Everything’s comin’ up Millhouse

My parents’ Christmas cheque arrived – they gave me a thousand bucks. Between that and the two big paycheques I received today and figuring out that one of the schools I work for fucked up and didn’t pay me for $250 worth of shifts (I straightened it out and they’re sending it to me on the next payday) I am awash with relief. I think I may actually have a small nest egg now for the first time in a year or two. If I keep on working my ass off maybe I can get through next summer without going back on welfare, after all.

I made a point of incorporating the phrase “this will buy me one month of rent and anti-anxiety meds” into my thank-you email to my parents. I suspect they have no idea how high my expenses actually are and that’s why my dad is baffled by my need for help and told me that I should really think about putting money away for my slow seasons (FACEPALM). Their house (which they bought around 1985 in a town with a much lower cost of living than where I am now) cost something like $300,000. I’ve paid over a third of that in rent to my landlords since moving into this apartment eleven years ago. And I really believe they have no idea how hard it is to tread water here and think I’m just lazy or something.

So now they know that a) I have mental issues I’m being medicated for – issues that presumably made working (and everything else ever…) difficult. And b) my rent is fucking stupid-high.

My parents essentially bought me a whole month free from worry* – a month in which I am housed and can continue to be mentally healthy. They probably thought they were buying me more than that. But this is huge, and I am grateful.


*A month I won’t have to use yet, since I’ve been working so much these past few months that my December expenses are covered. But it’ll be there, waiting in my bank account for when I need it.

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Moar texting with The Pedant

Me: I’ve ordered some cheap underbed straps. Let’s hope they suit our purpose [The Pedant has talked about us spending the night in a hotel sometime, just for fun. This will require an under-the-mattress bondage system so we can get our groove on no matter what the bedframe is like there]. Also another silicone dick, but that’s neither here nor there. Especially THERE. :P

Pedant: At this rate you’ll have more dong than wall visible on your wall of dong before long.

Me: Yeah. Space will become an issue. [Several minutes later, as the inadvertent pun dawned on me] …Ba-dum ching. [Later still…] ‘Course the shopping process got me imagining you spread-eagled and tied down. You look good in everything you choose to wear, but I have to say that “restraints and nothing else” is my favourite.

Pedant: You’re probably a bit biased. :)

Me: Be that as it may, I think you’re beautiful and I want to fuck you. Whether this opinion is universal is of no concern to me.

Pedant: Thank you. :)

I feel like that might be the first time he’s ever said “thank you” to one of my compliments like a normal person. For the longest time he would deflect in one way or another but gradually, without me having asked him to, he’s begun to relax and accept my words. I’m glad. I’ve come to realize that mushy words are a huge way that I show love, and when I’ve felt that my mushy words were unwelcome and I needed to suppress them (this happened with The Bunny, who was also a deflector of compliments but in an almost mean-spirited way, not just glib like The Pedant) I felt…muted. Strangled. Like I was being forced to walk around with a bag over my head. My sense of self is that tied into verbal expression.

So I’m happy that The Pedant is lowering his defenses for me.


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I have all the dicks.

I just bought yet another silicone dildo. :P But YOU GUISE. It’s a double dildo – not the fancy Feeldoe kind but just a big long cylinder with blunt ends – and I think it will make a fantastic impact tool. Thuddy, like a weirdly bendy police baton. I bought it for that more than for penetration.

And anyway it was super cheap and my pinkcherrry order was to a point where I could either spend ten more bucks and qualify for free shipping, or not order the dildo and pay the shipping charge – which is ten bucks. So the choice was clear.

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A possible epiphany and a date update

So…the thought of dating a guy my own age often kinda creeps me out because in my mind, guys my age are…dads. Not in the sense of having children of their own (not all of them even would) but in the sense of being old and unsexy like my own dad.

And it suddenly occurs to me that I might think this way because I moved to a different city when I was in my early 20s and my dad would have been in his 40s, and I stayed incommunicado for like half a decade and even now I only see my parents once every few years. Therefore the image of what a “dad” looks like got frozen in my head at 45ish. Whereas if I’d stayed in regular contact with him, my concept of a “dad” might have aged along with my actual dad.

Kind of the inverse of single parents who feel squicked by the idea of fucking someone the same age as their child (even if their child is an adult, I mean) and the squick-age keeps on moving up as their kid gets older.

Anyway. The date with the 40yo was…I dunno. I didn’t feel the spark I’d wanted to. Dude was pretty attractive (not nearly as haggard as a lot of guys our age) but I’m usually into goths and nerds and offbeat types and he comes across pretty much as a dudebro, only more introspective. The conversation was pleasant but it did not take flight. And near the end the conversation just died – there was nothing to say to each other. And yet he’d given me a cheek-kiss hello when I first arrived, surreptitiously checked out my figure when I got up to go to the bathroom, and said some flirty things (I think I asked him how he felt about being bitten really hard or something and he said he wasn’t sure so “we’ll find out when we get there.” And that was right before the talking ran dry, not something he said at the beginning and then maybe he soured on me in the meantime…).

I wondered whether the silence came partly from sexual tension (mostly on his end, but I do have a love of the chase that causes me to start daydreaming about successfully making a move on a guy even if I’m not actually that into him). Also I wondered whether kissing him would fire up some chemistry that previously hadn’t been there for me. So when he drove me home I leaned across the car and kissed him goodnight. Very, very nice kisses – warm and soft and lingering, no tongue. My libido is all fucked up lately but if it weren’t I think I would’ve felt some stirrings. And I murmured “text me” and left his car. He did that gentlemanly thing of not pulling away until he saw that I’d gotten inside, but he didn’t text me when he got home or anything. So I don’t really know how he’s feeling about all of this and don’t think I care enough to follow up. If he asks me out again, I’ll go, because there are things I liked about him and sometimes it takes a while for me to start diggin’ a guy. If he doesn’t ask me out again, I guess that’s that.

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I have a date with the 40 year old in an hour. I’m trying so hard not to be nervous that I’ve overshot into being totally numb, I think.

We’ve been texting practically nonstop for the last couple of days and it’s been good. Talking to someone my own age is intriguing. He asks me stuff about myself instead of treating our interactions like a one-man show he’s putting on to impress me. When he’s about to go to bed or otherwise be inaccessible for a bit, he tells me; I think that’s an older generation thing. I remember feeling a duty to tell someone “I’m going to be busy for the next little while so I won’t be able to talk” back in the day, but everyone I was texting/messaging with (cougarbait boys) totally just treated messaging as filler in between their normal life-stuff, not as a continuous conversation, so I started doing that, too. I mean I remember a time some kid wanted to talk to me via instant messenger so I basically set aside everything I was doing, typed him a greeting, and sat waiting for his reply…but his replies were ridiculously sporadic because he was typing them while playing a video game.

The 40yo and I have a running theme in our conversations of “have I scared you off yet?” and at one point had a pretty blunt convo asking about each other’s dealbreakers and making sure neither of us had any big red flags for the other. It was refreshing to be able to be so open about it (and I remember the last fortysomething I dated being very much the same way…). When I talk to young’uns I feel like being that blunt would put them off, like I’m not supposed to have any history or baggage plus saying “Look, here’s a thing about me you might not want to deal with. We still good?” would look like insecurity. Young’uns are for the most part almost terminally optimistic and don’t really know what they want yet and I just can’t lob my list of “I will probably not like you if”s into that mix.

So the directness of talking to the 40yo has been good. At the same time I’m reminded of why I don’t usually date my own age: because the baggage and history on both sides is kinda sad. There’s a sense of “oh, I hope this works out, I’ve been alone for a really long time and I’d like to find something stable, finally, if that’s even possible for me at this point.” With the young’uns it’s just “hey, this person seems cool. I wonder what it’ll turn into?”

He told me he’s a little extra-nervous about meeting me because it’s been ages since he’s talked to someone with this much potential. I am simultaneously thrilled and dismayed. It’s so stupid – I want a stable long-term relationship, and I’m fairly sure that’s what he meant there was potential for, not “you’re a potential casual fuck”, but I associate stable long-term relationships with boredom and practicality and…unsexiness. I get an image in my head of one of those station wagons with wood paneling on the side, and a bunch of boring conversations about who took out the garbage.

I know I’m fucked up and have a Peter Pan complex or whatever.

In conclusion, here is a video that hilariously underlines that youthful optimism vs. how decrepit and jaded I feel now (although the ages aren’t relevant to me ’cause I was married from ages 23-32).

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Moar Pedant time

The Pedant crashed here last night and it was lovely.

Sex with him just seems to get better and better – in the sense that he very much gives me the reactions I crave. He’s more abandoned with his sounds, he almost never has problems coming like he used to, and I can read his signals way better than before and/or his orgasms are following a more obvious pattern than they once did. I mean, I used to feel so in the dark with him and now I feel like I’m orchestrating precisely what I intend to. Such good toppy feelings. Prawr.

I think at least part of this is that he is far more sensitive than he’d ever be willing to admit, and now that he knows I love him – and our relationship has been pretty stable for a while – he feels secure and can really let go with me. And also our ditching condoms has contributed to his orgasms happening more quickly and reliably. And, he’s not fucking anyone else at the moment so a bit of it may straight-up be that when we see each other he’s kinda sexually backed up and thus comes more quickly. :P

We were both pretty backed up when he came over last night, I think. It’s been a couple of weeks since we last saw each other and I’ve been craving him so hard…and he’d texted me a day or two before to tell me that thoughts of me had been driving him to distraction, too. Often when I let him into my building we just head upstairs without fanfare, but last night we both simultaneously moved in for a hello kiss that turned into about fifty hello kisses, soft and sweet, clutching each other’s shoulders in my foyer. Seeing him put my emotions into overdrive and my heart felt like it was racketing around in my chest. I avoided pressing too tightly against him because I was afraid he’d feel it and ask me what was up and I couldn’t exactly have explained it, myself. I just missed him, I guess, and had built up the impending sex in my head so much that I was afraid of it being a letdown when it finally happened.

If I get all detailed with the sexual descriptions I’ll fall down a rabbithole and be writing for days. Suffice it to say that we got down to nekkid stuff pretty soon after getting into my apartment and it was intense. Holy god, so intense. I had him so worked up that when I put him inside me, his body was practically vibrating – like an earthquake going through his bones. I rode him and watched the pretty, pretty torment on his face (I would have eaten his expression if I could have…) and when he came – well, for all intents and purposes I’m gonna call it a crygasm. No actual tears shed, but everything else identical – chest-hitching and sobbing sounds and face-scrunching and all. Glorious.

And since apparently I’m some kind of empath when I love someone, I felt his orgasm (the brain chemical part only, though; unfortunately not the fun crotch-feelings part) and the endorphin explosion and lovey-dovey feelings overwhelmed me to the point where I had a little cry, myself. I quickly undid the Pedant’s wrists from the corners of the bed and wrapped his arms around my back; he squeezed me tightly and we just stayed like that for a while with him still inside me and me jacknifed on top of him stealth-crying.

The next morning we had had MOAR SECKS and again it was just so shockingly intense. The sound he made when I slid down around him…it felt like coming home. And he had another crygasm.

This time his orgasm didn’t jump across into my brain, but I did get out the Hitachi and set about giving myself the full experience, crotch-feelings and all. The Pedant cuddled up to me with his head on my shoulder, falling asleep, but when I said “I want your fingers” he roused himself without argument and set about doing things to my g-spot while I continued on with the vibrator on my clitoris. I came so hard that I ended up laughing and crying at the same time and he held me tightly until it all subsided. He seems to “get” how the enormity of my feelings makes my brain all explody and I need cuddles. Perhaps because he experiences the same thing, albeit without the actual eye-water part.

Anyhoo. We lounged around in bed for a while and then he treated us to sushi at the place near my apartment. He ordered a beef dish that turned out to have spicy stuff sprinkled onto it, and he can’t deal with spicy stuff at all so he enlisted me to rescue him from it. I’m not into spicy food either but to me it was barely hot at all. I took a chance and ventured to tell The Pedant that I find it really hot that he’s this robust werewolf of a boy and yet in some ways has such delicate sensibilities. I say “took a chance” because The Pedant in some ways seems to subscribe to the whole toxic masculinity thing and it seemed likely he’d bristle at being called delicate in any way. But he just said “So I’m a refined werewolf?” and I laughed and said yes, exactly. And told him I was going to buy him a monocle and a top hat with wolf ears on it, and he said he flat-out would not wear a top hat like that, and I became fake-petulant over this. Good times.

When we got back to my place, The Pedant helped me re-shave my head. Also he needed me to help him shave the back of his neck, which was getting floofier than he liked. In the shower together afterward, I washed myself briskly and then stepped aside so The Pedant could get under the water. Instead of doing his own self-washing, he washed me some more, running my sudsy shower puff thing all over my head, neck and shoulders to make sure all the hair clippings were gone and then pretty much washing the entire back of me, including kneeling to do the backs of my legs (swooooon!).

Then he helped me bleach and dye my remaining hair (I joked about using the excess bleach to paint a stripe down his back hair so he could be a skunk and he cut me off with a brisk “NO.” But he was smiling. I said I’d talk sexy to him in a Pepe le Pew voice but the answer was still no. Sadface.).

We watched NetFlix while I waited for the dye to set in; me on the couch, The Pedant standing in the middle of the room ostensibly doing his whole lint-brush ritual preparatory to leaving, except the show distracted him I guess and he paused mid-lint-brush, watching it. “You should come pet my legs,” I said, and he did. Still standing – he had his boxers on already and didn’t want to taint them by sitting on my furry couch – but yeah, he totally caressed my legs while we watched some more Brooklyn 99.

And I rinsed out the dye and we got dressed and left – him for home, me for work – and he waited for my bus with me even though he was headed in the opposite direction and when the bus arrived he gave me several kisses goodbye along with the mushiest smile ever. And stayed long enough to wave to me as the bus pulled out instead of immediately turning and leaving.

Fuck, I love this boy so much.




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Maybe I let my anxiety get away from me when I was thinking about my financial future.

I have enough money in the bank right now to cover December rent (provided I don’t withdraw any in the meantime, obviously, and I don’t think I’ll have to since I have a couple of cash gigs coming up. Although, my credit card bill is due…I guess I can’t pay it until another cheque or two comes in…). The amount I’m expecting to trickle in via cheque over the next month or so for work done in November (and also a late payment from a school that forgot to pay me for a bunch of shifts since September and I only just noticed it now) is $1,560, not $900ish as I’d predicted.

In December my gigs dry up substantially, but I still have some, to the tune of $900, so I’ve almost covered January’s rent right there. I’ll need to dip into that $1,560 for food and bills but that should still leave me with a thousand bucks.

I’ll also be continuing to sell my art in that store where I rent a booth, and doing Christmas craft fairs most weekends in December. If things go the way they have in previous years, I stand to make a few hundred bucks from that.

So I might be more like two months ahead, not just one. Plus my parents are going to give me some money, although I have no idea how much so I’m not counting on it to save me or anything.

If I keep on working at the same soul-killing rate in the new year, I could theoretically make another “extra” two grand by the time the schools close for summer and work slows down. So maybe – if I don’t have some sort of breakdown trying – I’ll actually be able to survive most of next summer without assistance. W00t.

In the meantime, I’m applying for disability. If that goes through (I’m guessing it won’t, but if) then I’ll have a safety net for the slow periods which means I can start pacing how much I work during the school year, like I did back when I still had the dregs of my office-work nest egg to rely on.

If I only could have the time to stop and breathe every now and then, I could work harder at my art and porning activities and maybe establish a steady and viable stream of income. But I can hardly do fucking anything lately because my entire life is just this hellish circle of work – go home – collapse – work.


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