Happy things

My parents’ mailed cheque arrived already – and was for $700 instead of the proffered $500. I am so thankful. Mom told me to express my appreciation by emailing her more often to let her know how I’m doing. I feel like she’s not fully comprehending the effects anxiety and depression have on me – it’s not just her I’m not talking to much, it’s everyone. But I’m gonna try to make more of an effort.

The Pedant has replied to those unanswered texts (except the mushy one but that’s par for the course). Also he called me tonight, and mentioned in passing that he’s been extra busy/exhausted for the last few days. We’re okay.

While I do not qualify for a normal welfare cheque this month, my worker did mention a bunch of one-off bonus-type things I do qualify for and these came through faster than I thought they would – when I logged into my online banking site yesterday to top up my bank account with $800 of credit in time for rent day, I found that my balance was already enough to cover me. I didn’t have to transfer anything. I must have sat there staring stupidly at the number on my screen for five minutes before I understood that I wasn’t hallucinating.

My parents’ cheque wasn’t enough to pay off my line of credit entirely, but it made a sizeable dent and I didn’t have to fuck myself further into the red for rent money, so I am just overjoyed. And cheques from the non-cash gigs I’ve worked this month is slowly beginning to trickle in. I’m beginning to feel like a self-sufficient human being again.

Also I finally finished a complicated custom clip I’ve been working on for three weeks, which is a huge load off my mind (but I won’t totally feel okay until I hear from the client that he liked it).

And I have two potential finsubs courting my attention. I’m not counting on them coming through, but it would be nice.

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I’ve been texting with a dude from FetLife – and we’ve met in person once, too – but ehhhhh…I’m not sure his pros outweigh his cons.

One of the things that drew me to him initially is that he’s about my age. I figured it’d be a nice change from all the 27 year olds.  It’s ironic, then, that he comes off really teenaged, to me. He’s goth (another thing I liked) but like, really hung up on what a speshul little snowflake this makes him. I remember the goth kids being like that when I was in high school.

Dude proudly announced to me that he’s worn a Christian Death t-shirt to a church gathering before, and expected me to swoon at his outrageousness or something.  Dude…I don’t care. Actually I think that was somewhat in bad taste, unless you threw the t-shirt on without consciously registering the name of the band. And he bragged about some time that he asked the organizer of a fetish event what the dress code was; the organizer was like “all black, maybe with boots or something” and dude was all “I don’t even have to change out of my everyday clothes, then!” Fine, you wear Doc Martens and black pants and t-shirts most days; here’s a cookie.

He told me that he “gets really dark sometimes”, and gave me examples of things he’s said that were like totally dark and shocking and stuff – again with the expectation that I would be impressed. The funny thing is, none of his examples seemed like that big a deal to me. In fact at one point in one of our text conversations he was like “Ugh, this has been such a stressful day that I just wanna stare at the wall and listen to The Cocteau Twins.” And then followed it up with “Sorry. That was a little dark. I get dark sometimes.” Um…I’m not super familiar with The Cocteau Twins, but aren’t they just…goth music? If in fact the band writes songs that hypnotize you into raping your neighbour’s dog, then yeah, sure, he got dark. Otherwise? I think he just described chilling out with music you like in order to de-stress.

Just…with the constant one-upmanship and approval-seeking. And he’s 39.

The in-person meeting went okay. It really was nice talking to someone with approximately equal life experience for a change. There was still a certain amount of talking at me instead of with me, but this was fairly easily overlooked. We have some overlapping taste in movies, and he told me about some I haven’t seen that sound cool. He said I should totally do burlesque – which I’ve been thinking about for a while now – and he had some ideas I really liked.

But then after the meeting when I got home he said a bunch of stupid annoying shit. The pinnacle of stupidity was when he made some crack about sending me a cock shot – which I correctly guessed would have been a picture of a rooster – and he bragged that “he’s not like other male subs. He has a personality.” He thinks that making one of the most-used puns ever is a sign of his unique and sparkling personality, you guys. And that it sets him apart from all the other subs.

I was like “I’ve seen at least three male subs on FetLife who had a rooster pic on their profile captioned ‘the requisite cock shot’ or similar. Also: do most male subs not have personalities?”

He said “they just all seem so ‘yes mistress, no mistress’.”

“What are you basing that on?” (I had a feeling it wasn’t, like, meeting any, but I wanted to be sure.)

And at this juncture he sent me a screenshot of some horndog’s shitty personal ad. Which, incidentally, was posted in a FetLife group for dominant women and submissive men that I hang out in all the time. A group where personal ads aren’t even allowed, btw, and get deleted as soon as a mod sees them. So the vast majority of posts in there are serious discussions.

I said, “The group you took that screenshot from is heavily populated by snarky, smart, awesome submissive men, and you chose that post to send me. I think you desperately need to believe that you’re a better submissive than most and are cherry-picking your info to support that idea.”

He admitted that this was the case.

I said, “I also think you would do well not to declare what ‘most’ submissive men are like to someone who’s had approximately two decades of experience with them. And by the way, ‘I’m not like the other subs!’ is actually the most trite, unoriginal thing you could say.”

He stopped trying to bullshit me about how he’s the best sub ever, but I’m still kind of gobsmacked by the stupidity.

This is not the first time I’ve instantly seen his motives, called him out on them, and had him go “Oh. I guess that is what I was doing,” by the way.

He was on some tirade the other day via text about how he’s super nice and helpful and he doesn’t do it to get anything in return, but he always attracts users who take advantage of his niceness.

I was like “but if you weren’t expecting anything in return, how could someone be taking advantage? Like how would that even work?”

And he made some statement in passing about how his exes obviously took his helpful nature for granted, otherwise they wouldn’t have broken up with him.

And I pointed out to him that the flip side of this sentiment is “if they appreciated what I did for them, they would still be with me” – as though personality and compatibility had no bearing on a relationship staying intact; as though a person could be coerced into sticking around forever if only you did enough things for them. I asked him whether he might just possibly be one of those people who assumes a partner could only love him for what he does – not for some intrinsic quality he has – and therefore tries extra hard to be super nice and accommodating and helpful all the time in order to bind a partner to him. He realized that yeah, this was totally correct. And I was like “that’s how you keep ending up with users. You can sense that they’ll make a lot of demands on you, and you think fulfilling them will be your ticket to a long-term relationship. Except relationships don’t actually work that way.”

So…he bills himself as a service sub when in fact he’s a clingy, needy ball of Nice Guy<tm>. Which honestly I kind of knew just from him bragging about being sooooo awesome and not even wanting anything in return. A truly nice person just does the nice shit without crowing about it, and I daresay a submissive does want something in return for his service – even if it’s just a conscious acknowledgement of the power exchange. Something was definitely fishy from the getgo.

Don’t get me wrong, it was fun after a fashion to see right through this guy’s concept of himself (on at least two occasions) and effortlessly dismantle it. Made me feel all smart and shit. But I think I need friends who are more-aware than that; friends who can actually help untangle my issues when I need it, sometimes. And I don’t see that happening with this guy. Also, his posturing and one-upmanship and general condescension (he needs so badly to feel like The Coolest Guy all the time) are a bit much to deal with.

I’m gonna try to pull a fade, I think. If confronted I’ll have it out with him, but I’d rather just vanish if he’ll let me.

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Fuck you, AnxietyBrain.

Ugh. I’ve had my anxiety/paranoia bullshit tamped down pretty good for the past while, but.

Yesterday I texted The Pedant “I miss you. But this time it’s in an almost pleasant, bittersweet way and not an anxious way. You’ve helped me to feel more secure than I did the first time around. Thank you. :)”

He read it not long after I wrote it (again: I say I “texted” but actually it’s What’s App, where you can see shit like that). He did not reply. I assumed that he was busy, or that he didn’t know how to handle my onslaught of mushiness (if I tell him my leg muscles hurt from fucking him he’ll say “you’re welcome” but when I actually thank him for something I suspect he’s at a loss). That’s fine. Whatever.

Today I sent a bit of small-talk in the afternoon and an announcement of HUGE NEWS in the evening (welfare unexpectedly gave me more money! I didn’t qualify for a normal monthly payment but there are various kinds of bonuses and weird things I do qualify for and I guess they all came through at once. I can pay my rent!!!!). Both texts were read within an hour or so of me sending them. Neither were replied to. By now he should be home from work after a long, uneventful bus ride – during which, in the past, he’s often called me to pass the time. But still nothing.

So of course my asshole brain immediately jumps to the idea that me saying I feel secure in the relationship made him lose interest in me, or decide “Oh, I guess I don’t have to try anymore,” or something.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. It’s really probably fine. But it’s the most unfortunate of unfortunate coincidences that his lapse in communication is happening now.

Deep breaths.


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Ugh. PARENTS, amirite?

So, I was treading water during the slow modelling season as best I could, but shit started going sideways – and because this city is so godawfully expensive to live in the sideways skid gained momentum terrifyingly fast. I got on government assistance just in the nick of time to pay September’s rent. Unfortunately, although I’ve been working my ass off during September, almost every gig I’ve done is paid by mailed cheque and I won’t actually have the money until October. The gigs that did pay cash amounted to enough money that I don’t qualify for assistance – but that cash went entirely toward groceries already.

Long story short, I’m putting $800 of my rent on my line of credit this month.

By October my cheques will start flowing in and – based on my pattern in previous years and how my calendar looks so far – I’ll be able to support myself until next summer at least. But the way things are going I’m afraid I’ll never be able to pay off my line of credit.

So I debased myself and asked my parents for money. Just a little one-time boost to help me catch up so I can get solidly on my feet again.

Let me tell you some things about my parents. When I was growing up, they were super cheap. Like, suuuuuuper cheap. As in, we’d all take turns bathing in the same water. As in, my parents screamed at me one summer for leaving a small desk fan on while the family was out shopping. As in, my dad got a great deal on a pack of 500 cotton swabs one time and when we got home he dumped them out and made us count them to make sure there really were 500.

My parents didn’t make a whole ton of money (or so they say, and I’m inclined to believe them) but when I was a little kid we moved into a townhouse that they’d bought, and when I was twelve they got a pretty big, nice, three-bedroom house custom made for them.* They firmly believe that their stinginess is how they were able to save up the money to do this. They (or maybe it was just my dad) had a lot of really shitty ideas about poor people – that they’re poor because they spend money too impulsively, blah blah blah. My dad told me once that basically if an unemployed white trash-type person won $1,000 in the lottery they’d probably buy $1,000 worth of lottery tickets with it, hoping to score even bigger so they’d never have to work again, whereas a smart, good, non-trashy person who was unemployed through no fault of their own (I don’t remember what actual terms my dad used but this was definitely the idea he conveyed: trashy slackers vs. noble downtrodden folks who’ve just had a bad run of luck) would diligently spend the money on a used van and start a moving business to work their way out of poverty. I internalized a lot of ideas about poor people being responsible for their situation (hey Dad, what if the “white trash” people couldn’t afford a van even if they wanted one because the $1,000 had to go toward bills? What if the fine upstanding human who did buy a van and start a moving business didn’t get enough customers to make a living? Also, where is the moving van person gonna get the money to hire some helpers and pay for insurance, advertising, gas, and other costs?)

I kind of want to apologize to poor people because I get it now. I really do. There are things I could have done this past summer to bring in more money, yes. But many of those required money, or required emotional resources that I just didn’t have, and I’ve been paralyzed by anxiety and a bit woozy and fucked up from never eating enough and it’s just too much, okay? It’s too much. I just feel so pinched and rushed all the time that I can never stop to catch my breath, let alone formulate some awesome plan to make more money. So yeah. I went to my parents hoping they could take that pinch away for a bit so I could regroup.

Anyway. The thing about my dad, I’ve realized, is that saving money is a hobby for him. His only hobby, in fact; he doesn’t golf or fish or do any other typical “dad” stuff. But his hobby is not a logical one. Ultimately it’s not really about saving actual money; it’s about being able to see a lowered dollar amount at the cash register. What I mean by that is that when I was growing up he’d buy our groceries at two or three different stores sometimes to get the best deals on everything. Once when I was a teenager I called him out on that: “But dad, you’re driving across town just to get a carton of eggs – doesn’t the price of the gas kind of negate what you saved on the eggs? I mean wouldn’t it actually be cheaper just to get the eggs here, at the store we’re already in?” He basically put his hands over his ears and did the LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU thing.

And these deals he got were negligible, btw. When I first lived on my own, I’d always buy milk at a particular store because dad said it was cheaper. This store was about a mile away from my apartment, I didn’t want to spend money on the bus, obviously, and I was in shitty, shitty shape back then, so this was an ordeal. (In my defence, I was buying the milk in bags, which are way heavier than a carton.) For ages I did this, on autopilot, because my dad said it saved money. Then one day I thought to actually compare prices with the grocery store nearest me. TEN CENTS MORE EXPENSIVE. I WAS WALKING HALF AN HOUR ROUND-TRIP AND MAKING MY ARMS HURT TO SAVE TEN FUCKING CENTS. And probably eating more than usual once I got home because the exercise made me ravenous, so there goes the shiny dime I saved and then some.

It’s taken a long time to undo the stupid money-saving shit my parents (especially my dad) instilled in me. Actually, I haven’t undone all of it. I have however devised a formula to determine whether a money-saving thing I’m thinking of doing is worth it. The formula is: if someone offered me [amount of money] to do [thing], would I do it? “Hmmm. I should go to the far-away store to get milk. It’s ten cents cheaper there. Buttttt…the store is like two miles, round trip. If someone said ‘Here’s ten cents to walk two miles!’…yeah that would be ridiculous. There’s no way I would do that. I’m gonna get milk from the store near my house.”

SO ANYWAY I emailed my mom explaining my situation and grovelling for $2,000 to kinda reset my debt and get me on my feet again. My mom was like “ummmmmm hold on, I need to ask your father” and then came back saying “how about $500?” Now, my dad has been bragging for years now that their house is all paid off and he’s alluded many times to having a nest egg of several hundred thousand dollars, so unless there’s been a major change I didn’t know about, I’m gonna go ahead and say that this lowball offer is not about them not having the money to help me. It’s either about them not liking to see their huge nest egg sink by two grand at once, or else it’s meant as an oblique lesson in pulling myself up by my bootstraps, So that’s irritating, but five hundred bucks is still a huge help so obviously I just said thank you. But it really irks me thinking of my dad sitting there all self-righteous, doling out just a little money because he wouldn’t want me to lose my work ethic or snap and buy a bunch of lottery tickets or whateverthefuck he thinks I’d do if he actually gave me enough to get me financially caught up.

But it gets better: I asked for the money via Interac e-transfer, which is simple and instant and would get me the money before my rent is due. But my dad is insisting on mailing me a cheque instead in order to avoid the e-transfer fee. Which is A DOLLAR FIFTY. A Canadian stamp apparently costs somewhere between 77 cents and a buck, depending. The envelope costs a few cents. The cheque itself costs money (it was $30 for a book of 100, I think, last time I checked). Plus there’s the actual time taken to write the cheque out, address the envelope, and trot the fucking thing over to the mailbox or post office (that’s the other thing – time is money, and my dad never figures that into the equation when he’s hellbent on frugality. He only looks at the concrete numbers. I swear if someone buried a dollar coin eight feet underground, he would spend three days digging it up and then go around crowing about his “free dollar” and feeling pleased with himself). So this mailed cheque is pretty much saving him nothing and inconveniencing me, but he has indeed avoided a $1.50 service charge and this pleases his weird Aspie obsesso-thing and that’s all that matters.

To be honest when my mom first asked “would a cheque be okay instead? Your father wants to avoid the bank charge” I was this close to snapping back “OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE JUST E-TRANSFER ME $498.50 THEN.” But it behooves me not to be snarky to them when they’re doing me a favour so I just said fine. It doesn’t make that big a difference to me to put most of my rent on my line of credit and then pay $500 of it back a few days later vs. putting just some of my rent on credit.

Just…ugh. Parents.

*They went with a building company whose estimate was twenty thousand dollars less than everyone else they spoke to. There was (of course) a reason for them being so cheap. The builders fucked up and cut corners on a lot of stuff. They weren’t done in time; when we moved in, there was a big fucking hole in the side of our house where the fireplace was supposed to be – among a bunch of other annoying unfinished things. My parents were going to sue them for all their fuckups but they filed bankruptcy.


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When I was married, my husband had to go on business trips sometimes. He would call me every day or two – awkward phone calls where he would basically say hi and then just sit there on the line. One day I got tired of this and asked “why are you calling me?” he said because he wanted to talk to me. I snapped “Then talk.” I was sick of carrying these conversations entirely myself and sick of him never being able to actually tell me that he missed me and loved me. Like, dude, you called me. Say something. Christ.

The Pedant has taken to calling me every couple of days while he’s on the bus home from work. The first few times, I assumed that he must have an actual thing to tell me, since his phone calls are usually utilitarian in nature. But no, he just makes small talk that inevitably segues into dissertations on various topics – which cell phone company I should go with, precisely how he has to document and store mail too big for the mailboxes in the apartment complex he security-guards, how collection companies work. He doesn’t say he misses me or looks forward to seeing me; you could listen in on our conversations and have no idea at all that this is someone I’m fucking. And so it took me a while to realize that these phone calls are very likely his concession to my request for regular contact.

And y’know…it works.

Would I like it if he sexted me instead, or called me and said mushy things? Well, yeah. But that’s not who he is. And these calls totally do their job of letting me know he’s not pulling a fade. I find the calls oddly endearing: “OH HAI! I made you a speech about the minutiae of bureaucracy so you know I still like you KTHXBAI”

But they are also intensely awkward and often boring, so the next time I see his name pop up on my call display when I’m exhausted from a double shift, I don’t think I’ll pick up like I did last night. :P I need to be in a better mental state to be able to carry on a Pedant conversation.

When we dated the first time around, I made The Pedant aware that I wanted contact more frequently than he usually gave it to me…and nothing much happened. I think he made a cursory try once or twice and then gave up. This time he seems to be committing to it. I kinda feel like me breaking up with him drove the point home: I wasn’t fucking around when I said I needed regular check-ins.

So as much as the breakup sucked, I think it was necessary.

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So close and yet so far.

While The Pedant was here, he and I got talking about premature ejaculation (i.e. the fact that it’s a kink of mine). I know we’d talked about this sort of thing before but I guess he must have forgotten because (once again) he expressed surprise that it would be of interest to me. I asked if we could make such a thing happen via him abstaining from masturbation for a while before seeing me next. He said that if he did that he’d end up lasting 15 seconds, tops, and then need a refractory period before he could fuck me properly. At the time his convincing tone made me think that 15 seconds would indeed be too short for me, but once he left and I thought about it some more I decided that it would be crazy fucking hot to see him go off so fast. I was obsessing on the idea all night long and today I texted him:

Me: I have decided that I definitely need to see this alleged 15 second launch time of yours. Plz to start abstaining the weekend before we see each other. [later] Ha! The automated soap dispenser in the work washroom just misfired, catapulting white foam onto the floor. FORESHADOWING.


Me: I see I’ve rendered you speechless. [later] Oh, and while you’re abstaining? I’m gonna do my best to torment you. :D [much later, after work] I can’t believe I made it through a double shift at [school] with a bangover.

Pedant: I knew you could do it. :P  …To put it bluntly, I’m not comfortable with the short-takeoff, or with the abstaining from anything for days beforehand.

Me: Fair enough. You do understand that it’s not a humiliation thing for me but just hot?

Pedant: Yes.

Me: Can you tell me more about your discomfort with the idea? I’d like to understand.

Pedant: Going several days without a manual override is physically uncomfortable, and sex acts that last under a minute are even less fun for me than abstaining.

Me: Only takes a couple of days for things to get uncomfortable? [note: Mine would go weeks with no problem. The Bunny could go a week or so before it started to be an issue] I’m not gonna pretend I’m not disappointed, but I don’t want to cause you undue stress. Thank you for addressing this with me directly.

Pedant: Actually, about a day and a half.

Me: Rawr.

I have some thoughts about this exchange.

  1. When The Pedant and I were first on the topic in person, he said that guys hate coming quickly because it reminds them of being a teenager and makes them feel stupid and embarrassed. The Pedant has a habit of couching his own feelings as the feelings of all men everywhere. So while I do believe the physical discomfort thing he told me later, I also think a huge part of this for him is his need to feel like some big manly-man in bed. This is why my first reaction was to make sure he understood that the act itself would turn me on; it wasn’t part of some big humiliation fetish and I wasn’t going to say mean things to him or anything. I really think he can’t get past his own issues and understand how such a thing could be hot for me.
  2. I’ve had a kink for premature and/or hands-free ejaculation for my entire adult life and can only think of one person who’s actually had such a thing happen with me. Doesn’t seem fair. The stereotype is that virgins will go off the second they get near a woman’s naked body but literally every virgin I ever had couldn’t come at all the first time we had sex. And most of the time the main reason I’d slept with them was to witness that stereotype of the dude so overcome by arousal that the mere proximity of ladyparts made him explode. But nope, instead I got an hour of monotonous thrusting that led nowhere.
  3. Oh noes, The Pedant would find abstaining/coming too quickly uncomfortable and not-fun! Heaven forbid he experience an uncomfortable amount of bottled-up arousal (like I have on many occasions when he’d pass out right after PIV and leave me hanging) or do something that wasn’t fun the whole time (like the times I’ve jerked him off for literally hours at a time – forearm muscles screaming, fingers pruned from prolonged lube immersion – because he refused to admit that he was having an off day and wouldn’t actually be able to come that night).
  4. No but srsly the fact that he won’t do this for me is a painful reminder that he’s not my sub. He’ll play the role of bottom sometimes if it turns him on to do so, and that’s as far as it goes. If I want him to do something in bed that doesn’t turn him on, he’s just not going to. And to that end, the bondage collar he bought me and all of the recent “Ooooh lookit me I’m yer slaaaaave” dirty talk just seems mean. I liked it better when I framed our relationship as vanilla but allowed myself to derive domly feelings from certain aspects. The Pedant got my hopes up that maybe there would be something more, and now I’m not sure I can squish those desires back down into the box.


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The Pedant’s job training got done earlier than he thought it would and he called asking if I’d like his company for just an hour or two. I said yes. I’ve proposed little quickie after-work visits in the past and he’s always said no; I got the feeling he really doesn’t like to come over unless he can devote a lot more time, and/or he’s too exhausted after work to want to socialize, so I stopped asking ages ago. And yet, there he was. His next timeslot for a proper visit is over a week away (and the last time I saw him was, I dunno, a while ago) and I’m wondering whether he was feeling the sexual withdrawal as keenly as I have been.

But anyway. He came over and we made small talk as he stood in my hallway unlacing and removing his gigantic boots, which was at least a five-minute affair. He did not immediately move to take his clothes off, and I wondered whether he would avoid having sex with me after all and just want to snuggle and watch a movie or something. When we have sex it usually turns into a bit of a marathon and he seemed fairly intent on not staying too long.

But then he excused himself to go pee and eventually came out of the bathroom naked (and god, so beautiful he hurt my eyes) and it was on like Donkey Kong.

We ended up having sex three or four times in about three hours, depending on your definition of sex.  It was the fastest refractory period I’ve ever seen him have – we fucked and then he dozed off and like ten minutes later I idly petted his cock and he moaned and it was on like Donkey Kong again. I started out on top but my thigh muscles began to cramp so I dismounted and insisted he help get me off instead. After which he got on top and continued with the PIV and I thought he came (albeit a pretty weak one, which would be typical of him for a second sexing during a short-ish period) but later he told me he had not. I guess he just gave up with a bit of fanfare and then rolled off me for more sleep. We dozed together and then he was like “I have to get going” and I was like “okay” and he got up and peed and when he came out I gave him some hugs and kisses as I often do during his getting-ready-to-go process but instead of returning them in friendly fashion he started moaning again and goddammit I can’t resist him when he moans.

He seems to be really trying hard to cater to my dominance lately. He ended up on his knees on my bed, but sitting up, not sitting back on his heels; I was on my knees, too, pressed against him, kissing him and stroking his cock and playing with his nipples and his legs kept trying to collapse and I braced him with a hand on the small of his back and started giving him a hand job in earnest. My vag was honestly feeling kinda worn out by that point and it had been forever since I’d given him an orgasm in any way other than PIV. He was moaning so hard I was half-sure he would come on my stomach. Which I would have loved.

The Pedant was fairly talkative today. For some reason he started whispering “yes” whenever I was doing something he liked, which was hot at first but he just kept on saying it at precisely regular intervals (“yes…yes…yes…yes…yes…”) so it got a bit monotonous and weird. And now, during this hand job, he started really riffing. First he whispered “I love the way your hands feel on me…please tie me down and keep doing that” (arrrrgh so hot…!) so I did that. He asked if I wanted him to come, and of course I said yes (I’m not sure why I’d be tying him up and jerking him off, otherwise…) and there was a whole bunch of stuff about how he loved being my pet/slave/etc., which I have mixed feelings about because while the concept is hot, he’s not my slave….and at that particular moment I was pretty blatantly service-topping him. Or at least it seemed blatant to me. And then my brain went off on a tangent wondering if he really thought that me tying him up and jerking him off was me using him as a slave (that is not how I conceive of “using” a sub/slave-type person. “Using” implies that he is doing something useful. Having him give me an orgasm would be “using” him in the D/s sense, to me. Giving him an orgasm? Not so much. It might count as a scene but not as him being all slavey n shit.)

But he’s back on that thing of using the word “love” a lot in the heat of the moment (which I remain convinced is a thing he does when he wants to say “I love you” but is just a bit too chicken). “I love the way your hands feel on me” “I love what you do to my cock,” “I love the way you kiss my nipples” etc. I’m back to having feelings for him now so I’m on board with him loving stuff about me. Hopefully one day he’ll be able to actually say “I love you” to me but in the meantime this will do nicely.

I was jerking him off for quite a long time without him coming, and just as I was convinced that he was probably overstimulated and not going to orgasm again, he asked if I would like him inside me again. Yeah, what the hell. I climbed aboard and when I slid down around him he gasped deeply, as though the feeling were brand new and amazing. As though he’d never thought to put his penis in a vagina before. As if I hadn’t been pumping his cock in my fist continuously for the past twenty minutes or so to a point where you’d think it would be numb.

He continued free-associating about how much he loved what I was doing and how when I’m touching his nipples the way I do, he feels like I could get him to do absolutely anything (yeah okay that was hot) and then he was like “do you want me to come inside you?” (which I’ve realized is dirty talk, for him, not really asking permission per se. He’s only started saying it since we became fluid-bonded so I think that, like me, he’s turned on by the closeness of being bareback. And likes to kind of talk about it to remind himself that it’s happening). Anyway I said yes to the coming inside me and pretty soon KERPOW. Looked like a good one; he thrashed and reared up off the pillow, which in turn brought out my feral side and I put a hand on his chest and shoved him down, hard, growling in his ear while I fucked my way through the rest of his spasms and finally we just lay together with him intermittently shuddering and me planting small, soft kisses all over his face and neck.

Then he really had to go, or so he said – he ended up lying in my bed petting me and talking and it was maybe three more hours before he actually left.

I’m a little angry at myself because I had things I was going to do today – and could have, if The Pedant had stayed for just a couple of hours like he’d originally said instead of six. I could have gently disengaged between sessions and insisted that he go so I could get shit done, but I didn’t. Boo.

The sex was pretty epic, though.

I probably have more to say about this but I really have to go to bed right now.

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