My favorite twitter person just followed me back. :D
*swoon*
@pandoras_mouth, I love you so very much. :)
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Birthday kink, and our "you'd be a spectacularly bad lesbian" joke
Last weekend was Fiancé's birthday, and as I've tweeted elsewhere, the VAST majority of my gifts to him this year were kink related. :) I can't tell you how much fun it was to wake him up in that outfit, and let him be the one to decide how I was going to make him late for... anything else we had planned that morning (I was about to say 'late for work' but it was a Saturday).
And we also threw a party at our apartment and everyone we invited showed up. Fiancé wore a bow-tie! He looked amazing, and adorable, and a little like the 11th Doctor, but much less dopey. :) Crush helped cook, and prep, and that was lovely on so many levels. There were tickle fights and hugs with other amazing beautiful wonderful people that I wish I could spend every waking hour sort of orbiting. :) And then there was the spectacularly unexpected hour or so when Crush's wife fell asleep on my shoulder and I didn't dare move or speak, worried I'd break that spell. Even though I know she's not interested in me in that way, that hour (or year... hard to say how long she was there) made me feel so amazing. I felt trusted in a way I've never felt before, especially because not only is she a dear dear friend that I want very much to be closer to, she is also Crush's wife. More than once I had to try not to cry. Haha (I am such a dork.)
I still have a few more gifts for Fiancé coming (*shakes fist at vendor for being slow*), but Monday night was my second kink-related gift to him: I dressed in a corset, tights, skirt and heels, made dinner. On the table was a wrapped gift: a length of Twisted Monk's October Limited Edition Blood Drop rope (now sold out. Sorry.). I timed it in such a way that everything was ready when he walked in the door, and had all these pseudo plans of just pretending like everything was normal. It was ridiculously fun, but the cooking-in-heels-and-corset thing taught me several new things related to my kink brain that I didn't know before...
For one, I think the "service" aspect of subbing doesn't do anything for me. I wanted to try it. Try to be a "good sexy housewife" just to see what that felt like, and I'm glad I did. But while I was cooking, it just felt like any other birthday prep work. I still felt good doing it, was excited for him to come home, but it contributed absolutely no kink-level things or arousal-level things or anything else beyond what I'd experienced doing this in vanilla. Plus, cooking in heels was absolutely awful. That made me grumpy. Remind me never to do that again. 10 minutes after he arrived, I had to kick off those fucking shoes and spend the rest of the night sliding around in tights instead.
Other things I learned that night were how incredibly hot it felt to be in bondage and continue to do pretty mundane things. We watched an episode of The Newsroom with me in ropes next to him on the couch, and it was for some reason thrilling to have to struggle to figure out how to drink my champagne, and have the ropes tighten and grip me in new and interesting ways when bringing the glass up to my lips. And Fiancé's smile when he'd see me struggle, and how he'd keep hold of the loose end of my rope... just thinking about this makes me want to go shopping for a collar and leash, and buy him a million books on bondage so he can learn new and exciting ways to tie me up for activities that have nothing to do with sex. :) *swoon*
The sexytimes part of the kink night also taught me new things, some of which I won't get into because they are just more "yes, I liked that" and "no that didn't do much for me". But one thing specifically I think is worth writing about: at one point, he made me taste myself, which may not seem weird, or boundary-pushing (because I know that tasting body fluids either on accident or on purpose sometimes happens a lot in vanilla sex) but for me, this was one of those Big Moments where I had to really fucking pay attention to how my brain would respond. And having that happen recently also gives me an excuse to finally write the blog post I've had sitting in a half-draft state for weeks... I've been wanting to write about my fear of lady-fluids for a long time, but each time I almost hit publish, I chicken out. Well, not this time, bitches. I've got you now.
*ahem* here we go....
In the past, my fiancé and I have joked a lot about the fact that I'd be "a spectacularly bad lesbian". For years and years, pretty much forever in fact, even after I finally accepted and internalized my bisexuality, I've been pretty grossed out by the smell and taste of my own pussy. It was a very strong dislike. So strong that I used to really freak out if my partner tried to kiss me after going down on me. With each new partner, I started integrating "Okay, and if you go down on me, you have to go brush your teeth afterwards before you can kiss me again" into the usual conversations about birth control and STDs.
And we also threw a party at our apartment and everyone we invited showed up. Fiancé wore a bow-tie! He looked amazing, and adorable, and a little like the 11th Doctor, but much less dopey. :) Crush helped cook, and prep, and that was lovely on so many levels. There were tickle fights and hugs with other amazing beautiful wonderful people that I wish I could spend every waking hour sort of orbiting. :) And then there was the spectacularly unexpected hour or so when Crush's wife fell asleep on my shoulder and I didn't dare move or speak, worried I'd break that spell. Even though I know she's not interested in me in that way, that hour (or year... hard to say how long she was there) made me feel so amazing. I felt trusted in a way I've never felt before, especially because not only is she a dear dear friend that I want very much to be closer to, she is also Crush's wife. More than once I had to try not to cry. Haha (I am such a dork.)
I still have a few more gifts for Fiancé coming (*shakes fist at vendor for being slow*), but Monday night was my second kink-related gift to him: I dressed in a corset, tights, skirt and heels, made dinner. On the table was a wrapped gift: a length of Twisted Monk's October Limited Edition Blood Drop rope (now sold out. Sorry.). I timed it in such a way that everything was ready when he walked in the door, and had all these pseudo plans of just pretending like everything was normal. It was ridiculously fun, but the cooking-in-heels-and-corset thing taught me several new things related to my kink brain that I didn't know before...
For one, I think the "service" aspect of subbing doesn't do anything for me. I wanted to try it. Try to be a "good sexy housewife" just to see what that felt like, and I'm glad I did. But while I was cooking, it just felt like any other birthday prep work. I still felt good doing it, was excited for him to come home, but it contributed absolutely no kink-level things or arousal-level things or anything else beyond what I'd experienced doing this in vanilla. Plus, cooking in heels was absolutely awful. That made me grumpy. Remind me never to do that again. 10 minutes after he arrived, I had to kick off those fucking shoes and spend the rest of the night sliding around in tights instead.
Other things I learned that night were how incredibly hot it felt to be in bondage and continue to do pretty mundane things. We watched an episode of The Newsroom with me in ropes next to him on the couch, and it was for some reason thrilling to have to struggle to figure out how to drink my champagne, and have the ropes tighten and grip me in new and interesting ways when bringing the glass up to my lips. And Fiancé's smile when he'd see me struggle, and how he'd keep hold of the loose end of my rope... just thinking about this makes me want to go shopping for a collar and leash, and buy him a million books on bondage so he can learn new and exciting ways to tie me up for activities that have nothing to do with sex. :) *swoon*
The sexytimes part of the kink night also taught me new things, some of which I won't get into because they are just more "yes, I liked that" and "no that didn't do much for me". But one thing specifically I think is worth writing about: at one point, he made me taste myself, which may not seem weird, or boundary-pushing (because I know that tasting body fluids either on accident or on purpose sometimes happens a lot in vanilla sex) but for me, this was one of those Big Moments where I had to really fucking pay attention to how my brain would respond. And having that happen recently also gives me an excuse to finally write the blog post I've had sitting in a half-draft state for weeks... I've been wanting to write about my fear of lady-fluids for a long time, but each time I almost hit publish, I chicken out. Well, not this time, bitches. I've got you now.
*ahem* here we go....
In the past, my fiancé and I have joked a lot about the fact that I'd be "a spectacularly bad lesbian". For years and years, pretty much forever in fact, even after I finally accepted and internalized my bisexuality, I've been pretty grossed out by the smell and taste of my own pussy. It was a very strong dislike. So strong that I used to really freak out if my partner tried to kiss me after going down on me. With each new partner, I started integrating "Okay, and if you go down on me, you have to go brush your teeth afterwards before you can kiss me again" into the usual conversations about birth control and STDs.
And, inevitably, I'd get the funny look, and once or twice the question, "But aren't you bi?" Yes. I'm bi. And yes, I'm afraid of pussy. Shut up. Do you want to fuck or not?
It always felt to me like this embarrassing black mark on my sexuality. It made me feel a lot of doubt about my identity, and made me even question the validity of my own feelings... Even my "can't-eat-for-days" and "throw-up-with-nervousness-before-I-see-her" crush on The Woman, who blew my mind and made me feel more swoony than any other person of any gender I've ever crushed on before or after.
This fear of tasting pussy made me doubt everything I felt about women. Like, maybe I'm not really bi. Maybe this is "just a phase". And even worse "maybe I'm just crushing on women for attention". I was a walking, talking, breathing, case of biphobia, and no small amount of self-hatred for it.
Eventually, I kind of learned to hate myself less for it and just accepted that perhaps some people just can't handle the taste and smell, and that it HAS to be sort of common... but I'm pretty sure this continued to be a big part of why I was never brave enough to actually express my interest, or confess my crushes, to anyone but my journals, my livejournal (in pseudo-anonymous ways) and trusted guy friends (who no doubt got off on all my pining and swooning).
Fast forward, oh... 10 or so years from then to now, and not much has changed. While I've had countless crushes on women, I've still never had a girlfriend, never had meaningful sex with a woman, and my Fiancé always rinses his mouth after going down on me. The difference these days is that I feel like this phobia is pretty childish. I'm an adult. And my juices are not gross. No one's juices are gross. The rest of the world seems to be able to either push past their dislike, or as what seems more likely, actually deeply enjoy the taste and smell, so why can't I?
So, bit by bit... I started pushing my own boundaries. Secretly at first. Tasting myself on my toys and hands after masturbating. It was scary. But I was brave. It was gross and weird and strange... it turned me right the hell off for the most part, but I kept trying, kept pushing boundaries.
I reached a turning point not too long ago when while enjoying some solo time, I tasted myself and pretended it was the taste of a girl I was crushing hard on. And that was spectacular. I'd reached some kind of breakthrough. For the first time ever, I felt the anxiety about all of this melt away.
I tweeted something about that the next day:
But the long and short of it is that Birthday Kink Night was another sort of breakthrough/turning point for me in this area. Not in quite the epic way the first one was, but hearing the words "I'm going to make you taste yourself" from someone I love and trust so completely while also deep in subspace was a pretty fucking fantastic, and a pretty safe way to keep my brain from flipping its shit. It did break me out of the headspace for a second or two, but only really enough for me to realize that I didn't hate that. So, I took a mental note, congratulated myself on the babysteps I was still taking after sort of relapsing over the last few weeks, and then continued to enjoy the night.
As an epilogue, I'll also mention that corsets are cool. (Read that in the 11th doctor's "bowties are cool" for added effect.) Even cheap Halloween-quality corsets. I took pictures, but of course I can't share those with you... but the fact that I happily took some kind of reminds me of the breakthroughs I talked about in my last post. :) I'm still this "different person" that I became after my transformative Adventures at the Strip Club day and didn't careen back to reality with a crash or revert back into some older, more reserved version of myself after coming down from that high. This, and many other things in my brain right now, makes me very happy. :)
I reached a turning point not too long ago when while enjoying some solo time, I tasted myself and pretended it was the taste of a girl I was crushing hard on. And that was spectacular. I'd reached some kind of breakthrough. For the first time ever, I felt the anxiety about all of this melt away.
I tweeted something about that the next day:
Yesterday, wanted to tweet "I taste myself and pretend it's her", but chickened out until now. Feeling braver. #crushinghard
— Inner Jane (@InnerJane) October 10, 2015
But that breakthrough was a little short-lived. My changes aren't always straight lines, and this particular fear and anxiety still hasn't gone completely away (and I have some theories as to why, but won't post them here... if you're interested, and you are one of the few people who know who I am in real life, you can email me or IM me about this.)But the long and short of it is that Birthday Kink Night was another sort of breakthrough/turning point for me in this area. Not in quite the epic way the first one was, but hearing the words "I'm going to make you taste yourself" from someone I love and trust so completely while also deep in subspace was a pretty fucking fantastic, and a pretty safe way to keep my brain from flipping its shit. It did break me out of the headspace for a second or two, but only really enough for me to realize that I didn't hate that. So, I took a mental note, congratulated myself on the babysteps I was still taking after sort of relapsing over the last few weeks, and then continued to enjoy the night.
As an epilogue, I'll also mention that corsets are cool. (Read that in the 11th doctor's "bowties are cool" for added effect.) Even cheap Halloween-quality corsets. I took pictures, but of course I can't share those with you... but the fact that I happily took some kind of reminds me of the breakthroughs I talked about in my last post. :) I'm still this "different person" that I became after my transformative Adventures at the Strip Club day and didn't careen back to reality with a crash or revert back into some older, more reserved version of myself after coming down from that high. This, and many other things in my brain right now, makes me very happy. :)
Sunday, October 18, 2015
I went to a strip club last night.
I went to a strip club last night. I went to a motherfucking strip club. I. Me. This girl who not that long ago used to cringe and hide her face any time anyone made an even slightly dirty joke out loud. This girl who maybe just 2 months ago could barely muster up the energy to have sex with her Fiance about once a week. This girl who couldn't even say the word "penis" out loud with a straight face. This girl. Me. I. I went to a fully nude, fully insane, fully amazing strip club.
And it was spectacular. It was fantastic. I had the most mindblowing time, and got to meet and flirt and smell some of the most amazing women. In the car ride home, I think I yelled out something like "Holy shit, there's no question about it. I'm totally a raging bisexual back here." I can't remember everything. There was no alcohol involved, but the night was such a blur of color and flesh and elevated heartrates that I'm sure it will be weeks from now and I'll still recall new details that will thrill and excite me. I can't tell you all the stories. But I owe this experience to two very very dear friends who took Fiance and me there as a most fantastic and inspired engagement gift... I still have no fucking words, but they both got a lot of hugs and snuggles and I wish I could do something, anything to really truly thank them in some way that does justice to how that experience transformed me.
And... and... going to the club wasn't the only mind-blowing thing that I did yesterday. I sort of changed three times yesterday... ("A day of three changes?") Sort of bolstered by the anticipation of going to the club, and also sort of bolstered by the unabashed desire just to try it and see how it felt, I shaved everything... and I mean everything. With a razor. Fiance was there, helping me. Supervising. Helping me touch up places I couldn't see or reach. Telling me I was a good girl when I needed to sink slightly into subspace in order to really fully trust that the blade wasn't going to cut me. It was a fantastic and amazing experience, and afterwards I felt changed for the first of the three times.
I looked at myself in the mirror after shaving and just said "Who the fuck am I?" with this massive grin. I think I even yelled something like "holy shit, I have a pussy!" while looking at the color and texture of skin that I'd never actually really seen before. And in this really deep belly sort of way, I felt this glow... this unabashed glow that I can only attribute to actually discovering that I like myself.
And then the second of three changes happened. A lightswitch in my brain flipped from off to on, and despite the fact that for my entire life, I swore I'd never ever let anyone ever do this to me (not even a future life partner after being married for a million years), I decided I wanted to take naked pictures of myself. Naked pictures. Of myself. Explicit ones. Very explicit ones. I. Me. This girl who used to hate her body so much that the thought of ever there existing any kind of even half-nude or sexualized picture of her used to send her into a massive anxiety and panic attack just thinking about it. But for some reason, yesterday, I wanted to. I needed to. So I did. :D Fiance helped with angles and poses and also helped with making sure my phone didn't auto-upload any of these images to the cloud. We must have taken a dozen or so... some with rope (purple of course!), some without. Some up close, some zoomed out. None showed my face, and none were very good, but they were mine. My naked pictures. I'd never felt so fucking powerful before that moment as I did right then, zooming in and out looking at my own god damned cunt in high definition.
I don't have good words to process any of this. I don't think I've had nearly enough sleep to process any of this.
After we got home from the strip club last night, I had to just pause looking in the mirror at one point and just be *baffled*. Somewhere in the club, somewhere between learning how to tip properly at the stage and learning what it's like to have this gorgeous tattooed woman who just made you feel so much teasing you in a private dance so intense that it ends in involuntary tears and many laughter-filled hugs (I am not making this up. While I wasn't sobbing or anything, I can honestly say I cried a bit in the arms of a stripper!) I changed for the the third time in a day.
When we got home, I found myself having one of those incredibly surreal moments where you look at yourself in the mirror and you see someone totally different from who you were the last time you stood there. Like the night before and after losing your virginity... I remember pretty distinctly looking in the mirror before sneaking off to meet my friend (yes, I lost my v-card to a friend rather than a boyfriend. I'm actually pretty damn proud of this.) and thinking to myself something like "the next time I am standing here, looking at myself in this bathroom mirror, I'm going to be a changed person." I don't mean this to say that losing my virginity was some kind of mythic, epic thing. (It wasn't. It was actually pretty disappointing and frustrating, but that's another story.) But even so, I marked that moment with this mirrored eye-contact with myself and just marveled at how I was about to do something sort of huge and different and personal and in that romantic-narcissistic headspace all 16 year olds live in, I felt and believed that after that point, I'd be changed forever.
And last night after coming home, I had one of those exact moments but sort of in reverse. I looked in the mirror and saw myself as a changed person. Wholly changed. "Who the fuck am I?" I said with an uncontrollably huge smile. Just a few weeks ago, I'd never have even fathomed that I'd be doing and thinking and being in the ways I have been lately.
And I'm so fucking pleased with myself over all of it. Every single thing. I had the most spectacular time last night. I wore high heels all night and didn't die (although I'm sore as fuck this morning... but that COULD have been from the wild sex after coming home... not sure if I can blame the heels). I fell in love over and over and over again with the women on stage, chatting with us, doing acrobatics and dives and flinging their underwear at my friend next to me. I got to watch as a stripper in full Harley Quinn cosplay and character grabbed my Fiance by the tie and dragged him off to be molested (I think when he came back, he said something about how he'd never ever been so hot for a woman threatening to murder him before.)
I'm still more than just a little bit stunned by it all. I can't expect to process this all in one post. I am sure I'll be thinking about this for weeks... I know that for days and days to come, I'm going to be thinking non-stop about the stripper who treated me oh so well and gave me the most spectacular hugs, celebrating with me the fact that it was my first time there by being so incredibly warm and generous with her smiles and body and laughter. She told me afterwards how thrilled she'd felt to dance for me because of how enthusiastic and genuinely into it I was. We hugged and she said I was her "favorite" to dance for, and even if she says that or something like that to all her clients, she made me feel it. She made me feel like she understood me, my nervousness and enthusiasm and the happy dizzy feeling she was making me feel on a level that I had no hope of really understanding for myself just then, or maybe even ever...
I really don't know how I'm going to return to my "normal life" after this. It's 9:35 am on a random Sunday in October and I have two very large stacks of papers to grade and lessons to write, and dishes to do, and laundry to fold, but all I want to do is just continue to bask in this afterglow... write some smutty fiction, and put my black high heels on again and walk around in them for just a little while more.
And it was spectacular. It was fantastic. I had the most mindblowing time, and got to meet and flirt and smell some of the most amazing women. In the car ride home, I think I yelled out something like "Holy shit, there's no question about it. I'm totally a raging bisexual back here." I can't remember everything. There was no alcohol involved, but the night was such a blur of color and flesh and elevated heartrates that I'm sure it will be weeks from now and I'll still recall new details that will thrill and excite me. I can't tell you all the stories. But I owe this experience to two very very dear friends who took Fiance and me there as a most fantastic and inspired engagement gift... I still have no fucking words, but they both got a lot of hugs and snuggles and I wish I could do something, anything to really truly thank them in some way that does justice to how that experience transformed me.
And... and... going to the club wasn't the only mind-blowing thing that I did yesterday. I sort of changed three times yesterday... ("A day of three changes?") Sort of bolstered by the anticipation of going to the club, and also sort of bolstered by the unabashed desire just to try it and see how it felt, I shaved everything... and I mean everything. With a razor. Fiance was there, helping me. Supervising. Helping me touch up places I couldn't see or reach. Telling me I was a good girl when I needed to sink slightly into subspace in order to really fully trust that the blade wasn't going to cut me. It was a fantastic and amazing experience, and afterwards I felt changed for the first of the three times.
I looked at myself in the mirror after shaving and just said "Who the fuck am I?" with this massive grin. I think I even yelled something like "holy shit, I have a pussy!" while looking at the color and texture of skin that I'd never actually really seen before. And in this really deep belly sort of way, I felt this glow... this unabashed glow that I can only attribute to actually discovering that I like myself.
And then the second of three changes happened. A lightswitch in my brain flipped from off to on, and despite the fact that for my entire life, I swore I'd never ever let anyone ever do this to me (not even a future life partner after being married for a million years), I decided I wanted to take naked pictures of myself. Naked pictures. Of myself. Explicit ones. Very explicit ones. I. Me. This girl who used to hate her body so much that the thought of ever there existing any kind of even half-nude or sexualized picture of her used to send her into a massive anxiety and panic attack just thinking about it. But for some reason, yesterday, I wanted to. I needed to. So I did. :D Fiance helped with angles and poses and also helped with making sure my phone didn't auto-upload any of these images to the cloud. We must have taken a dozen or so... some with rope (purple of course!), some without. Some up close, some zoomed out. None showed my face, and none were very good, but they were mine. My naked pictures. I'd never felt so fucking powerful before that moment as I did right then, zooming in and out looking at my own god damned cunt in high definition.
I don't have good words to process any of this. I don't think I've had nearly enough sleep to process any of this.
After we got home from the strip club last night, I had to just pause looking in the mirror at one point and just be *baffled*. Somewhere in the club, somewhere between learning how to tip properly at the stage and learning what it's like to have this gorgeous tattooed woman who just made you feel so much teasing you in a private dance so intense that it ends in involuntary tears and many laughter-filled hugs (I am not making this up. While I wasn't sobbing or anything, I can honestly say I cried a bit in the arms of a stripper!) I changed for the the third time in a day.
When we got home, I found myself having one of those incredibly surreal moments where you look at yourself in the mirror and you see someone totally different from who you were the last time you stood there. Like the night before and after losing your virginity... I remember pretty distinctly looking in the mirror before sneaking off to meet my friend (yes, I lost my v-card to a friend rather than a boyfriend. I'm actually pretty damn proud of this.) and thinking to myself something like "the next time I am standing here, looking at myself in this bathroom mirror, I'm going to be a changed person." I don't mean this to say that losing my virginity was some kind of mythic, epic thing. (It wasn't. It was actually pretty disappointing and frustrating, but that's another story.) But even so, I marked that moment with this mirrored eye-contact with myself and just marveled at how I was about to do something sort of huge and different and personal and in that romantic-narcissistic headspace all 16 year olds live in, I felt and believed that after that point, I'd be changed forever.
And last night after coming home, I had one of those exact moments but sort of in reverse. I looked in the mirror and saw myself as a changed person. Wholly changed. "Who the fuck am I?" I said with an uncontrollably huge smile. Just a few weeks ago, I'd never have even fathomed that I'd be doing and thinking and being in the ways I have been lately.
And I'm so fucking pleased with myself over all of it. Every single thing. I had the most spectacular time last night. I wore high heels all night and didn't die (although I'm sore as fuck this morning... but that COULD have been from the wild sex after coming home... not sure if I can blame the heels). I fell in love over and over and over again with the women on stage, chatting with us, doing acrobatics and dives and flinging their underwear at my friend next to me. I got to watch as a stripper in full Harley Quinn cosplay and character grabbed my Fiance by the tie and dragged him off to be molested (I think when he came back, he said something about how he'd never ever been so hot for a woman threatening to murder him before.)
I'm still more than just a little bit stunned by it all. I can't expect to process this all in one post. I am sure I'll be thinking about this for weeks... I know that for days and days to come, I'm going to be thinking non-stop about the stripper who treated me oh so well and gave me the most spectacular hugs, celebrating with me the fact that it was my first time there by being so incredibly warm and generous with her smiles and body and laughter. She told me afterwards how thrilled she'd felt to dance for me because of how enthusiastic and genuinely into it I was. We hugged and she said I was her "favorite" to dance for, and even if she says that or something like that to all her clients, she made me feel it. She made me feel like she understood me, my nervousness and enthusiasm and the happy dizzy feeling she was making me feel on a level that I had no hope of really understanding for myself just then, or maybe even ever...
I really don't know how I'm going to return to my "normal life" after this. It's 9:35 am on a random Sunday in October and I have two very large stacks of papers to grade and lessons to write, and dishes to do, and laundry to fold, but all I want to do is just continue to bask in this afterglow... write some smutty fiction, and put my black high heels on again and walk around in them for just a little while more.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Anger, emotional pacing, and Captain Jane at sea
Yesterday was a bit of an angry, tumultuous day. For a brief few hours, I worried that I'd slipped back into some form of depression/anxiety, but in reality, I think it was just the way I needed to process some feelings, and the way it happened was kind of like a storm at sea.
Let me unpack...
For various reasons, which I won't get into, it's become sort of apparent that my excitement/enthusiasm for polyamory is perhaps maybe sort of outpacing Fiance's comfort with what (and who) I am interested in. And this is okay! It's okay for him to not be ready. This is all completely normal. And I understand and respect that he needs to process things and work on his own feelings at his own pace. He reminds me every time we talk that he "wants to say yes", and one of the reasons he can't just say yes before he's ready is that he doesn't want to discover he's really not okay and ask me to put the brakes on things after he's given the green light. It makes perfect and total sense, and I love him for the thought and seriousness he's putting into all of this and how open he is to not only considering it, but also his willingness to try and actively work to change how he feels about this so that he can get to a point where he can freely and happily give me something I really want.
That said, my feelings for my crush lately have gone from "pleasant hum" to "roaring firehose of emotion". I came out to his wife recently, which was an amazing and positive experience, and I think made us closer friends, but partly because of how unexpected it was that she did not ask us to give up on our crush, I let myself (and my feelings) dial themselves up way past eleven. Way further than I should have, considering the two people who sort of hold the starter guns still have them buried in their pockets (and one of them only just recently learned she had one).
So yesterday was a reality check. Fiance and I talked. And I cried over a wonky comedy-of-errors misunderstanding that ended up being totally hilarious and harmless, but drained the everliving fuck out of my emotions. In the end, I got a better and stronger sense of just how much slower I need to be moving emotionally for this all to remain sane. And I also got the real sense that I needed to do something now in order to well... calm the fuck down, so to speak. So, I decided to try and take a break. Crush and I agreed to go no-contact (I slipped once...more on that later), and I put all the things (literally and metaphorically) that make me think of him in a little box out of sight. And then I tried to dive into my work, and chores, and all the things I've been neglecting. I skipped going in to work so I could take the day to process and get my feet under me again.
But... unfortunately (or maybe this is normal? I don't know), I didn't feel relieved at all. I expected and needed and wanted to feel like a burden had been lifted. That this internal pressure had been set aside (if not released) and I could get back into a headspace where I could dial shit down, calm my tits, and go back to where I was just a few days ago. And.. to be fair, I think I succeeded. There were long swaths of time where I didn't think about him. And my feelings dialed down, and on some levels, this was a successful experiment.
But on other levels, it really wasn't. Some emotions dialed down, but others got dialed way up... I got anxious for reasons I don't fully understand... maybe because I'm behind on my work... but more likely it was because I felt like I was cutting myself off from a good friend who I'd normally go to talk about my inner life. Looking back at it now, I think it really was because I didn't have (or felt like I didn't have) anyone to talk to about what was going on in my head. And that was miserable.
I started doing a lot of chores. And, I got angry, mostly at myself for reasons I didn't understand then (I thought I was failing at dialing down the crush feelings). I was pretty emotionally raw all day, Fiance supported the fuck out of me though, and gave me deep and long fantastic hugs whenever I needed them (which averaged once every oh... 10-15 minutes), and let me be angry with the world without taking it personally....
Except once, when I did direct my anger directly at him (sorry sweetie) because of something he said, or rather, something I heard when he said something else... this actually is relevant to my attempts to process things so here's a bit of a tangent....
While I was deep in "angry at myself" mode, I was still busy actively trying hard to figure out ways to snap out of it. Feel better again. Have a catharsis. And so my thoughts turned to kink. And I started planning. I started building a scene in my head that I thought would really help me feel better. And I wanted it. I wanted to go deep sub. Really deep. Let everything go. Relinquish all control and put my complete and absolute trust in my sweetie so that I could reconnect with both him, and a much more calm and open version of myself. I wanted it to include punishment, and restraint, and sensory deprivation. I wanted a collar and a leash (I found a tie), and I wanted to be told how bad I'd been and how guilty I should feel, and how the only way to redeem myself would be to do exactly as he said. I wrote down real safewords (up until now we've been using the "we mean what we say, especially when we say it three times" method in our super mild novice-kink games). I started laying out the ropes, the shoes, the toys, the blindfold...
And then I came to him and started to describe some of what I wanted (and in my mind needed) that night... and in response where I expected him to be enthusiastic about it, the way he had been enthusiastic whenever I'd come to him asking for hugs, instead he said something about how I should make sure the laundry was done first... and because chores are a topic of endless arguments between us, and my emotionally raw state, it triggered a storm inside me that I had no control over. When he said this as a simple logistical comment (we need a cleared off bed for kink), I heard it as an instruction/direction that I should "finish your chores before you play" .... And I just lost it inside. I broke. I closed up. I shut down. In my head, I threw a screaming raging temper tantrum and punched a wall. Wind and rain and huge boulders of destruction were flying everywhere. Outside, I don't know what I did or what I looked like. I probably just walked away and continued to fold clothes, letting things bubble up as my anger built up... I don't think I raised my voice until much later, after I'd already broken down and IMed my crush (breaking my own "no contact today" rules) to let out some of what I was feeling (looking back, this is the moment when I should have realized that some of my anger wasn't anything to do with the crush feelings. It had everything to do with feeling like I couldn't talk to my friend).
But Fiance and I got past that moment. Talked about it. I apologized. I think he did too. And so we started working towards kink, which was fun, and interesting, and started WAY earlier in the evening than I expected! (I was expecting to start after raid... but we kind of started during raid, during breaks, and between pulls... At one point, I was raiding in a thong and a tie and cat ears, exchanging dirty PMs between pulls, and following orders to make sure I was in clear view of him, and looking at porn whenever I wasn't DPSing... *swoon*) Our games did not end up including all the things on my wishlist (no punishment play), which is okay because I don't know if that kind of catharsis would have happened for me anyway. But we pushed boundaries, and discovered new things (like how fun it is being blindfolded and half naked and led by a tie around the house. And how HOLY SHIT I do NOT like mirrors involved in my kink! Nope-noped the fuck away from that!) Hopefully I'll find time to write more about the specifics of what we learned later as I continue to discover new things about my strange and ever-changing "switchy" brain (I wonder if my synaesthesia has anything to do with how my brain seems to refuse to settle into a favorite role...)
I woke up this morning feeling SO much better. Something got processed yesterday, whether it was during our kink play, or the long deep sleep afterwards, or maybe even in the moments this morning when I got up to make coffee. I feel better. Calmer. My feet are much closer to being under me. I see clear skies and calm waters. I took all the things that make me think of my crush back out from their box and felt the familiar pleasant hum.
All of this though adds up to... I don't know... half a dozen things. But the thing I wanted this post to add up to was how processing emotions is hard as fuck. Especially for me sometimes. My inner life is volatile and made of things that I don't really fully understand until later when I've had time to reflect. There are sea monsters and huge waves, and sometimes these wide magical stretches of depth and clarity that deceive me into thinking that navigating this ocean is easy. It's not. But my ship has not yet sunk, and I'm still my own captain... Captain Jane.... haha. That makes me giggle so much that I need to put that in the title of this post. (I've been searching for a domme honorific for a while... maybe Captain Jane might work...? Dunno.)
The other thing that I'm coming away from yesterday understanding is that once I have them, I do not do well when cut off from friends. Even if it's self-exile. I felt a little bit like this was a useful experiment or dress-rehearsal for the someday-what-if scenario if/when the Fiance tells me he definitely is not comfortable with me and Crush being together. If that day comes, I think I know better now than to try and deal with my feelings through going "no contact" with him. That was a dumb idea yesterday, and will continue to be a dumb idea for as long as he's my friend.
Let me unpack...
For various reasons, which I won't get into, it's become sort of apparent that my excitement/enthusiasm for polyamory is perhaps maybe sort of outpacing Fiance's comfort with what (and who) I am interested in. And this is okay! It's okay for him to not be ready. This is all completely normal. And I understand and respect that he needs to process things and work on his own feelings at his own pace. He reminds me every time we talk that he "wants to say yes", and one of the reasons he can't just say yes before he's ready is that he doesn't want to discover he's really not okay and ask me to put the brakes on things after he's given the green light. It makes perfect and total sense, and I love him for the thought and seriousness he's putting into all of this and how open he is to not only considering it, but also his willingness to try and actively work to change how he feels about this so that he can get to a point where he can freely and happily give me something I really want.
That said, my feelings for my crush lately have gone from "pleasant hum" to "roaring firehose of emotion". I came out to his wife recently, which was an amazing and positive experience, and I think made us closer friends, but partly because of how unexpected it was that she did not ask us to give up on our crush, I let myself (and my feelings) dial themselves up way past eleven. Way further than I should have, considering the two people who sort of hold the starter guns still have them buried in their pockets (and one of them only just recently learned she had one).
So yesterday was a reality check. Fiance and I talked. And I cried over a wonky comedy-of-errors misunderstanding that ended up being totally hilarious and harmless, but drained the everliving fuck out of my emotions. In the end, I got a better and stronger sense of just how much slower I need to be moving emotionally for this all to remain sane. And I also got the real sense that I needed to do something now in order to well... calm the fuck down, so to speak. So, I decided to try and take a break. Crush and I agreed to go no-contact (I slipped once...more on that later), and I put all the things (literally and metaphorically) that make me think of him in a little box out of sight. And then I tried to dive into my work, and chores, and all the things I've been neglecting. I skipped going in to work so I could take the day to process and get my feet under me again.
But... unfortunately (or maybe this is normal? I don't know), I didn't feel relieved at all. I expected and needed and wanted to feel like a burden had been lifted. That this internal pressure had been set aside (if not released) and I could get back into a headspace where I could dial shit down, calm my tits, and go back to where I was just a few days ago. And.. to be fair, I think I succeeded. There were long swaths of time where I didn't think about him. And my feelings dialed down, and on some levels, this was a successful experiment.
But on other levels, it really wasn't. Some emotions dialed down, but others got dialed way up... I got anxious for reasons I don't fully understand... maybe because I'm behind on my work... but more likely it was because I felt like I was cutting myself off from a good friend who I'd normally go to talk about my inner life. Looking back at it now, I think it really was because I didn't have (or felt like I didn't have) anyone to talk to about what was going on in my head. And that was miserable.
I started doing a lot of chores. And, I got angry, mostly at myself for reasons I didn't understand then (I thought I was failing at dialing down the crush feelings). I was pretty emotionally raw all day, Fiance supported the fuck out of me though, and gave me deep and long fantastic hugs whenever I needed them (which averaged once every oh... 10-15 minutes), and let me be angry with the world without taking it personally....
Except once, when I did direct my anger directly at him (sorry sweetie) because of something he said, or rather, something I heard when he said something else... this actually is relevant to my attempts to process things so here's a bit of a tangent....
While I was deep in "angry at myself" mode, I was still busy actively trying hard to figure out ways to snap out of it. Feel better again. Have a catharsis. And so my thoughts turned to kink. And I started planning. I started building a scene in my head that I thought would really help me feel better. And I wanted it. I wanted to go deep sub. Really deep. Let everything go. Relinquish all control and put my complete and absolute trust in my sweetie so that I could reconnect with both him, and a much more calm and open version of myself. I wanted it to include punishment, and restraint, and sensory deprivation. I wanted a collar and a leash (I found a tie), and I wanted to be told how bad I'd been and how guilty I should feel, and how the only way to redeem myself would be to do exactly as he said. I wrote down real safewords (up until now we've been using the "we mean what we say, especially when we say it three times" method in our super mild novice-kink games). I started laying out the ropes, the shoes, the toys, the blindfold...
And then I came to him and started to describe some of what I wanted (and in my mind needed) that night... and in response where I expected him to be enthusiastic about it, the way he had been enthusiastic whenever I'd come to him asking for hugs, instead he said something about how I should make sure the laundry was done first... and because chores are a topic of endless arguments between us, and my emotionally raw state, it triggered a storm inside me that I had no control over. When he said this as a simple logistical comment (we need a cleared off bed for kink), I heard it as an instruction/direction that I should "finish your chores before you play" .... And I just lost it inside. I broke. I closed up. I shut down. In my head, I threw a screaming raging temper tantrum and punched a wall. Wind and rain and huge boulders of destruction were flying everywhere. Outside, I don't know what I did or what I looked like. I probably just walked away and continued to fold clothes, letting things bubble up as my anger built up... I don't think I raised my voice until much later, after I'd already broken down and IMed my crush (breaking my own "no contact today" rules) to let out some of what I was feeling (looking back, this is the moment when I should have realized that some of my anger wasn't anything to do with the crush feelings. It had everything to do with feeling like I couldn't talk to my friend).
But Fiance and I got past that moment. Talked about it. I apologized. I think he did too. And so we started working towards kink, which was fun, and interesting, and started WAY earlier in the evening than I expected! (I was expecting to start after raid... but we kind of started during raid, during breaks, and between pulls... At one point, I was raiding in a thong and a tie and cat ears, exchanging dirty PMs between pulls, and following orders to make sure I was in clear view of him, and looking at porn whenever I wasn't DPSing... *swoon*) Our games did not end up including all the things on my wishlist (no punishment play), which is okay because I don't know if that kind of catharsis would have happened for me anyway. But we pushed boundaries, and discovered new things (like how fun it is being blindfolded and half naked and led by a tie around the house. And how HOLY SHIT I do NOT like mirrors involved in my kink! Nope-noped the fuck away from that!) Hopefully I'll find time to write more about the specifics of what we learned later as I continue to discover new things about my strange and ever-changing "switchy" brain (I wonder if my synaesthesia has anything to do with how my brain seems to refuse to settle into a favorite role...)
I woke up this morning feeling SO much better. Something got processed yesterday, whether it was during our kink play, or the long deep sleep afterwards, or maybe even in the moments this morning when I got up to make coffee. I feel better. Calmer. My feet are much closer to being under me. I see clear skies and calm waters. I took all the things that make me think of my crush back out from their box and felt the familiar pleasant hum.
All of this though adds up to... I don't know... half a dozen things. But the thing I wanted this post to add up to was how processing emotions is hard as fuck. Especially for me sometimes. My inner life is volatile and made of things that I don't really fully understand until later when I've had time to reflect. There are sea monsters and huge waves, and sometimes these wide magical stretches of depth and clarity that deceive me into thinking that navigating this ocean is easy. It's not. But my ship has not yet sunk, and I'm still my own captain... Captain Jane.... haha. That makes me giggle so much that I need to put that in the title of this post. (I've been searching for a domme honorific for a while... maybe Captain Jane might work...? Dunno.)
The other thing that I'm coming away from yesterday understanding is that once I have them, I do not do well when cut off from friends. Even if it's self-exile. I felt a little bit like this was a useful experiment or dress-rehearsal for the someday-what-if scenario if/when the Fiance tells me he definitely is not comfortable with me and Crush being together. If that day comes, I think I know better now than to try and deal with my feelings through going "no contact" with him. That was a dumb idea yesterday, and will continue to be a dumb idea for as long as he's my friend.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
A "Yellow Sunshine" poem I wrote about being bi in 2003
I have been going through my old CDs from all the backups I made in college (lots of stuff on these discs from High School....) looking for some of my old porn, and I stumbled across a folder filled with random text files and mini-journals.
One of them included this poem, which seems to be all about a crush on a girl. I don't remember which girl though. It seems too light and happy to be about The Woman (more about her in another post), but it seems to have been someone... someone with a boyfriend. Maybe someone I studied with regularly... According to the text file, I wrote this on March 15, 2003.
One of them included this poem, which seems to be all about a crush on a girl. I don't remember which girl though. It seems too light and happy to be about The Woman (more about her in another post), but it seems to have been someone... someone with a boyfriend. Maybe someone I studied with regularly... According to the text file, I wrote this on March 15, 2003.
Yellow sunshine in my brainThe poem feels so familiar... I still have the ability to just kind of sit with feelings of happiness even if I know that I'll never be able to act on those feelings. I think that's sort of where I must have been when I wrote this. Intoxicated, but willing to just put the infatuation in a drawer next to all my other crushes.
scattered rainbows
contacts falling out
so bouncy
running down the halls, the urge to do a cartwheel
but hesitate.
So shy.
The ink smeared on my study-guide looks like art
I can stare at it, and see the future
or the past
so pretty
I'm the sunshine
and the raindrops
that together
make me queer.
My mood, so high
I could be a substance
sought after by
your girlfriend
And she would be my girlfriend
after that.
My head is a happy cloud
light-colored, headed
believe me not
I'm not on fire
Just happy.
I want to capture this
and put it in a solution
next to my old syringe
for a rainy day.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Okcupid feature request...
Okcupid feature requests:
- The ability to require users spend a minimum number of minutes on your profile before they can message you. (Did you even read the first sentence where I say I'm only dating women?!)
- The ability to require a minimum number of words in your message before it will be sent. ("Ur hot. How r u" is not a thoughtful message. Fuck off.)
- The ability to stop receiving messages from people outside my "looking for" filters (uh, seriously fuck off, 57 year old man from Nevada who is guilty of both of the above. How did you get in here?)
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