The Dandy and I had sex this morning. As things were ramping up, I lamented (as I sometimes do) the fact that I need to use condoms with him.

(All the birth control options for women suck and I don’t want to use them. The Dandy won’t get a vasectomy. So we’re at an impasse. The Pedant has a vasectomy but when he moved in with Raver Chick he transferred the fluid bonding privileges from me to her. I miss being barrier-free with someone I love. It sucks, especially since there’s such an assumption that a loving long-term relationship automatically means going barrier-free, and that being barrier-free is more intimate and means the relationship is more serious.)

After the sex, I asked The Dandy what I feel like inside. He is generally not given to purple prose but I figured even if he just said “tight” or “slippery” or “ridgy” or whatever, it would probably give me something to fap to. I’m usually a cis-dude in my fap fantasies. I wanted to hear what it’s like to have a penis and be inside someone.

Unfortunately, The Dandy just loves to be a fucking brat with me. So when I asked him what my insides feel like, he said “latex.” Which is in really poor taste considering I’d just goddamn told him twenty minutes before how much I wished we could be skin-to-skin. Also though it opened up all those old wounds about how barrier-free is supposed to be more intimate and blah blah blah.

When I explained this to The Dandy and said how dispiriting it was to feel like he might as well be fucking a balloon instead of me, he said that no, a balloon can’t look longingly at him so I am definitely better. Which is mushier than he’ll usually get with me, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I was also really hoping he’d say “Okay okay I was mostly kidding, condoms dull sensations a bit but obviously I still do feel things. You see me having huge orgasms with you and it’s not just because I think you’re a neat person.” He didn’t, though; not then and not later that day when I revisited the subject. He said that of course sex makes him feel close to me, and that unprotected sex isn’t the be-all and end-all, and that sex with is better than the (unprotected) sex with Dandette was. But he never took back the idea that he can’t feel anything at all with me but the texture of the condom.

Also, how weird that in a conversation about me wishing we didn’t have to use condoms, he chose me “looking at him with longing” as the thing that elevates our sensation-free condomed sex to being worthwhile. He couldn’t have chosen anything else about me? “Longing” specifically implies that I want something I’m not getting. Is the sadist in him getting off on the fact that I want us to be barrier free but we can’t? I asked him about this and he said no, he meant more like me looking at him like I want him. Fair enough, I guess. Weird that he chose the word “longing” instead of “lust” or anything else though.

Meh, I haven’t been sleeping well. I think I’m getting a bit paranoid.


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New boy

There was a student at one of the colleges where I work who I always thought was cute. Nothing unusual there; plenty of the guys who draw me are cute.

We friended each other on Facebook; quite a few work-related people have friended me or vice-versa.

And he recently asked if I wanted to hang out over a beverage or something. That, I didn’t expect. I recently joined a poly-dating-oriented group on Facebook and he turned out to be a member already, and the invite came soon after we interacted there, so I figure he realized we had more than just art in common and decided he’d ask me on a date. He’d dropped out of college by that point, so we won’t be working together, so I said okay.

Dating gives me such a headache sometimes; that whole thing of trying to figure out if I’m into a guy or not, or into him for the right reasons or not.

When I first met up with the new guy (I guess we’ll call him The Artist) – he came to his ex-school as my shift there ended, and we headed out to dinner together. Right from the getgo he was so talkative I could barely get a word in edgewise – just volleying his personality and opinions at me. I hate when guys do that (and yeah, a lot of them do). It’s like it doesn’t occur to them to be curious about me at all; they’ve decided they’re interested in me for whatever reason and now it’s time to force-feed me their entire brains and see how I react.

So during that first five or ten minutes of hanging out with The Artist, I thought “Ohhh shit this is not working for me but I still have all of dinner to get through.” I mean I suppose I could’ve just been like “NOPE” and walked away and gone home, but that would’ve felt pretty awkward and insulting.

I guess The Artist was just nervous, though. As time went on, his constant stream of chatter eased up a bit and sometimes he asked me questions about myself. Overall the conversation still skewed in his direction.

God, I guess at this point in my life I’m just suckered in by guys who are ready for a relationship and clear about their intentions. The Artist spent a lot of time talking about video games he enjoys, and they weren’t the typical first-person-shooter type things that I think of when I think of “gamers” but I still couldn’t get that interested in what he was saying. But he also spent a lot of time not-so-subtly laying out potential relationship groundwork: talking about his attitudes toward dating and what he’s looking for in a person and stuff like that. When I said I have two cats he said maybe he could meet them someday. He talked about his emotions to a larger extent than most guys do – even the ones I’m currently in relationships with. And, I mean, he is really cute. And I found myself slipping into relationship audition mode, myself; dropping hints or saying outright what I want in a partner and asking him pointed questions about things to figure out if he’d be suitable for me. We seem to have compatible attitudes so far.

Also…he accompanied me to my door after, which meant taking a bus fifteen minutes out of his way and then taking it back again alone to where we’d just been so he could go home. On the bus, I commented that he was nice and warm (I could feel his body heat from where our thighs were touching) and he said (not in a lascivious voice or anything) that I could feel free to warm myself up on him however I wanted. I burrowed one of my hands under his long hair to the back of his neck and kept it there for a minute or two. A bit later on our bus ride he explicitly told me that he asked to hang out because he thinks I’m cute (I guess just in case I thought it was strictly a friends-hangout). I said I thought he was cute, too. At the front door of my building he gave me a tremendous hug: warm and long and sincere-feeling. When we finally pulled apart I was sorta monitoring his face for signs that he wanted to kiss and I didn’t see anything obvious so I didn’t make a move. Neither did he. I like this, though. I’ve been having a tendency lately to kiss someone I’m interested in at the earliest possible time, and it’s starting to feel kind of boring and routine. Nice to draw out the tension for a bit.

When I got home he messaged me on Facebook requesting pics of my cats, which I provided. I thanked him for accompanying me right to my door like that and said I really liked that. He said “you’re welcome” and that we ought to hang out again soon and maybe he’d even take me out on a more formal date. So I guess he sees some potential here.

Then the next night at like 2am I was on Facebook and he messaged me asking at what point he ought to perceive my being up as a sign of procrastination/anxiety and tell me to go to bed (on our date I’d mentioned how sometimes anxiety keeps me up all night). Some might interpret this as presumptuous (and upon reflection I wonder if it is in fact coming from a presumptuous place) but TBH my initial reaction was “Holy shit, he’s striving to understand my anxiety and help me with it. He’s trying to customize himself to my needs.” And my knees went all wibbly.

(I am very into the idea of people I like customizing themselves to me and vice-versa. Like not compromising our actual personalities but learning the other person and adjusting to what they need. Almost every day I’m asking The Dandy stuff like “are you a person who needs to be alone for a while to decompress after work, or can we immediately start watching Netflix together?” or “when you’re sad, do you need distraction, snuggles, alone-time, someone to talk it out with, or what?” He doesn’t ask me those things back, though. Neither does The Pedant. If I tell them what I need in various situations they try to remember to do it, but they don’t actively try to figure my shit out so they can adapt to it. And sometimes the one-sidedness of that makes me sad.)

So this is what it’s come down to: I’m thinking of dating a guy who doesn’t share a lot of my interests and who is sometimes a bit boring and who talks over me, but who is cute and openly interested and seems relationship-ready and is making an effort to impress me. I can’t tell if my standards are too low or if I’m thinking outside the box in a good way. For a long time I thought common interests were the holy grail of relationship compatibility, but my longest current relationship is with The Pedant, who seems to come from a whole different planet. Maybe the only real criterion to bother looking for in a relationship is someone who treats you well and actively works at making you happy.

The Artist just turned 27, btw. I turn 45 soon. The hilarious thing is, 27 doesn’t seem that young to me – it feels like “Ehhh, well he’s definitely a grown-up and he’s probably had some failed relationships and other key life experiences by now, so I don’t feel like our age difference will be too big a deal.” Then I did the math and realized he’s eighteen years younger. That…is a lot. But oh well.

Incidentally, the day before my date with The Artist, I met up with a 21yo from Fetlife who’d put up an ad a while back as a sub looking for a dominant woman. I really need someone to give me massages on a regular basis – someone with far, far stronger hands than The Dandy or The Pedant – so I wrote to him asking if he might like being my massage-slave. He said that sounded very much relevant to his interests.

The 21yo was cute and personable and I enjoyed talking to him. Midway through our coffee date, when I changed the direction of our conversation from small talk to a pointed question about his massage skills, he said “…Actually I just realized that I don’t really have time for anyone new right now. I already have a dominant I see a couple of times a week plus some play partners plus I’m dating vanilla, too, so…” I thanked him for his honesty and said that I enjoyed meeting him anyway and if his schedule ever clears up, to get back in touch.

But yeah…earlier in the convo that kid also made some pretty red-flaggy statements implying that D/s to him was a dirty secret and he’d never want an actual relationship with a dominant, especially not one with an age gap (referring to that dominant he sees a lot, who is in her 30s) because what would people think?!?ย  …I forged ahead with our date anyway because I just wanted some massages, not a life partner, but I felt some trepidation; a guy that conflicted and Madonna/whore-y is a guy who’ll probably drop out of my life the second a vanilla chick wants to date him. And then he said the thing about how actually he didn’t have time for me anyway.

So that bizarro-rejection and general lack of commitment may have primed me to be smitten with The Artist, who seems to like me and want to make time for me.

The Artist doesn’t know yet that I’m dominant, mind you. Statistically speaking, he’s probably not submissive, so I likely won’t get any D/s needs met with him. Still, though – if he continues doing stuff like accompanying me all the way home just to make sure I get there safely, he’ll probably push a few of my buttons anyway. (And yes, I will tell him I’m dominant. I just don’t want to do it unless it seems like things are going somewhere.)


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Rough night last night. I don’t wanna be here typing forever so I hope I can vent relatively quickly. But the storytelling does get away from me sometimes.

Some context for the first part: shortly after I broke up with my husband back in the day, I withdrew a few hundred bucks from our joint account together (the only account either of us had) and opened a new account at that same bank for just me. I was very clear that I was leaving my husband and this new account had nothing to do with the joint account at all. And yet a short while later I got a charge on that account that I didn’t recognize – and it turned out to be one of Ex’s bills. “Oh yes,” said the helpful idiot at the bank, “We linked your account to the joint account so that if there’s not enough money in one of them to cover an automatic withdrawal, it automatically comes out of the other, instead. It’s a safeguard to keep you from being charged NSF fees.”

So obviously I was fucking furious with the bank for linking the two accounts when I had specifically said not to. I was also pretty pissed off that I’d been made to pay one of Ex’s bills when he made six figures and I made $20/hr and was entirely supporting myself for the first time in almost a decade. So frustrating that he made so much and mismanaged his money so fucking badly that it fell to me to bail him out. But it was only forty bucks and it’s not like I hated Ex. I decided that if paying that bill helped Ex out then it was worth the small sacrifice (I did get the bank to unlink our accounts so it wouldn’t happen again, though).

Except when I talked to Ex about this and asked him what the bill was even for, it turned out to be for his pager service. “Wait, your pager broke months ago though.” Yep. “So…you’ve been paying forty bucks a month for a service you’re not using. Except for this month, when I paid for a service you’re not using.” Yep, he kept forgetting to call them and cancel.ย  And so I became pissed off again.

Back to the present: when Dandette left, she took the Xbox that had been our Netflix conduit. The Dandy and I set up my Apple TV unit from my old place so we could continue to have Netflix…except I didn’t know the password for our account and neither did The Dandy. And at the time he seemed really gung ho to cut Dandette out of his life completely, and didn’t want to text her asking for the password.

So fine, I reinstated my old account. The Dandy makes six figures and I make approximately $20/hr (and I don’t even work full-time hours like I did when I was married) so I would have preferred that he keep on being the one to foot the Netflix bill, but I damn sure didn’t want him opening up communications with Dandette in order to do so. I would make this sacrifice in order to keep him/us safe.

Except then he went ahead and hung out with Dandette one night socially. And had a phase of thinking he wanted to continue to be friends with her. So what the fuck am I spendingย  money on Netflix for?! He was on perfectly good speaking terms with her and could have just asked for her fucking password.

Anyway. The other night I asked him where he stands at this point on the idea of being friends with Dandette. He said he wants to remain on civil terms but sees no reason to have her be a part of his life. So that’s good; I hope he keeps on thinking that.

Last night, I asked if he’d cancelled his Netflix account yet. He said he hadn’t. And we got into a bit of a fight about it. The Dandy has no problem making phone calls or dealing with bureaucracy so it seems to me there must be another reason for him not having dealt with this by now. I said that if he’s keeping the account so Dandette can use it – if he wants to throw her that crumb because he feels sorry for her or whatever – well, it’s his money and he can do what he wants with it. I don’t care too much. But I want to know.

Apparently – for some fucking reason – the Netflix account is in Dandette’s name, even though it’s The Dandy’s credit card attached to it. And The Dandy insists that the only way he can stop paying that bill is to cancel his credit card and get a new one with a different number, which would be a huge inconvenience to us.

I’m not entirely sure this is true, and I think it’s worth a try to call Netflix up, explain the situation, and at least try to get the card taken off the account.

The Dandy apparently has been having a rough time at work lately and is perpetually worn out, so me asking him to do this extra thing infuriated him. He got angrier at me than I think I’ve ever seen him get, and although he was controlled about it – he flung his arms up and started to raise his voice with me but then walked away from me instead – it rattled me.

After a few minutes collecting himself he came back calmer and explained his feelings to me and we hugged. He said that aside from the inconvenience factor in cancelling the Netflix account, Dandette is probably using it and if he cuts it off she’ll probably freak out, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. He said the monthly amount is basically nothing to him so it’s just easier to maintain the status quo.

This still leaves me feeling bitter that I’m spending money that doesn’t really need to be spent, and wondering how long Dandette’s shadow will hang over us. I really want the two of them to be severed from each other’s lives entirely but there’s this one stupid thread connecting them still (and how long will The Dandy allow this? Will he pay her Netflix bill for months? Years? The rest of his life?). What other threads (aside from the obvious one of her still having a bunch of her stuff at our place) will end up surfacing?

But it is The Dandy’s money and The Dandy’s choice. And if he’s of a mind not to talk to her then far be it from me to make him message her asking for the password to her account so we can keep using it. Truth be told it’s convenient having my old account back again, anyway; it has a few years of history on it, so the system is better at recommending other things I’d like and stuff.


A bit later, I had an entirely unrelated talk with The Dandy about how my anxiety seems to be spiraling lately and I hate it. I don’t sleep properly but I’m not napping during the day, either, or getting anything productive done. I sit on the internet all day trying to use it to drown out my thoughts. And I don’t even know what I’m anxious about; my life is pretty good, actually. So am I just doomed never to be happy?

The Dandy pointed out that I’ve been pretty obsessed lately with the idea that my body is breaking down – I threw my back out a while back and injured my arm and neither of those things seems to be healing particularly quickly or well. When he said that, I immediately burst into tears, so I’d say he hit the nail on the head.

My crying wound down. I felt deeply messed up but also kind of numb and in slow-motion. When I’m like this, being held and petted is the fastest way to make me feel like a human again: stroking my upper back usually gives me some kind of braingasm within about five minutes and I have a huge stress-cry that lets all the yucky feelings out and then I feel amazingly better. Even just skin-to-skin contact with a loved one at these times makes me feel like I’ve been dying of thirst my entire life and their body is a lake I’m diving into – instant, desperate euphoria.

The Dandy had sat down at his computer, I’m guessing preparing to get on the internet and watch YouTube videos for another few hours until sleep (it was currently 1am and lately he’s been staying up until about 3). I was like “Spoon me plz” and he nodded. Or I thought he nodded. But when I sluggishly dragged myself to the bed and flopped down on it, he didn’t come to me. I lay there with every molecule in my body pulsating in need of his touch, just waiting for the rush of comfort and release I’d feel the minute he cuddled up against my back and put his arms around me, and he:

  • wandered out of the room to turn off all the lights that were on elsewhere in the apartment.
  • turned off his computer monitor.
  • plugged his phone in to charge.
  • fed the cats
  • took off each item of clothing he was wearing, folded it, and placed it in his dresser.

I’m probably missing some other little tasks he did. And he didn’t do any of this with any sense of urgency, either; he plodded. Did he even hear me when I said I needed to be spooned? Maybe he heard me tell him what I needed but then had a total brainfart about actually doing it, as has happened before?

The Dandy had finished putting each individual item of his clothing away and was now standing naked in the middle of the room. I think he may have been fiddling around taking the elastic band out of his hair to free it from its ponytail, but to my outraged eyes it looked like he was just fucking standing there with his hands on his head, surveying the room.

“You’re killing me right now,” I said.

“I’ll be there in a minute. I just need to finish doing some things,” The Dandy said. So he did understand that I was waiting to be spooned.

It was too much and my brain just kinda snapped. I got up and said “I give up” and started to cry. It appeared that my well-being was not a priority for The Dandy, and in fairness it’s nobody’s job to take care of me but me. A hot bath wouldn’t take me down to normal nearly as quickly as cuddling would have, but it would have to do. I started heading for the bathroom, still sobbing. The Dandy caught up to me, put his arms around me from behind.

I have to work tomorrow,” he said, like he was explaining something to a slightly stupid child. He says that to me, in that tone, kind of a lot. As if I don’t understand what work entails. As though I’m asking for some huge, life-ruining thing instead of, every damn time, a small favour that barely infringes on his time. “I wanted to get everything ready for the morning.”

He told me to come to bed. I kind of hated him at that point and didn’t want his affection anymore; too little, too late. But I went and lay down anyway.

The Dandy spooned me and I cried and cried and cried. Not the happiness-based release-cry I’d been gunning for when I first asked to be spooned. I was rage-sobbing. The Dandy has gone to sleep with lights on in the apartment a hundred times before; he’s gone to sleep with his clothes thrown on the floor. And yet tonight, when I desperately needed him, those things took precedence over my well-being. What the fuck.

When the first bout of crying wound down, I managed to say: “I have explicitly told you several times that I have a hard time asking for help with my anxiety and if I manage to ask, it means it’s an emergency. I’ve even specifically said that when I need to be spooned I need it immediately and it will break my heart if you opt to do something else instead. But you still didn’t do it.”

“I wanted to get everything ready for work tomorrow so it was all out of the way and I could cuddle you for as long as you needed and then just go to sleep.”

“It takes like five minutes to reset me when I’m like this. I just wanted to be in your arms and get petted until I had a stress-release cry and then I would’ve been pretty much better. And I waited and waited for you to come do that and you kept not coming.”

“I didn’t know. I thought you might need me for a long while so I was making sure I could accommodate that.”

“You didn’t tell me that, though. I told you I needed you and you just sort of wandered off, and I didn’t know if you’d heard me properly or you didn’t make the connection of what I wanted or what. That’s happened before. And most nights you stay up way later than this so I had no idea you were thinking of going to bed for the night, either.”

The Dandy petted me silently for a long time and then said “Sometimes I’m not great at communicating until ten minutes after the fact.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll ask you to come help me with something and you’ll say okay but then flat-out walk out of the room and not bother saying ‘I’m just gonna go hang up my coat and I’ll be right with you’ or anything like that. And I’m left there like ‘wait, what…?'”

The Dandy chuckled like he only just got how baffling and infuriating that stuff is from the other side. “I suppose I need to stop assuming people can read my mind.”

“Would you have an easier time narrating your thought processes to me if you pictured it in Morgan Freeman’s voice?”

“Ha! No. I dunno. I guess I just have to try to get into the habit of being more clear.”

He held me and petted me some more and I finally got the emotional release I needed and then I went to bed.

I appreciate that he’d understood I was in need and had been preparing himself to focus on me for a long time if necessary. Knowing that does make me feel better. But it still bugs the shit out of me that he didn’t clarify his intentions at the time, that he moved so slowly while doing these preparations, that he did shit like turning off all the lights before bed when he’s never really cared about that before. I don’t get it.

And I’m not entirely done feeling unsettled by how angry he’d gotten with me earlier.

And I think I’m gonna have to ask him why “I need to work!” comes up so often, with him.

I’m tired.




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While I was typing that last entry, The Dandy came into the room to tell me about his online shopping odyssey for a new computer mouse. This is the guy so independent and domly that he can’t stand being told what to do, remember.

I’m fresh off the experience of saying “come here and pet me alongside The Pedant” and him getting right up to come do it, though, and I’m increasingly curious just how blatantly demanding I can be without The Dandy seeming to notice. So as he stood in my doorway talking, I pointed two fingers at the waistband of his pajamas and drew them downward. I didn’t verbally ask to see his penis, let alone say please. I simply gestured at him to pull his pants down.

He didn’t pull them down. Too cumbersome, perhaps. Instead he pulled his junk out through the fly front and gyrated his hips at me so it jiggled appealingly.

So yeah. I gave The Dandy a hand-gesture command like I used to do with my dog, and I did it while The Dandy was mid-sentence with me, and he didn’t call me out on either of those things. He did what I wanted and then catered to me even further by doing a wee sexy dance for my enjoyment.

Obviously if I pointed any of this out it would probably bruise The Dandy’s domly pride and he’d get all huffy and stop doing this stuff, so I’m not gonna say anything. I’m just gonna silently enjoy it and hope his self-concept eventually catches up to reality so he can be more open about pleasing me and I don’t have to hear his spiels about how He Won’t Answer to Nobody, No Way, No How.

He may be dominant, but he certainly doesn’t mind doing things to please me sometimes, even if I state what I want without simpering or groveling.


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The suite – when The Pedant and I finally got down there – was disappointing in that it hadn’t been cleaned. The Pedant’s biggest reason for wanting a suite is his allergy to my cats; my biggest reason is how private and anonymous andย clean the space is. The Pedant was like “wait, you didn’t go inspect it when you got the keys?” I hadn’t. It honestly didn’t occur to me to do so; we’ve rented suites there three times before with no issues. And by this time the office was closed so we couldn’t go complain. I took pictures of the rumpled sheets and the disgusting brownish yellow high-tide line in the toilet bowl in case I needed to prove there was an issue, and then popped back upstairs to get clean sheets and towels from our place.

We ordered in Swiss Chalet and while we ate he talked about his big plans to buy a depilator and remove all his body hair. The Pedant is hairy. Like full-body-sweater hairy. And he doesn’t like it; the hair traps sweat and makes him too hot all the time and muffles sensation when you touch him. Years ago he talked about wanting to get it all lasered off, but that costs more money than he’s ever likely to have at one time. He considered waxing but his sister the esthetician says this can lead to broken capillaries. So now his idea is to buy a device that will yank out the hairs. He’s really sensitive to touch/has a low pain tolerance so I’m frankly surprised he’d go that route, but he seems really determined.

Apparently, he’s pursuing his hair-removal dreams with new vigor lately because his live-in girlfriend, Raver Chick, is a very naturally hairy woman with hippie/dykey sensibilities and when he asked if she could maybe up her shaving game a little bit, she said “I’ll go hairless if you do” – trying to call his bluff, you see. And he was like “CHALLENGE ACCEPTED” because a) he doesn’t like his body hair anyway and b) he’s a spiteful prick. ๐Ÿ˜€

The Pedant told me, over Swiss Chalet chicken, that Raver Chick is a “hair removal is a stupid arbitrary beauty standard devised by the patriarchy!” type of person – when The Pedant has talked about wanting his body hair removed, she hasn’t really been paying attention to his practical reasons for it and just keeps saying that he shouldn’t conform to unreasonable beauty standards or whatever. “And that,” The Pedant said, “Is why I want you to be the first one to see me hairless.”

We’d talked about this before: he’s so sensitive to touch that I’m just dying to know how erogenous his body would be if I weren’t touching most of it through a blanket of hair. When this whole depilator idea came up, I asked if I could be the first to see him de-furred; the first one to touch his actual naked body and not just his pelt. He said yes right from the beginning, and I thought it was because he loves the way I touch him and wanted to experience it at a different level. It was kind of depressing to hear that he treats it like a prize he could have awarded to me or Raver Chick and he kind of arbitrarily picked me.

Oddly, during that same conversation and kind of out of nowhere, The Pedant also said “It’s too bad your other life partners are all so furry.” I was trying to figure out how he knows The Dandy is fairly hairy (also, “all” my life partners?) when The Pedant clarified that he was talking about my cats and added “I could easily live with you if it weren’t for my cat allergies.” That…is really nice to hear. I don’t think I’d want to live with The Pedant (I love him but he drives me crazy in some ways, and also he usually has more than one woman in play at any given point in his life and I’m not up for hearing him fuck other people) but at the same time I felt hurt that he never broached the subject with me. Any time he met someone he really liked, he’d start talking about how she was soooo great and she really “got” him and he could see a future and he’d probably move in with her, and he never told me any of that. So even though I didn’t want to live with him, a petty part of me was sad that he didn’t want to move in with me, either. It felt like being snubbed, like he didn’t think I “got” him and didn’t “see a future” with me.

TBH I secretly suspected that his eagerness to move in with women was more about wanting to escape his parents than about how totes in wuuuv he was with anyone. And I’m probably right. Cohabitation, too, was an arbitrary prize, and I only disqualified myself by having cats.

Anyway. Not only will The Pedant let me be the first to touch his body when it’s nakeder than it’s ever been (well, since childhood, anyway), he’s invited me to help with the actual de-furring process. My OCD revolves around picking/plucking so THIS IS RELEVANT TO MY INTERESTS. I assumed he was asking me for help out of practicality and because he knows I like doing hair removal type stuff. He’s not at all a masochist – he once practically ran across the room to get away from me after I lightly smacked his ass and he thought I might do it again – so I didn’t guess that figured into anything. I mean surely he wouldn’t want to think of me getting a kinky kick out of ripping out his body hair. Still, as we ate our chicken that night I asked him – half jokingly – how he’d feel about me tying him up to depilate him. He said “I was already assuming that’s how we’d be doing this.” …Oh. ๐Ÿ˜€

We finished our food and he wanted to shower before we got down to sexytimes. Then he invited me to shower (a delicate hint that I smelled a bit ripe, perhaps? Unclear). He ended up touching up the shaved parts of my head first (grooming seems to be his own personal OCD) as I sat in the bathtub to contain the hair-clipping mess. I got cold during this process so I took a bath after – during which, surprisingly, The Pedant hung out with me unbidden and sat on the edge of the bathtub scooping up handfuls of bubbles and rubbing them along my arms and legs and back.

And then, finally, we were in the bedroom clean and naked, sheets on the bed and restraint straps in place under the mattress (oh, yeah…I’ve been pretty consistently delegating stuff like that to him for the last few visits, since he was usually volunteering to do it anyway. So far he’s always cheerfully jumped to the tasks I request. I think he’s more-or-less my submissive, just not yet willing to formally call himself that), and I basically tackled him. I straddled him and made out with him for basically ever and then he asked “would you like me to get you off before it’s too late?” (I think he meant either “before it gets so late that you’re really tired” or “before you get me off and render me too useless to function.”). I agreed that this would be a good idea.

Honestly, my desire at that time was to tie him up, blindfold him, and use his body to get off. Like, ride him until the feel of his cock got me turned on, lie next to him and use my Hitachi to get myself close-ish, then put the Hitachi on him and hump it to completion (with his cock inside me or not; whatever worked.) But I have a hard time letting go, with him. In the past, when I’d try to incorporate the Hitachi into cowgirl sex, he’d go soft; apparently he needs a long thrusting motion to stay hard and my rapid wiggle wasn’t doing it for him. Except it’s not like he needs constant stimulation of his dick to stay hard at other times; usually he’s standing at attention the moment we start making out, before I’ve touched anything below his belly button. So it’s hard not to feel like my pleasure just doesn’t turn him on – that he thinks the way I grind up on him is stupid or I’m crushing the breath out of him or, I dunno, something.

Also…he’s gotten a lot better lately at letting my sexuality be what it is, but for a long time The Pedant acted like I was weird for needing specific kinds of stimulation in order to get off. For as long as I’ve known him, I have gotten off only via Hitachi Magic Wand (which has the power of a jackhammer and I’m pressing it against me hard and wigging it back and forth really fast), and I think he’s only seen me get off lying on my back with my legs straight out, to boot. But he’s asked me “did you come?” during PIV sex where I was on top of him and there was no vibrator or even clit-touching involved whatsoever. He’s asked me if I came when I had him bent over the edge of the bed and was standing behind him pegging him. He’s asked me if I could come from using the vibrating cock ring he bought us, which is a tiny, buzzy, ineffectual thing. He’s asked if I would come from his enthusiastic but highly inconsistent clit-licking. I dunno, man. Am I on my back with my legs out, receiving extremely consistent and intense clit-jackhammering during any of these things? No? Then NO I WILL NOT BE ORGASMING.

And on top of it all, my sexual responses aren’t functioning as well as they used to. The Dandy stays hard through anything I’m doing and once had a huge orgasm just from me wriggling around on top of him with the Hitachi on his stomach next to his cock, which wasn’t even inside me at the time, and even with him I can’t get there, lately.

So I figured there was no point in trying to use The Pedant in that way until I’ve seen a doctor and gotten some kind of treatment for my peri-menopausal(?) crotch dysfunction.

I had The Pedant do the routine that works best for me: some oral sex to get me worked up, followed by good ol’ dildo fucking/Hitachi combo. Lately he’s been thrusting the dildo a lot harder and faster than I would have ever requested; I don’t usually like being jackhammered. But it works. The hard thrusts hit my g-spot in a good way (I bet that’s been declining in sensitivity along with my clit and nipples, so it’s okay to be rougher with it now to a degree that would have hurt before) and it’s so pleasurable and so jolting that my mind can’t wander off to other things. Try as I might to start thinking about what groceries I need to get later, the thump of the toy ramming into place always brings me back. And the Hitachi combines with the g-spot stuff to put me over the freaking moon.

My orgasm was epic in length and intensity, and afterward (something about g-spot stuff during an orgasm seems to trigger All the Feels, for me) a huge wave of emotion washed over me and I shuddered and began to cry. The Pedant held me and petted me and whispered “I’ve got you,” which was he perfect thing to do and which I didn’t really expect from him. He mostly seems to regard my crygasms as foreign and kind of interestingly weird. Hugging me like that, and making me feel all safe and warm, seems entirely outside of his instincts. Maybe Raver Chick taught him to do that.

But then.



Then The Pedant really conspicuously and deliberately positioned his lips by my ear (actually grasped my chin and tilted my head to facilitate this, as I recall) which historically has always meant that he’s about to growl in my ear or give me a dose of dirty talk or otherwise make a sort of contrived, self-conscious attempt at turning me on, and I was sort of inwardly rolling my eyes wondering why he needs to be so showy about this shit.

But instead of sexy talk he whispered “I love you.”

And I was blown away.

I mean…I know he loves me. I suspected it by his actions for ages, and then when I said the words first he said “the feelings are being reciprocated” and eventually, a year or two ago when we were breaking up for the second or third time, he said the actual words (I suspect to soften the blow of the breakup, and/or because he really seems to have a hard time saying it and it probably took a lot of pressure off, saying it as a goodbye and knowing I wouldn’t be hanging around expecting the words to be a regular thing). And frequently during our makeouts – including that night – he does that obvious dodge of saying “I love the way you kiss me” or “I love spending time with you” or “I love when you tell me what to do.”

But I have suspected for a while now that although he professes to be poly, The Pedant perhaps has a subconscious feeling that he’s only supposed to love one person at a time – to have one person who’s a big, big deal and any other partners are swell but not quite on the same level. When we first got together after he started seeing Raver Chick, he referred to him and I as being “friends with benefits,” despite acting exactly the same with me as he did back when he called me his primary partner and indicated that he loved me. And I just figured “Meh, whatever, he’s being an idiot but he still treats me nice so I’ll roll with it.”

And now, suddenly, he’s said the words unprompted and without there being some big tragedy to inspire a grand gesture. He is living with Raver Chick, and he loves Raver Chick. But also he’s seeing me and he loves me. And he admits it.

There’s more.

After I recovered from coming my brains out, I secured The Pedant to the bed, blindfolded him, slid a dildo into his ass, and started teasing his cock and nipples with my hands. Maybe the blindfold made him more unguarded because he couldn’t see if I was looking at him, I don’t know. But as I stroked his cock I murmured that hopefully one day I’ll be able to just throw the Hitachi on his belly and grind up on him – basically use his whole body as a sex toy to get me off – but for now, self-consciousness gets in the way. And in a tiny voice that I don’t think I’ve heard before and that is entirely unlike his usual loud baritone, The Pedant said “Why are you self-conscious? I’m yours.”

We were mid-handjob so I opted not to actually get into the reasons for my self-consciousness with him. I figured he was just making sex talk, and I wanted at that moment to continue enjoying his squirms and whimpers and not have some big serious discussion. Especially since a) he hasn’t done those shitty things in a long time and b) I genuinely don’t think he’d even understand why his actions affected me the way they did. He doesn’t understand even basic human behaviour and emotions sometimes. Even when it seems perfectly logical to me.

So I kept on going with the handjob and whatnot…but The Pedant kept on riffing, in that same tiny, vulnerable voice. I can’t remember what he said verbatim, but I can paraphrase:

“Remember last time we saw each other? You bent me over the couch and penetrated me. You didn’t ask first. You just did it. It was so hot that you did that. Such a turn on that you just used my body the way you wanted, without a second thought. I still remember how hard I came, knowing you had bent me to your will. I want to be your sex toy – I want to be the one who does anything you want. I love you and I want to be that for you. You’ve seduced me so much further than I’d ever believed possible…you’ve made me do things I’d never even dreamed…you make me do what you want…you make me want what you want…! …You own me completely.”

So clearly I need to blindfold him more often.

No but seriously, The Pedant’s outpouring of devotion just…gobsmacked me. And I think he meant what he said. I know he loves me. He definitely has done sexual things with me that were once beyond his boundaries, and he’s definitely more focused on my pleasure and on doing things my way in bed than he used to be (and good lord, the sex is better!). When he says he wants to do anything I want I know he actually means within his stated boundaries (that very evening, early on in the makeouts, I’d asked if I could slap his face and…actually, he didn’t say no. But he looked uncomfortable and maybe gave me the barest hint of a head-shake, and historically he has not been a masochist at all, so I went back to kissing him. But hey, does the lack of an outright no mean he might have been willing to push his boundaries and indulge me? Maybe he is willing to do “anything” for me that I’d be likely to ask for. I’m still not gonna slap him unless he indicates he wants me to, though).

And oh, I’ve wanted someone to say those things to me forever. To offer themselves up entirely for my pleasure and do what I want. My ex-sub, Mine, did that, but unfortunately we broke up before I really had a chance to stretch my wings. I’m so used to constantly monitoring in bed whether my partner is having a good time and checking in with them and focusing on them that the idea of them being there entirely as a vehicle for my good time is a huge adjustment. It’ll take a lot of time and trust before I can really grab the reins with someone and do what I want with them without second-guessing myself, but I want to. Badly. And I never expected that The Pedant would be the next person to offer himself up to me that way, sincerely and in good faith.

I look back on where we started, when he was all wrapped up in toxic masculinity and completely terrible in bed and couldn’t engage in dirty talk or mushy words to save his life, and I marvel at how far we’ve come.

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Pedant and Dandy: together at last

The Pedant came for a visit. We spent the first night at my place and the second in a rented guest suite because reasons.

He arrived late, of course. And it still makes me feel stabby. But it doesn’t seem like something he’s capable of changing so I’m trying to get over it.

The Dandy got home from a social engagement literally five minutes after The Pedant arrived. As I have mentioned previously, they were friends (or acquaintances, at least) before I ever met either of them. We ended up standing in the hall talking for a while – or maybe they talked and I stood around near them.

The Dandy and The Pedant have a weird relationship; I don’t think they’ve ever hung out together on purpose, only bumped into each other at clubs etc. In fact, The Dandy has indicated that he finds The Pedant a bit assholish and tedious. And yet when they are together they immediately get into super intense and animated conversation about politics and stuff – not arguments, the intensity seems to come from them agreeing with each other on most things and getting into a big validation circlejerk. I might be wrong about that though because their chosen topics are sooooo fucking boring to me that I tune out.

As they talked, I would idly go snuggle and kiss first one man, then the other, and they affectionately squeezed and kissed me back as they continued talking. Neither of them was weirded out by me being so clearly enamored with and involved with both of them. I’m still not used to this amount of openness at all, having gone straight from monogamy to solo-poly, so I felt like I was big-time getting away with something and it was thrilling as fuck. ๐Ÿ˜€

On a side note, when Dandette was living here and we were both The Dandy’s girlfriends, he would walk around the apartment naked because why the hell not. I mean we’d both fucked him and he’s kind of a nudist anyway so there really was no need for modesty. It was always hella weird for me, though. I’ve only ever been solo-poly so I guess all my mono socialization kicked in and made me feel like him being naked in front of two people was weird or wrong.

That quasi-triad we had stretched me out of my comfort zone in a million different ways and TBH I’m still a bit bitter about it and I sometimes have petty revenge fantasies about making The Dandy endure some of the same discomforts he put me through. So eventually as we all stood in the hallway I took off my shirt and bra. Although it turns out The Dandy wasn’t weirded out by seeing me naked while his acquaintance was also present and seeing me naked so meh.

The Pedant and I did have sexy funtimes that night, though, in my bed with The Dandy right in the next room, so The Dandy likely heard me loudly getting off from someone not-him. Which is satisfying.

As for the sexytimes themselves, The Pedant and I had fun (obviously) but we were slightly self-conscious of The Dandy being so close by. I didn’t want to be giving a lot of commands etc with someone within earshot plus my room is not yet really well equipped for bondage etc so basically there was just kissing and touching and him getting me off and eventually I rode him for a bit but it seemed like that wasn’t getting him anywhere (he said something about having done…something earlier to ensure that I could play with him for longer. I assume jerking off before he left the house or something. But he consistently does dirty talk/sexy talk in a whisper and half the time I can’t hear him…). Eventually I switched to a hand job and that made him come. Fascinatingly, there was a ton more semen than usual and it seemed to arrive all at once, like his cock threw a cup of warm water on me: GOOSH!

And then he fell asleep in the dead centre of the bed as usual. I even braced against the wall and tried to shove him over to make room for me and he didn’t budge – although to his credit when I poked him and told him to shove over, he did.

The next morning I woke up hungry as fuck, and everyone else was asleep and the apartment was warm, so I didn’t bother with a robe or anything. I thought I would eat a bowl of cereal and then maybe go back to bed, but The Pedant came out, instead, and saw me eating cereal on the couch naked and was bemused (“so you’re…just not gonna bother with clothes, then? Okay.”). He went off and had a morning poop and then The Dandy woke up and was puttering around making coffee and stuff and long story short I never did end up putting clothes on, mostly because I didn’t want to admit that I did feel slightly exposed and uncomfortable. But also maybe a teeny-tiny bit because I was daydreaming about a threesome. ๐Ÿ˜€

My two guys got suuuuper engrossed in conversation over the breakfast table, again about shit I don’t care about. I was on the couch just eating and zoning out, bored shitless. So after I finished my food, when I was able to get a word in edgewise (it took several tries ๐Ÿ˜› ) I said to them, “Hey – it seems like a waste that I have access to two pairs of hands and none of them are on me. You should come over here and pet me while you continue your conversation.”

Hilariously*, The Dandy immediately stood up and took a step toward me – and then glanced over at the still-seated Pedant and hesitated.

The Pedant laughed and said something like “Well this is a novel approach. Normally a person would just say ‘stop talking now, I’m bored.'”

“I don’t care about the talking. I care that I’m not getting petted,” I said. The Pedant remained seated, just kinda staring at me. The Dandy was frozen in place standing two steps from the table, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Dude, I’m six feet tall,” I said, mostly to The Pedant.ย  “One of you can be at my head and the other at my feet and you’d still be halfway across the room from each other.” I almost added “your balls aren’t gonna touch, ffs” but bit the words off, thinking I might come across a wee bit too strident.

I think it was The Dandy who started making his way to me first, at that point, and The Pedant got up a moment later.

They continued yakking away on the couch while I stretched naked between them, drifting in and out of sleep, getting my calves and feet massaged by The Pedant and my head lightly scritched by The Dandy. After a while I changed position so I was pointing the other way, and The Pedant worked the knots out of my upper back muscles while The Dandy petted my feet. At times, one or the other of them would do something that made me thrash and howl with pleasure. Neither of them acknowledged this at all, and I’m sure that’s less because they were so focused on their conversation and more because acknowledging my sounds would make the whole interaction seem kind of sexual and neither of them wanted it to go there. For my part, it felt a little weird to be ignored like that. But if they’d focused on me I would have felt really in the spotlight and under pressure to entertain them (which is kind of why I didn’t go the “hey shut up you’re boring me” route in the first place: I would have felt pressure to come up with a conversation that I could take part in, too, and that would also entertain both of them, and I was not up to it. Or I could yoink The Pedant away for more sex, but I do like that the two of them are friends and don’t wanna wedge myself between them (except if a threesome were on offer. ๐Ÿ˜€ ). Also I wanted to save the Pedant sex for when our suite was ready and we’d have proper privacy.)

Being co-petted while half-listening to a conversation I wasn’t particularly expected to participate in (but could jump into if I felt like it) was restful as all hell. It lasted a while; then it was time to get the keys to the suite, and when I got back they were still talking so I slotted myself back in there and dozed off some more. All told, the pettings lasted for about an hour and a half. *Bliss.*

I’m gonna split this saga up into another post. TTYS.



*Hilarious for two reasons: 1) The Dandy identifies as dominant, and says he does so because people just somehow tend to do what he tells them and that he hates being told what to do and is just too goshdarned headstrong and independent to ever obey an order from someone (presumably he means from social equals, not his boss or a cop or whatever). But here I am, telling his extremely heterosexual self to come team up on me with another guy, and he just stands up automatically like I’d pushed a button. The only reason he stopped is apparent fear of what the other man in the room would think of him. I actually tell The Dandy to do stuff a lot and he does it without even noticing I didn’t phrase it as a question. 2) Before this visit I’d been letting my fantasies run wild-ish and was debating channeling them into a wee piece of erotica and posting it here. The erotica was going to be about The Pedant and The Dandy acting mildly homoerotic for my viewing pleasure: specifically, I would ask them to pretend to be about to kiss so I could ogle them and then fap to the scene later. In my mind’s eye, The Dandy willingly began to perform for me but then got awkward and drew up short because The Pedant was a lot more reticent. So yeah. I totally called it. ๐Ÿ˜€

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Whatever this sexual issue of mine is, it seems to be getting worse. Orgasming is more difficult; I apply the Hitachi and I barely feel anything. I try to get myself off but my mind keeps wandering off sexy thoughts to dumb shit like what groceries to get later (when I was young and fully functional, it was the opposite: I could decide to get off without being in the mood whatsoever, and all I needed to do was stimulate my clit and my scattered thoughts would start moving toward sex all on their own).

My actual sex drive (or orgasm drive, I guess) seems to be going down. I’m barely ever feeling even the hollow echo of horniness that I have for the past couple of years. Being tingly and turned on and needing to come is a distant memory.

I’m hoping this is a temporary hurdle. I think whateverthefuck this is has progressed in a couple of stages and I’ve been adapting each time. Like when I first noticed that I don’t get clitoral erections anymore, there was a while where even rocking my full weight back and forth on the Hitachi took me like tenย  minutes to get off and my crotch constantly felt bruised by it. After a while, though, shit got a bit better; still no boners and no capacity for getting myself off using only my hand, but I could get there via Hitachi in under five minutes and not have to bruise myself on it. Maybe a similar thing will happen this time.

I really want to fix this but doctor(s) seemed kind of dismissive before (the sexual dysfunction specialist I saw ended up concluding “Meh, you’re getting old, stuff doesn’t work so well sometimes when you’re older. Think of men and their erectile dysfunction” even though I’d told him the problems started in my mid-thirties and nobody assumes that a 36 year old guy probably can’t get it up) so I’m reluctant to approach them again.

Can’t help wondering how much more helpful people might be if I were a dude. Because dudes neeeeeed to have fulfilling sex, amirite?!



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