not your best

Something happened last night that did not feel good.

I was on a date, at a man’s apartment. Things had heated up and I asked him if he had a condom. He said he did not like wearing them. That they made him go soft. I told him I was ovulating. This apparently meant we were at an impasse.

He tried to go down on me but soon stopped all activity and just wanted to cuddle. Then he said he wished I had told him sooner. He would not let me go down on him or try to do anything else. He wouldn’t even talk. So I just laid there with this guy’s arms clamped around me until I fell asleep.

Except then I had to wake up a couple hours later, because he doesn’t do sleepovers. Or condoms. Or god knows what else.

I got crushed by a wave of sadness that had been lingering with me for the last few days. He kept apologizing – he was sorry if he had upset me.

I left in a sad cloud. He texted in the morning and apologized again. Sorry if he’d upset me, not necessarily sorry that I was sad.

Now my sadness is starting to melt into anger.

adventures at the poly mixer

The other night I went to a poly party with a married guy I’m dating. It was extremely fun.

I paid for all his drinks because he asked and because I was his sugar momma. That was delicious. He knew several people at the party. I was nervous but still enjoyed meeting (and flirting with) everyone.

Then my date went to the bathroom. The second he left, another guy I’d been sleeping with appeared with his girlfriend. It was the first time I was meeting her. They were both shockingly awkward and introverted. She glommed onto me and said it was hard to talk to people. She was not wrong.

The last time I’d seen her boyfriend, I was sucking his cock in my apartment and feeling weird about it.

He had told me stories about her. That she would bring women over to their apartment for them both to sleep with. That she’d alert him about this with a text that said “yay daddy, sluts!” The first photo of her I saw was of her asshole. What can we say, her boyfriend is a charmer. No he isn’t.

Now I was meeting her, and she was wearing a long black turtleneck, talking about how terrible alpha men are, holding onto my arm.

We are multidimensional.

When my date re-emerged, E and his girlfriend disappeared. My date suddenly needed to leave because his wife had texting saying she was sick. He did not seem happy about this. I mean why would you. But apparently he had wanted to invite himself over to my place. Instead we snuck in some kisses at the subway.

When I got home, I felt like electricity was sparking out of me. Adventure and potential. Who knows.

full moon trance

I am back from paradise and last night I had sex.

It had been several months since we had seen each other. An entire summer. And yet his voice purring out “I missed you so much” was enough. Like velvet.

It took me 85 years to finish. Some moments felt like shooting out into space and leaving my body. Then I would slingshot back and worry that I had left that body too inert while skyrocketing through pleasure.

Every time he exhaled, his moan vibrated all over me.

The sweaty sheen that appears over you. Even if you don’t think you’re doing anything. But in reality my entire body was pulsing, thrashing with periodic electric shocks. Feeling everything so deeply for hours.

Toy after toy. He had one that vibrated and one that mimicked a sucking sensation. I think they made things a little too sensitive. Eventually my own hand was enough.

There’s a strange trance to sex. And he seemed intent on building it. With the music in his apartment, and the various rhythms of his mouth and fingers and body. I guess it was my role to melt into that trance and become the instrument he played and pulled pleasure out of. But sometimes I snapped back into the moment. Felt guilt. Selfishness. Anxiety. Until his mouth did something new and I melted back into the trance.

When it was over we stared into each other’s eyes and he ran a hand through my hair, softly, over and over.

“I want to pull out everything any shitty boyfriend ever did to you.” he made a motion like he was pulling it out of my hair. “Any moment that ever made you feel small. I want you to know that you are beautiful.”

His voice melted on the last word and I felt tears in my eyes. I just nodded and said thank you.

And then I learned he is monogamous. Who knows what will happen here. But the moment was beautiful.

but that’s okay right?

You’re in a boat and I’m swimming out to it. But the water gets deeper quickly. Soon I am gasping with nothing to hold onto, and you have gotten no closer.

I push forward until my arm muscles burn. Waves are constantly coming at me. Sometimes I float above them, and sometimes I submit to them. I cough and flail.

Meanwhile you are teasing me with your invitations. It’s been so long. You’ve missed me so. Once I get there everything will feel so good. We will melt into each other like we did before, will go even further beyond what we did before. You didn’t actually disappear; you were just too far out on the horizon to see, but you wanted me there the whole time.

I’m so close, and when I come it will be amazing.

Water stings my eyes but I push ahead. Fueled by lust and fantasy and promise.

I open my eyes and you are pulling up your anchor. The boat is leaving. Plans have changed. You’re so sorry we keep missing each other.

Then you disappear. And the shore is so far away.

a tale of two ghostings

Sometimes I am stubborn.

…often I am stubborn.

Yesterday I went scrolling through my matches on this kinky/poly dating app. I landed on a man I’d met over a month ago. We had a fine date and sex (except he was too big and his dirty talk was too much like baby talk for me personally). He told me he was going to Denver but would text me when he came back about having dinner. Then I never heard from him again.

According to his profile, in a little over a month he went from being single and unsure about non-monogamy to being poly and partnered. Which is fine, of course. But after being ghosted by this person, seeing that felt weirdly painful.

So I did something passive aggressive. I “disconnected” with him. The app tells them when you’ve done that. I’ve had it done to me and it doesn’t feel good, even if I didn’t like the person to begin with. But doing it to him felt great.

I felt emboldened. So I decided to do it with someone else. Even though we’d only met one time, the sex was so incredible that it had driven me a little crazy.

But then he also disappeared.

So I called him out in a text.

…no I didn’t.

“It seems like you’re really busy. I’ve missed you.”

12 hours later, a response about being busy with family things. Something about his mother. And also,

“I’ve missed you too. But know that I really look forward to seeing you again.

And tasting you.

And feeling you cum all over me.”

Makes it hard to get too mad.


this is new and wild

I know I’m coming in hot from a lot of different angles this weekend. Gay feels and sad feels.

Well now get ready for some first date/sex-for-the-first-time-in-over-a-year feels.

What would you guess the first thing he did to me was, after pulling off my clothes?

The correct answer: eating my ass.

And that was just the *first* thing!

It was all so hot and all felt so good, I overrode my typical intense awareness/shame of my own body and just went with it.

4 hours of fucking later, I found my sweaty self out of breath and wrapped in a pair of warm, strong arms. Several hours after that, it was morning and we were having sex again.

I love how post-sex when, while you go about your day like normal, various parts of your body still feel tender and vulnerable. For me it’s my neck. Because I told him to bite it, and he’s a very good listener.

Once I was back home, I looked him up on the internet, and that was a mistake. It turns out he is an Incredibly Successful Person and this is very intimidating. His apartment was beautiful so I had a hunch that something was up, and sure enough, it was.

So I’m dealing with that. In the meantime he is really nice and wants to see me again, and that makes me feel warm. So we’ll just take it from there.

secret world

Election night week 2020 was a deeply stressful time. And I got through it with an incredible amount of sexting.

This makes it sound like the sexting was standard: photos of body parts, in and out and you’re done. It was much more intense than that.

Hours and hours of D/s fantasies. Revelations of our kinks. Deep, vivid descriptions of scenes. Sounds, thoughts, textures, emotions. Pain and pleasure and edging and denial. Tell me exactly what you want, exactly what you’re feeling. And if you don’t want something, tell me immediately.

The whole thing started so simply. We started talking about my neck. That ever-so-sensitive center of sexual energy for me, that is constantly hiding in plain sight. He’d started to wonder what would happen if he touched that neck. Or let his fingers, or hand linger around it for a while. Or maybe if he put his mouth on it. Or tongue. Or teeth.

I don’t remember all the exact words. I mostly just remember my pussy instantly developing its own heartbeat, and feeling that way for weeks after.

Before that, I had wanted to avoid and ignore my submissive side. The result of one too many people taking advantage of it or hurting it, perhaps. He later said he had no idea I was so submissive. But suddenly it all came flying out, just by talking about my neck like that. In a huge rush, I had built this beautiful secret world of pleasure with someone who had thoughts like I did, and who could write beautiful (and fucking hot) in-depth paragraphs about them.

We both had external worlds to tend to as this was all going on. I was staying with a friend at the time (otherwise I probably would have just been masturbating myself into oblivion for weeks) and he would end up going on a trip to visit a friend’s family. But we thought about each other constantly. It was like being physically present, but mentally out in space. Like, trippy psychedelic here-is-every-dark-and-beautiful-sexy-time-you-could-think-of space. Fuck, it was so heady.

It was with a good friend. Someone who is still a friend. Who, yes, I am still attracted to.

And then that friend started Prozac.

Our dark secret world didn’t immediately disappear. It was more like, it felt weirder and then faded away. The last scene we wrote was more about pain and punishment than I’d like. More extreme. Like he was trying hard to make himself feel something so he wanted to incorporate electroshock and humiliation. I felt like I wasn’t doing a good job. The intensity was there but there was a disconnect. That last scene was just before Christmas.

We still talk every day. Texts and audio notes. He is going through *a lot* of personal work and therapy (hence the Prozac) and is not what one would call available. But at the same time, in other ways he is available for me. And those ways are meaningful.

All of this is to say, the other night I realized (not like it’s a big shock) that I have really deep feelings for him. It doesn’t change anything. I’m not going to do anything, probably won’t even tell him about them. But still. It’s nice to know.

So I’m just going to write about it here. There you have it.

how fascinating

We met for a first date at the pier. We talked forever, watching as the sun went down and the city lit up.

Your fingernails were painted black. At one point we talked about tattoos. I don’t have any but I want some. You have a few. Some on your hands and your arm. Some in more hidden places.

You described one that you wanted to get next. A thin line that starts at your wrist and goes all the way up to your shoulder.

You traced the line slowly up your arm. And my eyes widened with a sudden thought.

Oh my god I want to fuck this person.

Now I remember that feeling. It is fiery and uncomfortable and can make you feel crazy. But maybe we are not crazy.

You gave a really good hug.

sexual frustration magic energy

It has been 13 days since I last saw the person I am dating.

During that time, he has texted me every day. He has sent photos of himself. Of his arms and their tattoos. Of his face. Of his body.

He has written me notes. Of things he wants to do to me. He mentioned a dream he’d had, an idea for a fantasy, and it happened to be one of my deepest: the two of us in a room full of women. Then we had a 2.5-hour sext session, easily the most intense I’d ever experienced.

And then I had to wait a week.

I was far away, in the state I grew up in, and my body was constantly burning for him. Self pleasure eased things slightly. But there were always more photos, more promises, more fire.

So then I decided I wouldn’t touch myself until the next time I saw him. It was supposed to be yesterday. And then he got strep throat. So here I am, trying to do something productive with the energy pulsing through me.

He, of course, loves this.

Ugh even the word pulse does it.