Oh, Mr. Breakfast!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We were talking about fetishes we had and he said

that he likes to initiate sex

while his partner is asleep!

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

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

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

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

Okay, I'm Completely Lost

 

Mulholland Drive helps me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he said he needed to ponder that too! 

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

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

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

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

Why them and not me?

Is it the fat?

What am I missing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Staycation Sext Fling Part Three: I Recognize That Tree

I was looking for the original Blair Witch quote, but Lorelai makes it even more apt.

The last time The Coach and I text-played, he called me Ma’am and for a second I got so swoony that I had to make him tell me what should happen next. Once I regained my senses and my upper hand, we wrote through a quick but very sweet scene of me tying him to the bedframe with my pretty pink ropes. There wasn’t much chance of not having warm feelings after that! Getting Ma’am-ed woke up so much nurturing, protectiveness, and not-that-gentle gentleness in me. I guess I knew that was out of place in such a casual arrangement.

The next night was one where he didn’t text, and I ached to hear from him, literally felt a literal ache in my abdomen waiting/hoping for that little red text-notification number. I could have texted him I guess, but I didn’t want to be stepping on any other lady’s time and sure didn’t want the comparison if he was busy with someone younger, prettier, and (somehow!) more game.

My brain does this thing when I’m not hearing from someone I like, creates a whole cast of characters for them, each partner more beautiful and experienced and slutty-in-the-right-way than the next. This is almost never a slut-shaming feeling, I’m always happy for them and the adventures I’m imagining for them. I just don’t ever understand how I could keep up or fit in.

So I knew it was time to get oriented, to find out who the other partners were, to check in about the Ma’am stuff, to generally hang out and be humans together. I also knew that kind of an interaction might already be off the table.

So I asked if he wanted to go for a walk or a drink sometime so I could get to know him better. He took it as me asking him on a date (I guess it like 40% was.) and balked. I’d been pretty sure he only wanted me for strictly sexy times, and now I knew I was right.

It ended very kindly this time, to the point where I could feel a little of the Trump-era defensiveness we started this acquaintance with leave my body a little. He texted some very sweet “it’s not you, it’s me” type stuff that made me like him (and want to be Ma’am-ed by him) even more. While we texted it through on my morning walk and maybe in the middle of his workday, I cried a little. It’s hard to let him go.

I’m glad I’m able to get so much feeling from such attemptedly-simple interactions. It’s a hard-won skill and what gives these adventures so much meaning. But it feels a little lonely too. Are there really ladies out there being the just-sex thing he wants, the just-sex thing THEY want to be? I mean, there must be, he is superhot. I’ll always admire those casual girls, even as I try to let go of ever being them. But hey! I was casual for like eight whole days! And it was a very good eight days.

Dear Coach, Dear Goodgood Filthy Prince, Dear Kind-Of-But-Not-Really-A-Fuckboy,

Thank you. I’m so proud of how far we’ve both come. (Pun absolutely intended.) Go do all the things, go be exactly you. But part of you (not that part) (okay also a little bit that part) will always be mine now. I’m keeping your swagger, your bluntness, your sunny, sexy optimism. You’re inside me now always and I’m so, SO glad.

Spanks and vaccinated kisses,

A Princess

Single Life, Week Three: A Good No, a Wreath, and a Special Occasion

Last week I was feeling like I had to build myself a new world, so lost that I wasn’t sure where I fit in in the universe. It is amazing what a good no and a good yes can do!

I’m not driving up to my sister’s for Christmas. It seems like I should be able to do it, but the idea gives me a stomachache. What I need most in the world is rest, and it seems like this winter break I am going to get it. Luckily, since modern times are sometimes awesome, it only took one post on the family facebook page and I was free. Christmas Eve and Day might be sad without my niece and nephews, it may bring out the divorce grief, but if it does, I’ll be safe at home where no one will be impatient with my emotions. I may be gleeful or somber, jolly or sobbing, but no matter what I will be warm and at home.

I’m glad to have acknowledged that things are different this year and made taking care of myself the highest priority, even if it means a lonely couple of days. Plus, I’ve never been to my own church for Christmas, so I’m looking forward to that. Making the choice to stay home felt amazing, and I’m proud that whatever else has happened, I’ve made myself a happy place to live.

In the process of tweet-bragging about my choice, I somehow accidentally dialed Mr. Sweetface, the rope-top friend who tied me to his wife a few weeks back. I texted to apologize for the misdial and somehow that led to him asking me for a playdate on Saturday. I gave him a resounding yes, bought some lacy new underpants, and was delighted to have visions of spanky snuggles dancing in my head as the last week of school before Christmas eked loudly by.

The next nice thing that happened was that my mom’s yearly wreath arrived. I opened it on the porch, not wanting it in my apartment, and was about to put it on the curb for someone else to find when I had a change of heart. It was all pearly white, with ribbons that said “hope” “joy” “love” and “peace.” It was too nice of a wreath and too nice of a gesture. I called and apologized for our fight, and she apologized too.

I think it’s time to change what I expect from my mom, to accept her genuine attempts at being loving, even as I distance myself from confiding in her. She’ll never be the trustable comfort I’ve always wished she’d be, she’ll never approve of my shenanigans, and it’s time to just let that be okay.

Sweetie, who happened to be over dropping off the car for the weekend (We’re sharing the car while I save up for my own. It’s not too bad.) helped me hang up the wreath and then went home.

Saturday I cleaned the house as much as I could and managed, for the first time since Sweetie moved out, to do the laundry and groceries by myself. For some reason, I’d been having a mental block about it—don’t know why I express grief through chore-aversion, but I’m glad I’m getting past it.

Mr. Sweetface was the first guy I’ve had over since the apartment became just mine, and the first (spoiler alert) man I’ve had in my bed since the year 2000. He was such a good choice. Though we both got good and spanked, it was mostly about warmth and snuggles, getting to know each other and feeling sleepily festive. He’s the one who helped me string Christmas lights over my headboard.

The thing about that playdate was, it was so easy. He is a spa day of a Dom and a sweet boy of a bottom, (So glad god made switches!) an emotionally generous talker who had me completely at ease. I remarked on my lack of anxiety or fear but started to think I should make that less remarkable, to stop being surprised by kindness and just keep letting it come to me.

There are moments sometimes when things are just working, when can feel the current that runs beneath things, when I feel life taking me forward without struggle or worry. Could be the endorphins or the chocolate I ate while spanking him, but I think it might be Christmas spirit—a new kind of Christmas, especially for me.