Grrrr

BTW, the sequence of events with my tooth is as follows:

• It hurt for about a week before I finally conceded that I’d better see my dentist about it.
• The dentist said the tooth was dead and cracking in half and the pain was from the two sides wiggling around independently of each other in my gums. 😦
• He referred me to an oral surgeon, whose first available appointment was a week later.
• That was just a consultation and my actual surgery was scheduled for two weeks after that.
• Now the surgery is over, and I can chew a lot better than before, but obviously not on the affected side. Also I have this fear that if I eat anything too solid, crumbs will get all up in my tooth-hole.

tl;dr I’ve been subsisting entirely on the same fourish appropriately squishy foods for over a month now, I have to keep on doing that for another while, and I am RUNNING OUT OF PATIENCE.

I really need my next partner NOT to have ADHD. Or at least to have a modicum of manners.

I recently had to have a tooth pulled, and – as you may know – I have a lot of baggage and phobias about dental stuff, so this was a big deal.

My regular dentist tried to do the deed, but his preliminary yanking on the tooth hurt despite my mouth being frozen the maximum possible amount so he said it might be best if he referred me to an oral surgeon so I could be sedated for the procedure. That was a smart move; he knew that if he hurt me a lot it would break my trust, so he sent me to someone else to do it. 😛

The extraction has been done now and it was actually perfectly fine. They put me to sleep before the surgery and I woke up afterward with no memory at all. And I was only even sore for a couple hours afterward – when I woke up the next day there was no pain at all – so that surgeon must be excellent at his job!

But beforehand, I was terrified. And it doesn’t help that they always make you sign a waiver listing all the absolute worst possible scenarios and saying you understand they might happen to you.

My being sedated for the surgery meant that I needed a capable grownup to drive me home and look after me. And they required my grown-up to accompany me there so they could talk to him beforehand. So, The Dandy and I headed over together. As we walked through the basement corridors of our building to get to the underground parking garage, I felt like I was being led to the gallows. I needed comfort or solidarity or something, so I started telling The Dandy, in the flat, doomed voice that had become my default tone over the past few days: “The handout they gave me says that I could have bruising all the way down to my chest that could last for -“

And The Dandy’s attention suddenly clicked entirely away from me and onto something else. We’d just been passing by the door to the little convenience store in our building, and he stood staring at it transfixed like he’d just found a four carat diamond embedded in it, ripe for the taking.

I broke off what I’d been saying with a sigh and resignedly said “What?”

“The sign says the store is under new management now,” The Dandy said, gesturing to a piece of paper taped on the door.

To be clear, we’ve used this convenience store maybe twice in the four(?) years since I moved in. It’s by no means a favourite place for us, or even a place we ever think about, either to wish it were different or to hope it stays the same. But for some reason, the fact that the store was under new management was so fascinating to The Dandy that it took precedence over my current need for comfort and my upcoming risk of injury.

The Dandy kept staring at the sign for a few seconds, alert and fixated like a dog who thinks he might see a squirrel in the distance. When he finally resumed walking, I remained silent and waited to see if he’d say “sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?” or “Shit, bruising all the way down to your chest? That would suck. But I’m sure that’s an extreme case that probably won’t happen.” But he said nothing. He did not acknowledge whatsoever that I’d been terrified and reaching out for comfort over a legitimately scary thing and he’d cut me off over something utterly trivial and absurd.

And before anyone says it, yes I believe the attention-yoink was genuinely an ADHD thing and not him deliberately trying to shut me up because he was bored with my fear-ramblings. But even if it had been a purposeful ploy, that’s still bullshit. I was going in for surgery. This was a once-in-a-blue-moon event and he is allegedly my friend and a friend should fucking rally themselves to be supportive for a couple of days during a crisis. I made it very clear to The Dandy when I broke up with him that I wanted part of our new Platonic Life Partners deal to be supporting each other through illness. And remember that this is me – a relatively healthy person – saying this to someone who had a heart bypass in his late 30s. I wasn’t just selfishly looking out for myself. We may not be dating anymore but if The Dandy has more health issues in future I will 100% do all the things for him that I did when he had to have that angiogram aside from the nudity and blowjob. And I want the same consideration in return. And I really don’t think I got it, for a lot more reasons than just the incident I’m talking about here.

Score!

I’ve been wanting a new wallet for a long time. My current one is some silly vinyl thing that probably came from a kiddie store like Ardene (don’t know for sure because it was a gift) and is also ten years old and falling apart. It’s pink with an amusing catchphrase embossed into the front. I loved it when my friend gave it to me way back in the day, but now I’m hoping for something durable and classy and grown-up, and also something that reads more “masculine” and could fit in my pocket (if I were to get some pants with proper pockets…with these hips I’m sorta forced to stick to the women’s department).

Anyhoo. I shopped around for a wallet briefly a few years ago (via a bunch of links The Dandy gave me) but couldn’t find one that was within my budget and had a layout I liked. And a while after that, the pandemic hit and between not being able to work and not being able to go anywhere, I felt a lot less of a sense of urgency on the whole wallet thing.

Lately I’ve taken to browsing Etsy for fun. Usually not with intent to buy anything; it’s just cool to see what-all people out there are making. So last night I was idly looking at leather cosplay pieces and a wallet inexplicably popped up in my search. It was made by a seller in my actual city and substantially marked down. But it wasn’t quiiiiite what I wanted.

That got me looking at more wallets on Etsy, though (it hadn’t occurred to me to look there before, really; The Dandy is a connoisseur of luxury goods so I just stick with his list of links, none of which were to Etsy shops). And, weirdly, a shit ton of wallets were on sale. I called out to The Dandy in the next room to marvel at the oddness of this, and he called back “Father’s Day sales.” Ohhh! Yeah that makes sense.

And I ended up finding a wallet that suits my needs and is allegedly* seventy percent off. The seller is in my city so maybe delivery will be quick-ish, and the wallet is supposedly made of full grain leather (I had The Dandy run his expert eyeballs over the pics and he says it looks legit).

Quick leather lesson: “genuine leather” is a bunch of weasel-words amounting to “there’s cow in there somewhere.” Genuine leather is likely to be the weak undermost layer of cowhide with the toughest top layer peeled off it. Often they glue it down to some kind of backing to give it a bit more thickness. I had a cheap “genuine leather” belt once where you could totally see that it was several layers of stuff sewn or glued together. It looked like crap when it aged.

“Full grain leather” means the whole thickness of the skin with nothing peeled off. Full grain leather does technically fall under the banner of “genuine leather” because there is indeed cow in there, but nobody who sells full grain leather is gonna call it “genuine leather” because they know that phrase encompasses stuff a lot shittier than what they’re using. When someone uses full grain leather they will tell you.

Anyway yeah this wallet is advertised as being full grain leather and I’m hoping it’ll last me basically forever.

*”Allegedly” because I know some Etsy stores pull low-key scams like having a “sale” that’s only gonna last another hour, hurry hurry buy now! – but when the one-time is reached, another sale immediately starts. Stuff like that.

I love him…until he talks.

I have come to the conclusion that I still have feelings of love for The Dandy – just not in a romantic/sexual way.

How could I not love someone who changed my entire life for the better by financially supplementing/supporting me – and never, ever holds it over my head? Plus he’s great with the cats and does his share of the housework and isn’t judgey about the things I spend money on – even though it’s his money.

I dunno, I just go through these surges of affection for him.

Today I had a bit more energy than usual and no particular plans so I ended up making a whole bunch of food for The Dandy – first a pizza and then, while the oven was still at 400 degrees, some butter tarts and then some blueberry muffins. (Most things I ever make in the oven bake at 350 degrees, but all of today’s items need 400.) So now he has pizza to last a day or two and snacks and breakfasts for a while beyond that.

When the butter tarts were done I took one in to The Dandy while he worked ’cause I know that he loves having food brought to him. He gave me the most beatific smile.

And then I even had the energy to clean up the godawful mess I’d made in the kitchen and throw a load of dishes into the dishwasher. I don’t often have it in me to cook and clean up right away; I usually need to rest a while after cooking, and it’s about 50/50 which of us ultimately attacks the mess first. I was happy to have it in me to do it right away this time. The Dandy is a bit OCD about the kitchen and it’s a good bet that he was happy about the food but also thinking “ugggh but the kitchen is probably a disaster now…” in the back of his mind, but I fixed it. 🙂

Later, I was on the couch internetting and The Dandy came in and gave my head an affectionate scritch without me soliciting it in any way. He mostly doesn’t seem interested in hanging out with me ever – which was a big issue for me when we were dating – and I always felt like he’d be perfectly happy to forsake all human contact and just sit on YouTube for all his waking hours. But (shockingly) he does kinda keep track of me. Whether it’s insecurity or a genuine interest in what I’m doing, I don’t know, but he’ll periodically poke his head into whatever room I’m in just to see what I’m doing. And sometimes (even though we’re broken up, even though I’m transitioning and he said he can’t be attracted to me if he thinks of me as Not a Woman, even though he said he can’t be physically affectionate unless he’s attracted) he comes in and scritches my head a little bit. And it makes me really happy.

I like living here.

And yet I’m at a point where The Dandy irritates the shit out of me every time he speaks.

Mostly it’s his thing where he can’t formulate a straightforward sentence (and it feels like it’s getting worse, but this may be my imagination), but partly it’s that he doesn’t listen to me/talks as though he assumes I’m doing the stupidest possible thing. I’ll tell him something like (this is a made up example, I can’t think of a real one) “the tv remote stopped working. And it’s not that the batteries ran out; I checked. Can we get a new one?” And he’ll respond “Maybe it’s the batteries.” A) didn’t I just fucking say… b) does he really think I’d campaign to buy an entirely new remote control without first checking the most obvious reason why it would stop working?

The really annoying thing is that I somehow keep forgetting all of this and starting conversations with him that I instantly regret:

Me: Hey, would Superglue work to stick wood to plastic?

Dandy: The, the – if you – the thing is – wood has a, has a, the texture of wood, the texture of wood is – plastic might be –

Me (silently in my head): …Fuck.

I know it’s uncharitable of me to feel this way. But I do.

Nonetheless, I still basically like The Dandy and adore him for essentially rescuing me from my life. So I guess I’ll just work on my patience and also try to remember not to talk to him unless it’s kind of urgent. 😛

Bleh

Our apartment building isn’t turning on the A/C for another few days and it’s pretty icky-hot in here, and humid af.

The Dandy has taken to lounging around the house in just his underwear (no shirt) and it’s the naked-est I’ve seen him in forever. Unless you count the various times he went to bed totally naked and threw all the covers off in his sleep, which I don’t, because I wasn’t supposed to see that (and averted my eyes out of politeness as soon as I did see anything).

It feels a bit weird. I’m really damn over him romantically, so I’m no longer seeing him through “love goggles” and so he is no longer as attractive to me. But even without the extra sparkle of my affections added, he has some appealing physical qualities, and I’ve been feeling super insular being single and in lockdown and all of that, so to be confronted by his entire bare chest up close and in person was…odd.

I find myself both admiring and disparaging his body in my head. It’s a weird combo of “unffff, I forgot how much I liked X about him” and “ooof, I forgot just how (adjective) his Y was.” It feels weird that I was so desperate to fuck him for so long. His body seems alien to me now.

On a side note, I’m kinda mad because going topless in this heat would be nice but I don’t feel comfortable doing that in front of The Dandy. Don’t get me wrong; his mostly-asexual ass understands full well that bodies aren’t inherently sexual, and he does have a modicum of courtesy. I believe he could deal with nudity from me without staring.

But Dandette used to use “gosh, it’s soooo hot in here” as an excuse to take her top off and be an exhibitionist at us, and I hate hate haaaaate the idea of looking anything like I was doing that. Presumably The Dandy is aware that I’m not an exhibitionist at all, and would understand that it really was about the heat. But I worry.

Also, my tits were the only body part of mine he ever actually had an attraction to. When we were dating I was naked around the apartment all the time and mostly my body might as well have been an end table or something as far as he was concerned, but occasionally he’d check out my tits. And times that I was feeling insecure and asked him to tell me something he liked about me (anything; I didn’t specify that I wanted an appearance-based compliment) he would say “your boobs.” Not my intelligence or my ingenuity or anything else; only my tits. Every time.

Y’know that overused quote attributed to Marilyn Monroe, something like “If you can’t handle me at my worst then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best”? That’s how I feel now, except it’s “if you can’t handle me at my wanting you to enjoy my company and participate in my orgasms, you sure as hell don’t deserve my tits.”

On even more of a side note, I’ve gained a fair bit of weight over the past couple years and a fair bit of that landed on my tits. They’re still holding up pretty well, considering I’m almost 50; they’re lower than they used to be but they still don’t sag enough to actually touch my ribcage – if I’m standing up straight. But I’m a sloucher and these newish E-cup funbags have considerably more overlap with my chest/stomach when I slouch than they did when they were smaller. The area under my tits feels swampy and gross all the time and I know that taking my shirt off won’t fix that and I’m angry about it.

When the A/C finally comes on I’m gonna turn it up so high.

*sigh*

I like my body, for the most part. I can see myself naked in a mirror and give my reflection a “how YOU doin’?” nod. Don’t be thinking this post is about me not liking my body.

This post is about me being bummed out because clothing manufacturers don’t know I exist.

I like fashion and I have various looks I’d love to try out for myself but it’s just so fucking hard. I’m so tall and so curvy that for the most part no category of clothing – not women’s, not men’s, not plus sizes of any kind – will fit me well.

For a long time, I gave up on trying to have fashionable clothes, and poured my sense of style into jewelry and nail polish, instead.

When I moved in with The Dandy and (therefore) had a lot more disposable income, I started buying made-to-measure clothes (mostly dresses) from eShakti.com, and that was great. I looked amazing, like, all the time. Strangers would compliment me every time I went out.

Then the pandemic hit and I had less work and less money.

Then my body decided to randomly gain some weight*, so my pre-existing eShakti items became uncomfortably tight.

Then I had my little gender crisis and went on testosterone, which immediately put another inch or two on my waist but hasn’t taken a single speck of fat off my hips or tits as far as I can tell (and I’m not just going by eye, here; I’m measuring myself).

And now I’m wanting to cultivate a more gender neutral or masculine look, and I’d be willing to splurge on eShakti again for this (since made-to-measure is my only hope of a decent fit anyway), but they’ve currently taken away everything that looked remotely androgynous. No more plain, straight-legged black pants. No more plain button-down shirts. Just frills and ruffles and embroidery and sheer fabrics all over the place. Femme-coded af.

So I guess I’m back to buying jeans and t-shirts that kind of fit from places aimed at poor-ish, fat-ish people and using those as a kind of blank canvas on which to display some accessories.

I just ordered a leather chest harness on Etsy.

*I know my body and I’m telling you that this is I’m-getting-older weight, not pandemic weight. And it won’t go away unless I make dietary and exercise changes that will not be sustainable for me at all (maybe even with ridiculous changes it still won’t budge. For the most part my body decides what weight it wants to be and that’s that.).

RAWR

My old findom/foot fetish client has dropped back into my life again and we played a bit last night via text and it was pretty fun.

I often see people on FetLife dismissively assume that sex workers are only pretending to like their clients or only pretending to enjoy themselves. It drives me mad because that is not true for me and I know there are other workers who enjoy their job/clients, too, or at least some of them.

This guy is quite cute – if I saw him out and about somewhere I’d check him out. His big thing is wanting to pretend that my sexy feet make him so helpless with lust that he gives me all his money. He’s got a good balance of telling me what he wants if I’m not quite hitting his buttons and yet not coming across as bossy or micromanaging. The format of our socially distanced play is basically that I trash talk him and demand money (via text, phone call, or sometimes I film a little video and send it to him) and he’ll send me an e-transfer of $10-$25 and I’ll send him a pic of my feet and trash talk him some more.

Because his foot fetish is so narrow and all-consuming, I don’t think he even cares if I have a face – which would be awful in a partner but is great when I’m lounging around in filthy boxer shorts and he pops up hoping for play. I didn’t even bother changing or doing makeup last night, I just sent photos and videos strictly of my feet.

And he’s the kind of fetishist who likes dirt and calluses so my feet don’t even have to be well taken care of! My soles were filthy and gross last night and I just told him if he were here I’d have him clean them with his tongue.

The format of demanding small amounts of money here and there (vs receiving a fee upfront for an hour of attention) is fun for me and keeps me engaged – it’s like a game of cat-and-mouse.

And dude has so far been trustworthy – I can’t always easily check, in the moment, whether he’s actually transferred me money when he says he has, but so far he’s never lied. Also he doesn’t seem too terribly quid pro quo; sometimes I send him a foot pic along with a demand for money (and he gives money even though arguably he already got the main thing he’s paying for). Other times I string him along a while, ask for money, and make him beg and beg to see my feet before I show him and he never shows a hint of “goddammit I paid you so now you gotta ‘put out'” irritation.

And, I mean, having someone tell me I’m glorious and perfect and worthy of worship while giving me money sure doesn’t suck.

TBH the amount of money I average per hour with him is probably a bit low for sex work but I don’t mind because he’s pretty fun and I can do the work at home, looking like crap, and often while surfing the internet or watching tv.

Also, just as an aside, I was in fine form last night in my trash talk/dirty talk. I astound myself sometimes with the pure poetry I can come up with when properly inspired. It’s a feature of my ADHD, I think; it likes to work under pressure and solve puzzles. This man is a puzzle I solve. I find the right buttons to push and prizes come out.

So anyway yeah that was my night last night.

Humph.

The Dandy liked the Greek pizza I came up with, but not more than any other I’ve made.

One of these days I wanna make him something that blows his socks off and makes him tell me I absolutely outdid myself and he wants this creation to become a household staple. The lasagne I first made him a few months ago was sort of that, but I just followed a recipe. I want to come up with a thing of my own that he swoons over.

Gestures

On The Dandy’s birthday he was on his computer and asked me to bring him a slice of the bday cake I’d made him. He specifically said that being brought food makes him feel extra-spoiled so he was requesting that on his big day.

I hadn’t actually known that before, that having food brought to him is A Thing for The Dandy. It’s not totally surprising, since I know acts of service (and especially food-related acts of service) are a big love language for him. But it’s a bit complicated because The Dandy is a bit prissy about crumbs and spills and usually makes a point of not eating in his room. That’s why I don’t often serve him there.

This afternoon as I lounged in bed I heard him stirring and making grouchy old man noises like he was trying to wake up and start his day and having a rough time of it. I came in and offered to make him some chocolate crescent rolls and coffee and he eagerly accepted. When everything was ready, I brought it in to him, knowing that it would make him extra happy.

Also, I recently had the idea of making a pizza inspired by Greek food (The Dandy really likes pizza and I make it for him pretty often). The pizza will have standard-issue tomato sauce and mozzarella, but also garlic, tomatoes, feta, and pieces of chicken breast marinated in souvlaki sauce. I sliced up the raw chicken and put it in the marinade today and will make the pizza tomorrow.

When I first told The Dandy of my Greek pizza idea last night, i capped it off by leaning close to him and saying “I am gonna pack your fucking face with so much amazing food” with an intensity that made him nervous. 😀 I was that excited about impressing and spoiling him. He does love the idea of a Greek pizza, though.

I’m so happy that feeding The Dandy makes him feel loved and that cooking for him is a thing I happen not to mind doing. And I think the main reason I don’t mind doing it is that he financially supports me, thereby taking a lot of stress off me and giving me more energy to do things (although I’m kind of into the creative challenge of making new dishes…sometimes).

Meanwhile I assume The Dandy feels fine about supporting me because I cook for him. So it all works out.

So

I responded to that email from my mother with the sentence “I am not interested in this letter.” Hopefully that’s the end of it.

I’m still infuriated that a completely unrelated party tried to butt into our family’s business that she knows nothing about and my mom thought “this seems like a normal and good thing to happen and not at all presumptuous.”

But, I mean, of course my mom is friends with someone who has no idea of appropriate boundaries.