovely muse.

Okay, so this might actually be prettier if I'd stopped sooner, but the winding and tightening and adjusting and scooching all around just felt so good. So hard to follow directions when my head's in that loopy knotty place. Had the best time with myself last night and woke up in SUCH a good mood. 

Knotty Thursday: Lark's Head Double-Column Restraint

 Hooray hooray! I've never made knot-practice time a self-date before, but this morning I did. I even felt little wisps of the brain-quiet. I combined this new friend with some not-much-to-look-at (well.) chest harnessing and my supefave the thigh girth hitch. Nothing else is like all that tension/release/gentle struggle, even on my own.

And! I may have found a new casual guy (Way too soon to try for feelings, not while I'm still sometimes struggling to not call This Charming Man!) who is amenable to being decorated--we shall see! 

Practicing a Sensation

Not really! But sometimes!

(There is/might be a new lovely human in the picture too, but I’m not quite ready to write about him yet except to say:

1.     WHOA.

2.     Yay!

3.     “Good girl.”)

Anyway trigger warning for this story—sexual assault, abuse.

During my twenties and for a good chunk of my time with Sweetie-Now-BFF, the sensation of a penis inside me felt like an elusive, impossible grail, something I wanted WAY to much and absolutely COULD NOT figure out how to get with any kind of healthiness or consistency. I think I accidentally acted out this weird story I tell myself if getting stuck on sexting with The Coach—just another (really fun for a while!) way to convince myself I couldn’t get that feeling. I’ve always thought I’d better become SOMEONE ELSE ENTIRELY to get a dick in me, like other women somehow knew the secret I just couldn’t grasp.

I know. It’s very silly. But I still feel unfuckable-in-this-one-particular way even as the evidence is mounting (ha) to the contrary.

When I was text-playing with The Coach, I got a little sick of fucking myself—all of his delightful big-dick-describing made my fingers feel inadequate and though I came over and over for him, I craved the inside release. I had toys, nice gentle still things that usually do the trick, but I wanted something to take the edge off the yearning, off the power The Coach had over me.

So, having done absolutely no research beyond remembering that one Sex and the City episode, I ordered myself a Rabbit and a whole bunch of lube. Sometimes, I do make good decisions.

My new toy did take the edge off enough, gave me enough of a self-esteem boost that I could admit that The Coach wasn’t going to give me what I wanted. But more importantly, that sensation! The coming-from-the-inside sensation that always felt like an impossible treasure now waits in the drawer for me at the end of any given day, good or bad.

Not only that, it TURNS OFF MY BRAIN long enough to just melt and bask in the pleasure.

It seems a little odd to want to learn to take this feeling, that amazing-superhard-cock-inside-me feeling for granted, but that is exactly what I aim to do.

I want to learn that I deserve that feeling as much as anyone else who wants it. I want t0 practice feeling the joy and comfort and brain-tingle without wondering who exactly I would need to be to get it.

I have to acknowledge that I am massaging out a lot of pain that lives in there too—the loss, the heartbreaks, the losses of autonomy large and small.

Some of that pain is even inherited, I think. My mom may have actually taught me this inside-orgasm-craving-lack-of-agency. I used to overhear her berating my dad for not satisfying her properly, which one night culminated in something-like-ten-year-old-me overhearing him rape her.

What a memory to live in my body along with all of the recent traumas, likes, loves, and grief. I’m happy to be taking ownership of this particular sensation, giving myself a safe, private (well) space to learn what it’s like to feel entitled to, and safe receiving, inside pleasure.

I would like this to be part of building up my self-esteem and confidence enough to actually look for a guy who LIKES me, someone who wants to be close as whole humans. It’s a pretty basic wish, the PSL of dreams. I’m glad to have written it down.

 

 

Reunited With My Ass (And Yes, It Totes Feels So Good)

My blog breaks never last as long as I think they’re going to, pals. There are always more adventures to celebrate and I can’t wait to share them with you.

I took down the posts about it, but SG and I are on the outs again, and I think in the long run, that’s the more loving thing. Even though they never asked me to, I really, really, REALLY wanted to be a good girl for the Steampunks, and that was making it hard for me to care for myself and go forward the way I need to, and it was hurting them, too. I hope they’re forgiving me over there.

My ass is sad about SG—after all, he was its first non-me friend, and I thought that that phase of the project might have to be shelved for a little while, but yesterday while I was getting some journaling done, I felt the tingle return, that naughty spark of well-being that means it’s time for some personal time.

I decided to make a morning of it and got all cleaned up—I can’t believe I ever felt embarrassed or afraid about enemas, they’re so easy and pleasant, a loving little thing to do for myself, a slightly more intimate version of painting my nails or getting a haircut. For some reason, they make me feel cozy and cared for.

I kind of associated the Little Metal Thing with SG, but the pleasantness of having it in there trumped any regrets. Every part of me, body and soul, woke up. I felt warm, special, and safe.

The other day, I was listening to this Poly Weekly episode in which Marcia Baczynski reminds us that we don’t have to push ourselves into risky things, especially into types of play that are triggersome. She was talking more about opening up relationships than about sex itself, but I think it applies. She encouraged listeners to find smaller, slower, less goal-driven ways to experiment, things that don’t stress us out, so that we can give ourselves the space to feel the emotions that come up, so that we can have more compassion for ourselves.

I say all of that to say this: I had such a lovely moment with myself yesterday. After I took out the Little Metal Thing and started playing with the Too Big Butt Plug (excellent for wriggling around on, you may remember) I felt my heart speed up a little bit, in a scared way. I backed off from the little bit of hurt that was happening, took a few moments, and breathed with my hand on my heart until it calmed down. This is what it feels like to adventure in a way that is kind to myself (and others!) and I am so, so proud.

For my body adventures, no more struggle. Struggle isn’t the same as work, which of course I love. It’s fighting the tide, trying to make myself do things because I feel like I should, trying to make myself fit when I don’t, and it’s been the source of all the worst things. As I let go of the things that make me miserable and let myself be carried forward, I feel so much more in touch with my better self, more able to just sit back and let the tide of awesome wash over me.

A Strange and Lovely Day, Part Four: A Slutty Level-Up

Correction: I’ve been informed that the paddle with the Greek letters on it actually belongs to PS, so I guess I’ve fucked a sorority girl, not a frat boy. Doesn’t seem as transgressive, somehow.

And some metablogging: I woke up in a really dreadful mood this morning because of a bad day (actually a bad 10 minutes) at work yesterday, but when I sat down before work to write this in my notebook, my mood lifted exponentially. This means that:

a. I’ll have to keep being really slutty if I’m ever gonna be awesome at the other parts of my life.

b. Life would really suck without the stars of this story, so thanks pals. You are sunshines from heaven. Dirty little sunshines.

There was one guy at the party whom I’d known for a while but who, for some reason, was giving me a go-put-my-clothes-on vibe that night. So I got into my cute PJs and played strip poker without really playing—it was the most I’ve ever learned about poker, and it wasn’t much. PS and CM’s other girl was there, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, etiquette-wise. I went with my default setting, which was to step aside, and went upstairs to lie down in their bed. I listened as the game got less and less about poker (not that it ever really was) and became more like a game of truth or dare. And I ended up being the stakes:

“If I lose,” I heard Cute Master say “Then I have to go upstairs and fuck (me).”

Sure enough, he did lose, and up the stairs he came.

“Wait, are you sure this is okay with (PS)?”

He responded by standing over me, pulling out his dick, and pulling my head toward it. I happily gagged myself, worrying a little bit if I was doing it badly since I was tipsy and at a weird angle. It felt so the-good-kind-of-humiliating with everybody downstairs listening and felt extra-naughty with PS not in the room. He climbed on top of me, grabbed my hair, kissed me hard, and then turned around and went back downstairs.

Soon, their game completely devolved into sexytimes, and I really, really liked hearing them all down there, even with the guy who had been giving me the creeps in the mix. I thought about sitting on the stairs and watching but I was all cozy so I just listened and got handsy with myself. Apparently this is just a thing I do sometimes on the weekends, fuck myself in their bed.

Just as I was starting to get ready to come, they came up to join me.

“Did you come up to go to sleep?”

“Um, no. Turn over.”

“He’s not gonna fuck you in the ass,” she said helpfully, since he’d been threatening to do so all night while they were making fun of me for waiting for SG.

I was glad to be flat on my belly for them. I remembered from class that a pillow would have made a helpful angle, but I was too comfy to suggest it. Though it’s my favorite position it didn’t quite work for whatever reason, so he turned me over, pushed my legs all the way up, and shoved inside. I pulled his head toward me and kissed him, kissed her, hollered my head off in my showoffy way. A girl could get used to this! Maybe I am.

When it was her turn to be fucked, his fingers played gently around my asshole (I’d put away the pretty butt plug when I put my pajamas on) and I turned over to give him better access. I wanted his fingers deeper, but he was deferential to toward the area despite his swaggersome claims that he’d be better for it than SG. I suppose before long I’ll be able to compare, though I wouldn’t.

PS got worried anyway that I was upset that he’d touched me there, and kept checking in. I was fine and sleepy. PS went downstairs to attend to the one remaining awake party guest, and that’s how I ended up falling asleep with a guy for the first time in almost two years. It was fun. His hand rested on my hip and he pulled my ass in close. Every once in a while he’d get half-awake and bury himself in the back of my hair, kiss my neck, squeeze my boobs. I didn’t know if he was even aware that I wasn’t PS and I really didn’t care. I fell asleep that way, aroused and pleased and enjoying the smell of him.

Around 7 AM, he woke me up, urgent and rubbing myself against me, pulling my hair, feeling for my clit. When he got to the (bigger) boobs, I think he realized I wasn’t PS, and he got up and went to find her.

This is a very proud moment, a fantastic benchmark of a new level of sluttiness. It seems like I should’ve been upset or insulted somehow, but all I was was turned on again. I listened to him in the guest room, waking her up, creaking the bed, bringing out first happy murmurs and then her wonderful, musical moans, and soon my own little personal-time moans joined in. They came in and caught me, and I didn’t even feel the slightest bit sheepish.

He lay back on the bed and she went down on him wholeheartedly. He took my hand and put it on the back of her head, and I grabbed her hair and moved her up and down forcefully like the guys do. It. Was. Awesome.

“When she’s done doing that, could you please fuck me? Since I asked so nicely?”

“(PS), get a condom.”

She rolled one onto him and he held me down and fucked me, hard and deep this time. He reminded me of the sleeping guests and she put her hand over my mouth. When she wasn’t doing that, I shoved my face into a pillow.

“I want to hear it, I don’t care,” she said and he admonished her but I heaved out some lusty wails before shoving my face back into the pillow. Oh, penises. You’ve really got to get in there more often. You’re just the best.

He ran out of steam before I did, but I still fell asleep happily, on the outside this time, snuggled up to Pretty Slave.

I was the last one to leave in the morning. PS made me coffee and I sat on the couch between them watching Ted—it’s a testament to how much I like them that I’d watch anything Seth MacFarlane made. It was funny but gave me the creeps when I thought about it later.

The rest of the day was melancholy. Sundays are mostly workdays for me and loneliness often sets in in the evening. It’s wonderful to be a single slutty girl almost every other time of the week, but I get the blues thinking of everyone else having snuggly family time while I’m printing out lesson plans and being divorced-girl.

BUT!

1. I got pretty drunk without getting mournful!

and

2. I now can say that I know how to get myself laid when I need it.

I felt a little bit ashamed as I worked through the hangover, but writing about it now, I feel nothing but proud. No-strings sex (Well, okay. Very few strings sex.) get ready for me, because here I come.

Slept (Not That Much) in the Middle, Part Four: Sneaky Personal Time, More Him, and S'mores for Breakfast

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My First Sexting

I may have mentioned this once of twice, but I’m enjoying Mr. Sweetheart so much. Last Tuesday when I was walking home from work, he texted to ask how I feel about sexting. I told him that it was on my goal list for June. (I do monthly goals with check-boxes. Some of the goals are all virtuous and gym-related, and some are…not.)

So he sent a picture of his lovely junk (First time I’d received such a text—he’s so many firsts!) and I was so happy to see it. I wrote back “For me? What shall I do with it?” but since I’m the sex-blogger he insisted that I be the one to tell most of the story.  (“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be the dominant one?” “I’m instructing you to amuse me with your creativity.”)

Clearly he is a full-service muse.

I got home and started dinner as I started to spin the story. I think I did a pretty good job. I was making tortellini. As I put the water on to boil, I told him about some fictitious Hello Kitty underpants already complete with a wet spot. As I grated the cheese, I tried to convince him to tell me what to do, but he insisted that I tell him what he was telling me to do. As the water started to boil, he sent me an evil grin, and I texted back a bratty eye roll and let that sit while I ate supper. He was excellent dinner company.

After I was done eating, I sent him a picture of my nicely-made bed and got in. Just like he did in the story I was telling him, I pulled up my shirt and down my bra. My nipples were sticking straight up, ready and bright, bright pink. After a few tries, I got a good picture of them and sent it over. I played with my boobs while I waited for the next text to come.

He sent back a try at dirty talk and I rewrote it so it was nastier.

I was conscious of trying not to borrow from scenes I’d already had and written—it was fun to try fiction, to write a fantasy just for him.

It occurred to me that it would be awkward for Sweetie to come home in the middle of this so I called to get her ETA and give her a heads-up. Also I accidentally dialed Mr. Shiny Eyes in the process. #togetherness

Sweetie was a half hour away and I was soaking wet. My fingers slipped around inside my plain flowered undies and inside myself—I was ready for him. There was plenty of time for me to come but I kept losing track of time—texting, playing, texting, playing. It’s kind of magical that I could be that turned on by him even though he’s such a long way away.

Sweetie came in before I was finished but was unfazed—she just closed the bedroom door and went to make herself supper. Mr. Sweetheart asked me where I wanted his cum.

“Well, I tried to swallow for you but you pushed me away and it went all over…”

He texted: “As your reward, I lean in, lick your cum covered tits, then offer you a creamy kiss. :) <3 <3 xoxo”

It was a good reward. I was unsure of the etiquette for ending such an exchange, other than to let him know that I’d come. I told him that next time we’ll have to think of a way to metaphorically snuggle afterwards. I’m excited to write him some more stories.