Perfect Birthday Date with The Shy One, Part Three (A Good Cry)

 

(As I finish up writing about this gorgeous date from three weeks ago, last weekend’s worry and jealousy has come and gone. I did everything wrong and it turned out okay. There was no Perfect Unicorn Lady because they weren’t looking for one. He had a lovely spouse weekend full of sunshine, rest, and friends. I want my brain to remember that, no matter who else joins his constellation. I want to have more faith.)

Back to September second: When we got to my apartment after the Dreamiest Uber Ride Ever, after I put his leftover lobster mac and cheese in the fridge, I took him upstairs to try the new purple ropes. I showed him how to do an overhand knot, then how to redo that overhand knot so it would land in the right place. The whole scene, the whole night, was purple, just shimmering with otherworldly magic and regal beauty. Purple. That’s how I feel about The Shy One.

Sex, of course. Beautiful and THOROUGH and sweet. He drifted off and promised to wake up around 2am to do a whole bunch more. I knew he would make good on that promise.

But after The Shy One fell asleep, I got sad. It felt like my g-spot was connected to my tear ducts, that a physical and emotional floodgate had opened up. My birthday had brought with it more family estrangement, my brother treating me with contempt and control. My brother had called me a hateful bully for trying to stand up to our most insurrectionist relative, and I’d cancelled the family Zoom I’d scheduled for the following night. (In favor of an art installation friends’ night out though, yay!)

I was also crying because it was going to be almost a month before I would see The Shy One again. It felt almost like a long-distance arrangement, even though we live in the same city. It was the feeling I felt so long ago when Perfectly 1993 Guy came to visit from college—acutely aware of how many hours were left.

I got up out of bed to write, but I put the notebook down midpage. The sweetest man in the universe was sleeping in my bed upstairs. If I needed to cry, I could cry to him. So I did. It felt like the biggest step.

He gathered me up and held me while I cried. I felt bad because “I miss my brother” was hardly sexy date talk. But The Shy One listened. He comforted me and I let him. We didn’t talk about the too-far-apart dates, but we’ve started resolving that by now.

At my cousin’s birthday party in 2008, my brother flipped out on me about a social justice comment I made during a family board game. “You ruin every party,” he said. That characterization has stuck in my head and in my heart. In some ways, it’s true: Thanksgiving of 2016 very much deserved to be decimated, even if one of my nephews has never quite forgiven me.

So I feel guilty about having had less-than-ebullient emotions in the middle of such a magical night, but I’m so, SO glad I confided in The Shy One. I’m glad I let him see the vulnerability that had bubbled to the surface. I’m grateful that he made me feel safe enough to cry.

Plus, when the promised 2am hotness came around, I felt even more warmth, love and trust with him. A perfect, perfect night indeed.

Worthiness and Whether I'm Not _______ Enough

Just would like to refer back to this the next time I'm tempted to ignore a genuine concern because it might not seem poly enough or anything else enough:

"When you get to a place where you understand that love and belonging, your worthiness, is a birthright and not something you have to earn, anything is possible. Keep worthiness off the table. Your raise can be on the table, your promotion can be on the table, your title can be on the table, your grades can be on the table. But keep your worthiness for love and belonging off the table. And then ironically everything else just takes care of itself."--Brene Brown

Not Fitting In at the Regular Dungeon, Not Getting Over Them

I wasn’t ready to see Steampunk Guy. I walked into the party happy and excited but when I saw him across the room and we kind of shrugged hello, the wind went out of my sails. I tried to do my best and be a part of things anyway. Old-Timey Guy asked me to play, which made me really happy since I usually ask him. I asked The Puncher’s Girl (Actually they broke up, so she gets a new nickname if I end up going back.) if she would like a spanking and she got very happy about that.

I was okay for a while, feeling confident in my Christmas Snoopy underpants and red satin heels even though he was right nearby. I thought about saying hello but I knew if I got too close, I’d feel the pull and I’d be even further from over him. Plus I’m probably still too angry to form words. Luckily there was a paddle and a lovely, squirmy ass on which to express some of the anger—she was more than okay with this, and I thought could make it a good night.

Then Steampunk Girl got there and my heart twisted up into even more untenable knots and I asked TPG if we could please be somewhere that’s else.

We went to a far corner of the room and snuggled, held tight and had co-aftercare. I let the tears come, but even they were hollow and disconnected, no real soul behind them. I felt like every part of me was cut off, like I was ugly and unworthy to be part of things and would never connect to people again. I felt like a failure, for not staying friends, for not getting over them, for not figuring out how to be what he wanted.

I felt like a creep and a freak for the fact that they have this effect on me. All he was supposed to be was a casual partner WAY BACK WHEN and I was supposed to treat her as a friend. But what came from seeing them was the distilled essence of the fear that I will always be alone, that I’ll never be worth as much as she is, that the universe forgot to make people for me, that I am too ugly and worthless to be loved or even remembered by a man. I wish I could’ve made all that go away and acted like a normal person, but I couldn’t.

TPG said “You shouldn’t have to be any more vulnerable than this, let me go get your clothes.” She helped me to get dressed and then she took my hand and led me out of the room, all bundled up and as fast as we could go.

I was too vulnerable last time I tried the dungeon, too. Maybe it can’t be my happy place anymore. I am scared to death that I will never be happy and sexy and brave again, that this person, cut off and scared and getting fixated on people who were not supposed to be a big deal, is all I’ll ever be.

Slept (Not That Much) in the Middle, Part Three: Oh, THANK YOU!

I was delighted to be in their bed, but I didn’t know quite where to start. He was in the middle and I feel more sure of myself with her. I lay there in a sleepy haze while they started to kiss and cuddle. I was unsure of a way in, but not unpleasantly so. Somehow I’d gotten the idea that he and I weren’t supposed to be kissing, but I nuzzled up against him and wrapped my legs around, my hand reaching out for PS’s hair.

Soon she and I were kneeling above him, kissing. I latched onto her perfect pink boob with my mouth and didn’t stop sucking it for a long time. His hands were on both of us but I think he was mostly just enjoying the show. I reached between her legs and found her clit, the first non-Sweetie one I’d touched since the late Nineties. I still had her nipple in my mouth like my life depended on it. I lost myself in her, pushed my fingers inside and felt a little bad for not having trimmed my nails. Still the worst lesbian ever!

Pretty Slave was much more responsive than Sweetie, no layers of repression to fight through. She was moaning and crying out as I pushed and pulled inside her. CM’s hands wandered inside my pink lace panties, just grazing my asshole lightly, giving me the occasional spank. He was different than he was in the dungeon, so sweet and careful. It was touching. I think part of the reason I like swaggery guys so much is that it’s so special when their vulnerabilities show.

At this point it should be said that I’d been thinking I couldn’t have sex because I was right on the cusp of that time of the month, just starting. Frustratingly, I’d kinda signed up for everything-but-intercourse (Which sometimes feels like it could be the title of the story of my life.) again.

So that’s why he said, as he was climbing onto her, “C’mon, let’s make (my name) really jealous.”

Jealous isn’t quite the right word. I already knew I liked helping them fuck, kissing and petting her through it, his hand down the front of my panties, her crying out. After they were done and we were all back to kissing and cuddling together, I could not contain myself anymore.

“You know,” I said, “The that-time-of-the-monthness is really VERY minimal…”

“I’llgetyouatowell.” He said, but I didn’t really think I needed one. My body was giving me a little break and for that I am grateful.

It’s really weird in retrospect that he and I didn’t kiss that night—I found out the next day that while I thought he wasn’t kissing me, he thought I wasn’t kissing him. Kind of an adorable misunderstanding, I think. Everything worked just fine without it, but I hope I do get to make out with him before too long.

Anyway, so it was PS’s turn to hold me and I was as ready as ready can be when he slid into me. I hollered out in joy and relief but then worried for a sec and asked “How loud can I be?”

“You be just as loud as you WANT.” she said and so I was. He felt so good, and it had been all the way since July and Jesus Christ I needed his dick in me. It was a gift, a reprieve, a revelation. I felt so grateful to her for sharing him with me.

“Oh, THANK YOU!” I cried out and they both laughed at me and I laughed too, but I couldn’t help it, couldn’t help feeling grateful for all of the everything. He thrust harder and my moans started to sound like sobs.

“Oh, that is so fucking hot,” she said. Every sensation was ratcheted up as high as it could possibly go. He put his hand around my throat and I pushed it away but got inspired. I found PS’s hand and put it over my mouth. She pressed down and I got even more riled up. After a little bit, he pushed her hand away and said “I got this.” and there was another fantasy fulfilled, his big strong hand over my mouth, his thrusts getting more urgent and I just felt flattened, melted by how good it felt. Carefully, deliberately, he grabbed the back of my hair and held me down, fucked me hard until we were both in a frenzy, until I came and came (and felt those nice squirty sensations, though it didn’t happen for real) and he came too.

I lay flutterhearted and tingly between them, patted him on the shoulder and said “Thanks, pal.”

He laughed and said “That’s all you can say after all that?”

I guess it was kind of a funny thing to say.

Next: Sneaky personal time and more him.

Why It’s Awesome That I Cried at the Munch

It’s not my favorite kind of adventure to write about of course--I would much rather be describing underpants. But I do think it feels like a good step.

Saturday was one of those days where everything kind of caught up with me—the breakups, the divorce, another summer almost gone without having found my Beach Guy. I got sick of the guys who hit on me on the nude beach always not being the dream guy, sick of this summer in general and at the same time wanting to go back to the beginning of summer and somehow do things right. Stepping out of the forward flow of time is never a good plan, but I guess it’s understandable.

When I got home from the beach already feeling a little blue, I found the two letters informing us that, per our request, the city had dissolved my life partner status with Sweetie. In this time when everyone’s working so hard and making so much progress for marriage rights, I’m officially leaving Lesbian Island on a husband hunt. Nobody ever failed worse at gay marriage than I did.

My mood dropped all the way, but I couldn’t stay home and wallow. I got on the bus and wallowed there instead. I sent texts to Angel Face and the Lady of the House asking for support and strength, and they were both very kind. I walked the blocks from the bus to the bar feeling the prettiness of the cool night but being lost in my own failures and despair.

This was the same munch where I met Fireguy last year, and I knew that several nice friends were going. When I walked in it was lively and crowded and I was greeted with hugs, but I was sad and scared and I didn’t know what to do or where to sit. I felt lost. Luckily a girl I know from poly circles was there and she guided me to a seat and asked what was wrong.

I told her about all the heartbreaks and frustrations and she said “You sit there. I’m going to get you a drink.”

While I waited for her to come back I chitchatted and resisted the urge to run—I’d told myself I should stay for at least one drink no matter what my mood was.

She brought back a Long Island iced tea that was so strong I was afraid to drink it—I’ve really been keeping alcohol to a minimum lately. But I kept drinking it.

I started telling my friend about all of the things I was sad about, all the things I missed. Another friend’s husband came over to give me a hug, and as he held me I just broke down. I just let myself cry and nobody thought it was weird at all. In fact, they gathered around me. Friends and acquaintances, even some girls who I thought didn’t like me. Napkins were brought for nose-blowing. One girl told me “Well, your boobs are amazing, so I know it’s his loss.” and I laughed and things started to be okay.

Things went back to pleasant chatting. I finished the drink and the nice friend who’d bought it gave me a ride back to the bus stop.

I was still sad. I sniffled my way through church the next day (Totally okay since this month’s theme is vulnerability) but by coffee hour I was chatting with friends and signing up for a new spiritual development group. I came home inspired and found some nice friend requests in my Fet inbox. And! An invite to a party at Cute Master and Pretty Slave’s house! Just exactly the right thing. Woohoo for maybe some smutty adventures.

The fact that I could break down in the middle of a get-together and people took it with such matter-of-fact caring, that’s an amazing thing to me. I worry so much about being isolated by grief, about not being out adventuring enough, but it seems like I really am doing something right. It makes me deeply happy that I was so accepted and looked-after, and it will make the next sexy adventures around those folks all the more meaningful.

Nice Vulnerability Quotes from the Church Bulletin

I like it when church's theme intersects with my own. :)