The parent visit

Okay so I need to just quickly vent about my parents’ recent visit.

I had told my mom about the shit happening with my landlords (complaints that other tenants could smell my cats’ litterbox from the hallway; pressure to fix the issue; obviously the implication being that if I didn’t fix it, they could evict me or whatever). Mom had been wanting for her and my dad to come visit, anyway, and I guess they decided to use this debacle as an excuse. My mom declared that she and dad would come over and help me clean.

I did not want them up in my personal space. They have a history of boundary issues, from the five million times they came into my room without knocking when I was a kid to walking right into my husband’s and my home once when I didn’t hear them knocking. Who fucking does that? It’s weird because they were sticklers for privacy when it came to giving out my number; once I moved out of their place, if anyone called for me, my parents insisted on passing me the message so I could call them back. They wouldn’t give my phone number out without permission. And yet they’re weirdly rude and nosey in other ways.

One time when they were here, they saw some loose change on my floor and wouldn’t fucking shut up about it. I didn’t think it was that weird to throw a pair of pants on the floor every now and then and maybe coins would fall out of the pockets and not get picked up immediately, but goddamn, all night long they were making jokes about how I must be so rich that I can just throw my money away. Like okay ha ha you can let it go any time now.

So yeah. I was worried they would judge me for my lax housekeeping and I was worried that if they saw something intriguing poking out of a dresser drawer they’d go “derrrrrp what dat?” and fling the drawer open and also I just generally hate my dad and didn’t want to be in such close quarters with him at all. My apartment is tiny.

But I could use the help and it seemed like they would be stubborn about it if I tried to say no. So fine.

They are so fucking socially weird. I asked them to text me when they got here because I couldn’t remember which doorbell in the foyer was mine (the labels fell off ages ago). So what do they do? They text me saying “We’re at your door” and I flung open my apartment door to go down and let them in but they were standing right there in the hallway. They’d taken it upon themselves to ring a random doorbell anyway, causing my neighbour to answer the door and let them in. Then instead of texting me that they were on their way up, they chose to carry all the supplies they’d brought up the stairs in dead silence, stand outside my apartment door in dead silence (the walls are thin as hell so it takes some doing to make me not realize someone’s going up and down the stairs/standing right outside my door), and text me instead of just fucking knocking. And so I didn’t goddamned know they were right there, and I coughed as I opened the door to go down and let them in, and they made a joking comment about how rude I was to open my door and cough right in their faces. Yeah, okay. I’m the one being rude. Sure.

They did bring a steam cleaner and a bunch of helpful products they’d bought for me, which I appreciated. I figured the best way to keep my sanity was to set them each to a particular task and then leave to run some errands. I’d taken the precaution of hiding my sex toys in a bin under my bed, wrapped in a blanket so you couldn’t see them whatsoever, so that was one thing off my mind. If it had just been my mom there, I might have hidden the toys less well and if my mom saw the tip of one and did her whole “derpity derp what’s this?” and yanked everything into plain sight, she’d be mortified and I’d be like “Okay, now what did we learn about touching my stuff?”

But my dad was there too and as I said in a previous post he’s been sexually sketchy with me. I honestly think that if he found anything of mine that hinted at a sex life, he’d feel compelled to offer some commentary about it, or at least get a look on his face that he was speculating about what sorts of acts I might enjoy. Which NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE. So I hid shit really really well.

I asked my dad to change the litter in the two litterboxes and sweep the floor, asked my mom to steam clean the couch, and then begged off to run errands. When I returned, my dad had thankfully fucked off to do a little shopping and my mom had finished the couch and kindly decided to tackle my dishes for me. The closed bedroom door was still closed so if they pried they at least had the decency to cover their tracks (but I’m…pretty sure they wouldn’t pry on purpose? I think they just act without thinking when they see something interesting, but they wouldn’t go out of their way to open a closed door or drawer. Probably).

My mom and I sat down and chatted for a while. But then she asked me if there was anything my dad could do in order to fix my relationship with him and I found myself furious. Like um I dunno, go back in time and not be an abusive dickbag for the first twenty years of my life? …I can’t remember if I said that out loud or just thought it. I definitely told her that there was nothing he could do, since he probably wouldn’t admit to or maybe even remember most of the things he did to me so an apology would feel kind of hollow.

I’m not sure whether mom was asking me this on my dad’s behalf (I know he wishes we were closer) or because the way I barely tolerate him makes these visits awkward (she hasn’t specifically said this, but it’s true. She’s the one I want a relationship with; I don’t care about him; but the two of them always come visit as a unit. So I acknowledge his existence the bare minimum and focus mostly on her). Either way, though, I’m pissed. Awwww, so dad terrorized me for two decades and now he has a sad that I don’t fawn all over him? And mom wishes I’d be more chatty and affectionate so the visits go more smoothly? GO FUCK YOURSELVES.

My dad returned and then my parents started indicating that it was time for them to go. I’d kind of expected them to take me out for a meal or something – their last few visits comprised only dinner together in a restaurant before they went off and visited other relatives in the area – but nope, oddly this time they opted to drive three hours each way just to come give my place a rudimentary cleaning and then leave again (with no other local people to visit, as far as I know). I had no particular wish to extend my time with them so that was fine.

I hugged my mom goodbye while my dad stood around looking jealous. Then he stepped up and was all “can I get a hug, too?” and, again, GO FUCK YOURSELF. He said and did sexually uncomfortable things to me when I was younger. For years I was convinced that he’d sexually abused me and I’d blocked it out. If you are a family member and you want me to press my body up against you then maybe don’t ever, ever do anything to indicate that you’d get off on it kthx.

Our visits have such a veneer of civility, though, and my dad seems so benign that there’s nothing about him (now, in his current incarnation) that I can reasonably object to. And both my parents were always really big on controlling me through guilt (“we were having a nice visit and you went and ruined it!”). So I couldn’t bring myself to just say “NOPE!” and walk away. I grudgingly offered him a handshake. I wish I hadn’t. It disgusts me to touch him and when I turned and walked away to run yet more errands I was wiping my hand on my pants convulsively for the next ten minutes. And now I really never want to see him again because I suppose he’ll think this handshake was progress and he can try to push for a little more next time.

Bringing me cat litter and cleaning spray was nice but it doesn’t buy him a get out of jail free card for making me walk on eggshells in my own home until I moved out at nineteen. There is literally nothing he can offer me that would make me be the kind of loving daughter his stupid preening ego thinks he should have.

I considered writing to my mom after this visit and telling her in no uncertain terms that it’s her I want a relationship with – not him – and that if she keeps pressuring me to be closer to him, I’ll cut them both out of my life again. Maybe I’d even put my foot down and tell her I’d only see her alone, never with him in tow, or else they’re both cut out.

Then I remembered that they are pushing seventy and I’m pretty sure I’m the sole beneficiary in their will. Their big three-bedroom house has been paid off for a long while now and they’ve indicated that they have hundreds of thousands of dollars in savings, too. It would be a shame to lose such a huge and life-changing bounty right when it’s maybe about to come to fruition.*

So I’m staying silent. For now. But I never have been good at playing nicey-nice with folks I don’t like – even when I stand to gain a lot from it – so it’s entirely possible I’ll ultimately cut them off, after all.

Especially since they both seem to be in relatively good health. They carried stuff up my stairs. They get around okay. No mention of any upcoming surgeries or current wasting illnesses. It’s possible they’ll live another twenty years. I don’t think I can deal with my mom’s mopey passive-aggression or my dad’s obtuse “Duuuuh why don’t u like me?” bullshit for that long.


*Although, my parents are really really into appearances. It’s entirely possible that they’d keep me in their will no matter what because if they left their money to someone else, or to a charity, people might talk.


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A treatise on love

The Pedant just called me, I think to check up on me since I told him I’d had a rough day. He didn’t exactly say that. I picked up the phone and he said “what’s up?” and I thought dude you called ME… and then I realized he was probably inviting me to vent about my day, in his own inscrutable way.

He mentioned that he and one of his other partners had a falling out because he triggered PTSD symptoms in her (via text, I guess) and when she requested that he come over and snuggle her to help them go away, he felt uncomfortable and wouldn’t do it.

It’s really hard for me to grasp his issue there because I think he doesn’t really grasp it, himself. I mean I asked him what the deal was and he said something like “I’m not good at snuggling people to make them feel better.” Which, um…he’d just spent a day and two nights recharging my batteries through snuggling. He clearly knows how to shut up and snuggle a person. But maybe he didn’t realize I had emotional reasons behind needing the snuggles?

I asked him why he finds it so difficult to cuddle a person who needs cuddling and he kept saying he felt like he would screw it up. And I kept saying “But if someone tells you exactly what they need and you do it, what’s the problem?” And finally he said the issue is he doesn’t understand the need for snuggles; he doesn’t know why someone would want such a thing or how it soothes unpleasant emotions. And again I said: “But if someone tells you exactly what they need and you do it, what’s the problem?” He said again that he doesn’t understand the process at all; he doesn’t understand how what he’s doing is supposed to help. “So it’s a fear of failure thing? You worry that there are nuances you’re not getting so you won’t actually give the person what they need?” He said no, that’s not it, he just needs to understand how it all works and he doesn’t.

“But you don’t have to understand, as long as someone gives clear instructions,” I argued. “If someone says ‘I need you to go stand on that red square until I tell you to stand on the blue square,’ and you do it, you have done the thing they needed. You don’t need to know what the red or blue squares do in order to stand on them .It might be nice to know the mechanics of it all, but it’s not necessary.”

The Pedant said – not for the first time – that previous partners found it really alienating that he didn’t understand them, and they’d get mad at him for it. It’s not clear to me, then, whether his thing of “needing to understand” is that he won’t do a thing unless he can see the logic behind it, or that he feels like he “needs to understand” because if he doesn’t then the other person will get mad at him. I think maybe the latter, since he’s certainly done plenty of comforting things for me without apparently understanding why they comfort me.

I think at this point he even asked me something like “wouldn’t it bother you to know that I’d just comforted you without really having any idea what you were going through or why you felt comforted?” – or maybe not, but somehow the idea came up (again, not for the first time; this is all old territory for us) that it’s more important to me that someone gives me what I need simply because I told them to. I don’t necessarily care if they understand my reasons. It’s not really relevant. The relevant thing is that they want me to be happy so when I said “this is the thing that will make me happy,” they did it. There was a long pause and The Pedant said something like “You seem better adjusted to that side of me than most people are.” That made me feel pretty good.

But the conversation made me have an epiphany about love in general. Or at least, it helped me to articulate some thoughts that have been rattling around in my head for a long time.

I’ve had partners who refused to do a thing for me unless they understood it. It’s like, “Well I don’t have any problems being in crowded spaces, so it’s stupid that you do and I won’t accommodate you in any way.”

So for a long time, I looked for partners who would understand my issues so I wouldn’t run into that sort of self-centred stubbornness again. But really, if someone only does certain things for me because it’s what he would want for himself, that’s still essentially self-centred.*

It strikes me that a person who does the things I want and need because I said I want and need them, without even understanding why I want and need them, is acting the most purely out of love. The gestures they make are to make me happy, not to satisfy their idea of justice or logic. It’s an acceptance of who I am, and an acknowledgement that I might not work the same as they do but my needs and feelings are valid anyway.

So as long as The Pedant does the things I want, I wouldn’t trade him for someone who “understands” my anxiety and depression on whatever gut level he seems to think he should. Also, his lack of empathy (yet willingness to help) means that he stays calm when I’m panicking. This is infinitely more useful to me than someone channeling my panic along with me.

He’s not without his problems but still…I think I’ll keep him.


*I do realize that a person can do a thing both because they empathize and because they want to make me happy. But it might be difficult to parse which thing motivates them more…


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The Pedant came over from Sunday night to Tuesday morning and it was mostly very nice. We had the Netflix cuddlepets I’d been missing and craving and I feel somewhat restored now.

He made a major misstep though that did put a bit of a damper on things.

My parents visited a few weeks ago and it’s been bringing up a lot of old anger and resentments for me ever since. The Pedant hates his parents, too, so he gets it. It’s comforting to talk to him about this, usually, because he doesn’t roll out sentimental splooge about how I should love my parents just for being my parents, or how I should forgive them because they’re my parents.

So I mentioned in passing that I wish my dad would just hurry up and die already and The Pedant said “Well, you could do some things to help that along…” I said yeah, maybe if I saw them more often so I could slip trace amounts of poison in his food or something, but what could I possibly do from over here in another city? He said “Star in some porn and send it to him.”

This is the second time now that The Pedant has suggested using my body or sexuality against my dad in some way. The first was a while back when I told The Pedant how my parents – especially my dad – used to barge into my room all the time without knocking and The Pedant said I should contrive to be calmly lounging around naked. He said he did that before to embarrass his mom and make her stop barging in. I told him that my dad said and did some sexually inappropriate things to me when I was young, so basically there’s a good chance that barging in on me naked wouldn’t horrify him, it would give him fap fodder, so NO.

So The Pedant knew that I had I suspected my dad might have sexual feelings for me, and still he thought it was funny to suggest I send my dad a video of me having sex. I mean I guess he forgot about this particular piece of my baggage. It seems crazy that someone could forget me saying “I think my day might have wanted to fuck me” because that is not exactly a casual piece of information. But he must have forgotten, otherwise he wouldn’t have ever thought his porn suggestion would make sense.

I received his suggestion like a slap in the mouth. I just reeled and stared at him in disbelief with my eyes tearing up.

“Too far?” The Pedant asked.

“You know that my father was sexually inappropriate with me when I was growing up. You know I’m afraid that he wanted to do things to me. And you felt it was a good idea to suggest that I send him a video of my gaping cunt?!”

“Ah, okay. I’m sorry.” The Pedant put his hand on my leg and moved it soothingly back and forth.

We talked about things for a while. The Pedant opined that my dad probably did sexually abuse me and I blocked it out. I guess he thinks that if nothing had ever actually happened, I wouldn’t still have the anger and hangups that I do.

I disagree. I’ve been living in a different city from my parents – with pretty minimal contact – for over 20 years now. I’ve had plenty of time to feel safe and get my bearings away from the people who hurt me. I think if something was gonna surface from my subconscious, it would have by now. And I think it’s plenty justified for me to still feel skeeved out and angry over the questionable-but-not-actually-sexual-abuse things that did happen.

The Pedant and I talked some more about the things that happened back then and I began to wind down a bit but I’ve been having random flashbacks ever since and this is directly because of The Pedant putting the idea in my head of my father seeing a tape of me having sex. So I’m still kind of pissed off. And also so very exhausted.

Today, right after The Pedant and I parted company, I had an appointment at a mental hospital. I’ve been referred for a free group therapy program and they had to conduct a huge long interview to see if I qualify. It ended up running four and a half hours and involved still more dredging up of the past. I cried several times. And then when I got home I bumped into one of my asshole neighbours in the hallway and tried to have a discussion about a complaint he’d made about me to the landlord. The good news is, he was only mildly belligerent with me. The way he screams at his partner/wife-person made me afraid he’d have a temper with everyone. The bad news is, he is too stupid to grasp the very simple concept I was trying to explain to him, and believes (still) that I’ve been negligent in my tenant duties when I have not.

I’m so drained right now. So very drained. Goddamn.

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I think my mental issues are acting up. I’m cranky as fuck and feeling doomed and I’m not sure there’s much of a good reason for any of it.

But, can I just say, my body is fucking falling apart.

When I was in high school I took a Gender Issues course (not “Women’s Studies” because, as the teacher said, the patriarchy doesn’t just fuck women over, it fucks men over too and this class examined all of that). The teacher told us (the class was all chicks) that as we got older we’d be deemed less fuckable by men, and thus be functionally invisible, and that this would catch us by surprise and be really offputting and frustrating.

I never really believed that, first off because I was eighteen and thought I was invincible, secondly because as I began to age and be somewhat “invisible” I actually loved it (not feeling sexually appraised everywhere I went, way less street harassment), thirdly because despite point #2 I never actually felt unfuckable. Yeah, random strangers stopped seeing me as a piece of meat, but I still had no shortage of dates when I wanted them. And anyway there are tons of actresses in their 40s who are still considered hot and fuckable. A sort of “seasoned” mature face doesn’t seem to put dudes off any.

And, okay, I’m still getting tail easily enough. So my bodily changes apparently aren’t driving suitors away (although every time I have a mental or physical ailment of any kind lately, The Pedant has suggested working out as a solution, which is starting to piss me off. I think he’s not-so-subtly hinting that he wishes I were back at the weight I was a year or two ago). I will say though that I haven’t had a guy make moon eyes at me and call me beautiful in a long time. I kinda feel like my appearance these days is less “hot” to guys and more “ehhh, good enough.”

What I’d previously thought was me defying my teacher’s grim prophecy by being hot, fuckable, visible, and middle-aged was, I think, me seeming hot etc. because I passed for ten years younger.

But suddenly my years have caught up with me and I’m kind of hitting the wall.

I’ve gained 40lbs even though I’ve had the same food and exercise habits for years. I have that cellulite texture on my upper arms now. I think I’m gaining weight differently than I used to, in that I’ve been this weight (or close to it) before and my calves and lower belly weren’t this big. My face looks noticeably older than it did five years ago. My sex drive is wonkus and my clit doesn’t get hard anymore and the doctor I saw about this basically shrugged and said “You’re in your 40s. It’s probably just age-related sexual dysfunction, same as men get.*” I’m pretty sure my tits have fallen a notch lower (although the weight gain has made them two sizes bigger, which I admit has been kinda fun). I heal crazy slowly these days, which I thought was a symptom of a food sensitivity maybe but the dietician I saw didn’t seem to think so and when I told my doctor “I’ve had this bruise on my leg since January” she didn’t seem particularly fazed (I think it may have been The Bunny who suggested, “maybe you’re just old.”) My circulation seems to be going downhill; my feet are always cold and my hands have started falling asleep all the time when I’m not even sitting in that weird of a position. I actually wonder if circulation issues are the issue behind my slow healing; most of the shit that won’t heal is on my shins. Wounds elsewhere on my body have healed faster. My vision is changing – I already wore glasses but now it bugs me to try to focus through them on anything closer than arm’s length so I’ve been taking them off a lot when I eat meals with people and stuff, so I feel like I can properly see them. But focusing on really close-up stuff is hard, too.

When people ask my age now, they don’t get surprised by the answer. And I’m scared for my career prospects because as much as people tell me I’m a good art model, I don’t know for sure how much people dig me for my work or how much of it was related to my actual figure/face/etc. which is now rapidly changing. I feel like every artists’ blog I see is full of life drawings that just happen to be of thin women with conventionally attractive proportions and I wonder if I’m doomed.

But anyway. Obviously all this stupid shit my body is doing isn’t ever going to be fun, but I’m kinda thinking it’s my depression and anxiety that are making me this bummed out about it all. But I don’t know for sure and it feels like the only way to tell is to wait it out and see if my mood lifts on its own. Feh.


*Which I refuse to believe, by the way. I’ve been having these issues for years – since my mid-to-late thirties. Men in their mid-to-late thirties aren’t known for having erectile dysfunction, and I didn’t think it was really that big a problem even for men in their forties. Plus it feels like most other women talk about being huge horndogs at this age so WTF? Plus I’ve had legit psychologically shitty things happen to me that could easily cause sexual issues. And I told all this to the doctor, yet his diagnosis was still “meh, you’re old” which feels really fucking dismissive.

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Despite my ham-handed sexing of The Pedant, when I asked if he:d generally liked being gagged and thought it was worth doing again, he issued a decisive “yes.” Which is good news for two reasons: 1) He clearly still trusts me to handle his delicate  bits even when he’s physically unable to give direction and 2) I rather liked gagging him, too, so I’m glad he’s down to do it again.

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Apparently I was off my game yesterday. The Pedant told me this morning that I’d been focusing too much attention on the head of his cock during that hand job (and during a subsequent one a few hours later) and it had been uncomfortably intense. I could swear I’ve done the same thing before and he liked it. Maybe I was too intense from the getgo this time and should have built things up slower.

Ditto with the anal stuff – he said it was too vigorous but I’ve definitely gotten to that level before and he loved it. It’s been so long since I saw him that I got overeager and started too strong, I guess.

He told me that when I was giving him that second handjob and he eventually begged off, saying I’d “worn him out,” he hadn’t meant that he was still spent from the last one. He’d meant that I’d burned out his cock from too much stimulation.

“I’m familiar with the concept from times you rammed the Hitachi right against the tip of my clit,” I said pointedly. He protested that it’s hard to orient himself and he was aiming for the side of the shaft. I told him that if you swipe at my clit upward from underneath – as he was in the habit of doing, back in the day, with the Hitachi – that’s gonna put it against the tip. Plus I would tell him “no no up a little ow” but he’d keep doing it.

We sat there for a while and I realized I was kind of seething with rage. My first instinct was to squish it down so as not to sour the visit but I feel like I’ve been doing that entirely too much lately. And anyway if I feel ragey, the visit is already soured. For me, anyway. Souring it for the other person probably won’t make it worse for me, and might even make it better.

So finally I said something like “This conversation is bringing some feelings up for me. In the past you’ve acted like I should enjoy what previous partners have enjoyed, or ignored my instructions, or there was even the time you were like ‘well, I was wearing that vibrating cock ring during sex, so why didn’t you come?’ as though literally anything touching my clit in any way should get me off. And yet, you get to have preferences. And I certainly would never sit there wailing on the head of your cock way too hard going ‘well, why aren’t you coming? I’m touching your penis, aren’t I? What’s the problem?’. Or pat you on the thigh and say ‘are you gonna come from this? I want you to come’ which is the equivalent of some of the stuff you’ve said to me.”

A few minutes passed and he didn’t say anything. I realized I didn’t really need him to say anything. I just needed him to hear me vent.

Well actually an apology would be nice. It’s been over a year since I had it out with him over his terrible sexing – and it’s come up several times since – and I’m fairly sure he’s only ever tried to dodge responsibility and make excuses, never owned up and apologized.

But I don’t think he really even grasps what he did wrong (still!) and I can’t expect an apology until he does. And maybe hearing me directly compare my body and its preferences to his – and thinking about how he’d feel if his preferences were repeatedly ignored – will finally make him get it.

So I just let my words sink in awhile and then changed the subject to happier things. I hope my words keep percolating inside his head, though.

In other news, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how so many guys act like their sexual pleasure is a right and a given in an encounter and a woman’s pleasure is kind of “extra.” And when The Pedant and I started fooling around for the second time this visit, I decided I wanted to be the centre of attention for a while (for a change…) and I had him caress my body until I was all squirmy and happy. At which time The Pedant murmured “feeling better?” as though my wish to be, y’know, physically stimulated during makeouts instead of tending to his inert body, was this affliction or brief moment of madness and he was checking in to see if he’d cured it and things could get back to normal.

I just…I can’t with this. I can’t even.

Aside from those hiccups, my time with The Pedant made me feel recharged and generally gave me what I needed. And when I said that I’m dying for a Netflix marathon with him and I’m free all next week, he indicated that he would give me whatever day off he had.

He’s resumed his regular phone contact with me, too, presumably because he’s adhering to that list I sent of what I need to be happy with him. I sorta wonder if his insistence on taking me to sushi was part of that, as well. Him feeding me is on the list.


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I needed that…

Pedant visit is good so far. He took me out for sushi even though I said I had food here we could have for dinner. Picked up cat food after – a dozen cans because it gets me a discount – and he volunteered to carry them home for me.

Once home, I was supposed to help trim his hair where it’s gotten a bit shaggy but I ended up draining his life force through his cock instead and now he’s passed out.😀

I dunno, man. I’ve been getting a fair bit of sex and kink lately – there’s Mine, there’s The Jock, and also a play partner from a year ago resurfaced and I spent an evening making him beg to come – but it’s all been feeling a bit…empty. Or ephemeral, maybe, is the word.

The Jock is fun and affectionate, but feels like a fuckbuddy; we met over coffee but after that, every get-together was him coming over, helping me clean my apartment a bit, and then us doing naked stuff. I can’t picture snuggling up in front of a movie with him (although a big part of that is that he works like three jobs and can only spare me a few hours at a time – and if I have to choose between a movie and naked funtimes I’m generally gonna go for the latter).

Mine is…I dunno. He’ll go a month without contacting me and then suddenly text me every day for a while. And his personality fluctuates a bit, too – when I first began to fall in love with him, it’s because a sly sense of humour and wicked intelligence began to peek out from under his big doofy quiet facade. But then for a long while I couldn’t access those bits – he was mostly quiet and when we did have conversations they were all surface and didn’t show his sense of humour at all. So I kind of lost interest.

Recently he’s been acting all into me again and having deep talks with me and he told me he loved me. I am…hovering at the edge of feeling things. But he’s so inconsistent that it’s like I can’t relax into the relationship. Not that I think he’s gonna bolt. He just seems to run a bit hot and cold and his awesome personality is often hidden behind a wall.

The other guy I mentioned – the one I made beg to come (and used like three bucks’ worth of lube in the process) is severely overscheduled in his work and his relationships and I feel like I’m very much an afterthought.

So none of these guys is someone I’d give a relationship status to on FetLife, is what I’m saying. And I don’t love any of them. And love does indeed make sex better.

I would really like to have a second person who is a bona fide relationship. Who loves me and I love him and we’re committed to making it work. Someone who can see me more often than The Pedant does, and who is more verbally effusive.

But The Pedant is what I have. He’s socially weird and emotionally awkward but he’s been in my life for I think four or five years, all told. I love him and under duress he has admitted that he loves me back. When he sleeps over he wraps his entire body around mine all night long.

And so I haven’t been pent up sexually lately, but I’ve been way pent up for intimacy and security. The Pedant and I got home from sushi and as usual I sat on the couch and watched him undress but once he was stripped to the waist I just craved skin-on-skin contact with him so badly that I strode across the room, pushed him up against my closed bedroom door, and started kissing him and running my hands over him. Drinking him in. Crushing him in my arms to feel the solidity of him, the cage of bones under his pretty surface.

As one might predict, he immediately melted under my touch and became completely incoherent; what I’d intended as a brief makeout before we got down to the business of cutting his hair turned into an epic gropefest. But even after we’d had a bit of a cool-down period – I had to pee and in the meantime he put the freshly laundered sheets back on my bed – when I asked I he’d like to get the haircut over with or proceed with the bedroom stuff, he made a tiny gutteral noise and pulled me up against him.

The Pedant had bought a silicone gag (not exactly a ball gag – picture more like a big baby’s pacifier on a strap) ages and ages ago and I’d never used it because I love his sounds too much. He requested it a few visits ago but at the time I declined because I really wanted to kiss him and the times after that I was loving his moans too much. But it’s obvious by his request that the idea of being gagged is A Thing for him and he didn’t just pick up the gag on a whim. So I knew I wanted to indulge him sooner or later.

Tonight was the night. Overall I enjoyed I enjoyed it more than I’d expected to. The gag looked kinda hot on him and I think it allowed him to be more abandoned in his sounds; although his vocalizations were muffled they were also louder than usual so the net effect for me was the same.

Once he was gagged I tied him down and began to ride, which quickly turned me on to a point where I decided to bring my Hitachi into the mix. First I sat up a bit so I could hold it where I needed it; then I sandwiched it between us and basically humped it. The latter got me really close to coming but I kept psyching myself out. The motion I need in order to get off is more of a fast wiggle than a thrust, so The Pedant usually goes soft immediately (actually, why am I treating that like it’s logical? When we make out he stays hard without me even touching him; why, then, does he need constant thrusting to keep it up during sex?).

So I kept wondering if The Pedant’s cock was gonna give out on me and feeling performance anxiety because of all the times he wouldn’t shut up about really, really wanting me to come during sex (even sex where the Hitachi wasn’t in the mix and I was just thrusting up and down, like my clit was suddenly gonna explode from being basically tapped on at intervals…).

Finally I gave up on coming and set the Hitachi aside. The Pedant had indeed gone soft (to his credit he’d held out longer than he usually does when I’m grinding up on him) so I dismounted and switched to a hand job.

And since I had him as a captive audience who couldn’t talk back, I started riffing. I said something like, “I got really close there. With a little more practice I feel like I could get off from that. And hey, that’s an advantage of me gagging you: I can shut your fuckin’ mouth and use your body the way I need to without the pressure or performance anxiety of you telling me how much you want me to come. I can keep you from expressing opinions on my orgasms entirely, in fact. No more telling me when I should have them or saying ‘oh come from this come now’ when you’re doing nothing even close to what it would take. Just you shutting up and being a good little piece of sex furniture for me.”

Who knows how much of that he retained since we were in the heat of the moment. But it felt good to vent.

As I worked The Pedant’s cock with my hand I idly circled a fingertip over his asshole and that elicited such a little storm of breathing and hip thrusts that I just had to take things further. Soon my gloved, lubed finger was up to the hilt inside him.

My goal was to take him to the edge of coming a few times and then over. I think I managed this, although I may have been too conservative in my estimation of where the “edge” was (since his sounds were altered by the gag and also he obviously couldn’t tell me he was close in words). But three or four times I stroked him steadily until his eyes rolled back and his ass gripped my finger…and then I let go of his cock and just kept moving the finger inside him for a bit until his sounds calmed and his grip relaxed and then I started stroking him again.

Then I decided it was time, and I built him back up to the point of gasping and clenching and thrashing and this time I didn’t let go of his cock. He seemed to be on the edge for quite a while and I wondered whether he was holding back and waiting for permission. “I want you to come for me,” I said, and I’m not sure if that did it but he did come soon after that. And holy shit he fought me hard – I knew he liked to struggle sometimes but I’ve never seen him twist and buck so violently. I think it was a combo of him feeling more abandoned with the gag on, and me directly stimulating him all the way through his orgasm. Beyond it a little, even; I kept sliding my lubed hand slowly over the head until he screamed.

I know, though, that for the most part it’s just really really inense for him and not painful. Or maybe it’s intensely pleasurable but painful at the same time…the trick is to stop just as it clicks over into ONLY pain, and I believe I hit the mark fairly well.

And then I undid his restraints and passed him the dildo so I could get my turn.

But yeah. Epic sex. I am tremendously satisfied and in love right now. And the gag was fun. And I totally wanna try the Hitachi humping-sex with Mine, who’s always let my body behave how it needs to instead of trying to regulate the method, frequency, and appearance of my orgasms to suit himself. If I can just get my body used to the mechanics of coming that way with someone non-judgmental, that’s one hurdle surmounted. Then I can work at pushing through my performance anxiety with The Pedant.


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