As I said, between The Pedant using my place as a crash pad because it’s convenient to his work, “asking” for favours using the phrase “I’m gonna need you to…”, and being a gigantic starfish in bed, I’m feeling a bit taken for granted.
I’m also feeling like I’m being slotted into the role of Nurturing Feminine Type Person and it is ill-fitting as all hell on me. I am not a nurturer. I’m snuggly and physically affectionate and I’m able to rally myself to help my loved ones in short bursts if they need it. But I’m very much not the “Awww, honey, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you” woman. When I help people it’s because I want them to be doing well, not because it particularly fulfills me as a woman or whatever. It really just exhausts me. Taking care of myself exhausts me.
Now, I’m not saying that The Pedant is thinking of me as a cosmic titty, necessarily, or trying to make me into one. I’m doing at least some of this to myself. If someone I love is having a rough time and I have the capacity to help them, I have a really really hard time not doing it (let’s blame my mom – I guess I’m not as “over” her conditioning as I thought). When The Pedant would say “I’m gonna need to crash here on Tuesday and Wednesday because if I don’t I’ll only get to have five hours’ sleep those nights,” I said okay even though it inconvenienced me. I couldn’t stand to be the reason for him being underslept. I even offered to have dinner ready for when he got here at 10pm-ish, so that he’d be able to eat immediately and then go to bed (wake up time: 6am). The idea of having dinner ready for some dude when he got home made me feel like I was turning into a Stepford wife and it kind of turned my stomach, but I reassured myself that I wasn’t being domesticated, I was doing a logical and helpful thing on a temporary basis (and he’s done logical and helpful things for me, too). The Pedant didn’t accept this offer, though; he bought food at the deli counter of the all-night grocery and ate before he arrived. He also referenced how I’ve said I sleep better than usual when I’m next to him, and how he was hoping that would be a way of “paying me back” for accommodating him. So I do think he’s aware of the precarious balance of things and trying not to overstep.
The fact remains, though, that within the past few weeks:
- He’s crashed here numerous times, making it very clear that it was not to see me per se but just for the use of a bed
- He’s had me pay both his phone bills for him because he didn’t have time – using my own money – and hasn’t paid me back yet
- He had a few other errands he intended to send me out on (“I’m gonna need you to…”) but I said no
All this “I’m gonna need you to…” is making me feel like his personal assistant, not his partner. It also feels like he’s just assuming I’ll do all these things rather than actually legitimately asking me. Probably it’s really just a quirk of his speech but still. Actually the fact that he uses the word “need” probably hits my guilt buttons harder, too, than if he’d phrased it as “Hey could I stay over tomorrow so I can get more sleep?”
So I wanted some counterbalance, and had asked him to come over on Tuesday night specifically to focus on me. Pet me to sleep, maybe give me some orgasms first, etc. He ended up cancelling because he’d had a rough day at work and just wanted to be alone. Which irritated me because I’d let him crash here a bunch of times when I would rather have been alone – or at least, would rather have not been woken up by his alarm at 6am when I didn’t have to wake up til noon – but fine, that was my fault for letting him infringe on me. It does nobody any good if I strongarm him into coming by when he doesn’t want to, though, so I just wished him happy alone-time and left it at that.
He did ask, via text, if I’d like him to come over on Wednesday, though. I said if he was up for lavishing attention on me, then yes, by all means. (Meaning: if you come over, don’t expect to be a little pillow princess like usual; arrive with intent to spend effort on me or don’t bother.) I could see that this message had been read, but he didn’t answer it. A few hours later I added some other thing as an afterthought; that, too, got read fairly promptly, but four hours later I’d still gotten no response. I haven’t slept well in about a million years and my anxiety is running high. I know this. I tried to talk myself down. Finally I caved and texted him “if it’s taking you this long to think about it, shall I assume it’s a no…?”
He said he’d been sleeping most of the day and that’s why he didn’t answer, but yes, he would come over. I refrained from pointing out that I knew he’d read the texts ages ago (I don’t want to be policing him like that. People are allowed not to respond to a text immediately! But at the same time though, it would have taken him a second or two to reply “yes” so WTF?). I just told him I was working til 4:30 so he should come by at 6. He said okay.
But of course at 5:30 last night I get a text saying “I probably won’t be by until after 8pm; I’m running late with all the errands I was going to do.” So there’s the first irritation.
He finally got here at about 9:30 (in fairness, part of that was popping into a dollar store for something I’d requested). His arrival interrupted me mid-shower and he never fucking has his copy of the keys on him so I had to get out to let him in.
We came upstairs and I finished my shower and by then he was naked, too. I kissed him and he immediately started moaning softly. This did not have its usual cachet for me; his arms (as usual) hung limply at his sides as he received my attention and that just fed into my feelings of being neglected and taken for granted.
Tangent: I haven’t been feeling fulfilled lately in our D/s. I’ve been consistently letting his tantalizing reactions lead me down the path of tying him up and having sex with him, which is fun and makes me feel in control up to a point (since I can make him squirm and moan and since he is helpless when restrained) but for the most part I’m not feeling dominant in the way that I’d like. I’d need to actually make him do things for that; as it stands he’s just an object I’m acting upon, and doing all the things he would have wanted me to do anyway. It’s feeling kind of hollow.
Oh I would be remiss if I didn’t properly set the scene here by mentioning that I was (and am) PMSing like a MOTHERFUCKER right now. So definitely more cranky about small things than usual. But probably all of this stuff would have been at least a little annoying to me even on a good day.
So anyway I requested a shoulder massage, and he complied. As usual, it felt from his body language (and constant chit-chat) that he wasn’t regarding this as serving me in a D/s sense; simply as doing me a favour. In between periodically asking me “feeling better?” (as if wanting pleasant attention paid to my body is an affliction, or as if he was wondering whether he’d fulfilled his perfunctory duties as my partner yet and we could move on to fun stuff) he made small talk about his day. Mostly, actually, small talk about other women he’s interested in. First he lamented that he’s going to be at some goth event with the chick from work who he thinks is really cute but who probably isn’t compatible with him, so what on earth will he say to her? Then he talked about the condo that he and his other partner* will be moving into sometime in future, and how they’ll be decorating it. Then he asked me if I have any room on my credit card right now and when I said yes he was like “I may need you to put a couple of concert tickets on there. It seems more practical than aiming to buy them at the door and them maybe being sold out.” (The Pedant doesn’t have a credit card. He sometimes asks me to use mine, for things that require one, and he’d give me the cash. I mean he’s asked about the possibility a few different times but we never ended up actually doing it for whatever reason.)
And I’m sitting there thinking, “When I touch you I get completely absorbed by your body’s reactions and can spend hours in a trance of running my hands over you and divining the very best ways and places to draw out pleasure. And this is what I get in return? An absent-minded massage while you ask me to buy concert tickets for you and another woman? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
But I was PMSing so hard that I couldn’t figure out how to say any of this without being waaaaaay too shouty and blamey and pessimistic.
I did manage to casually say “Hey did you ever notice that instead of actually asking me to do things, you go ‘I’m gonna need you to…’ like I’m your personal assistant?” (And this did the double duty of distracting him from talking about other women…)
He claimed that he says that as a heads up that he’s going to ask me a thing, and then he does ask. I said no, I don’t actually recall him phrasing any of this stuff as a question, ever. There’s only ever the “I’m gonna need you to…” He apologized.
I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for the massaging. After my shoulders had been pummeled into a state of relaxation and I said it was enough, The Pedant flopped back onto my mattress and rested his head on his linked hands. I stretched out next to him head-to-toe and demanded pettings. He began stroking me from my ass to the backs of my knees, still in a sort of absent-minded and perfunctory way, although at least he wasn’t talking anymore. I think he started dozing off; his fingers kept stopping mid-caress and I’d twitch my leg impatiently and he’d get going again. He asked “feeling better?” three or four different times during all of this and I started replying “if I want you to stop I’ll let you know” each time.
As usually happens when someone runs their fingers along the backs of my legs, the soles of my feet starting tingling in anticipation and wanting attention. The Pedant kept stopping at mid-calf, though. “My feet require your attention,” I said. He said okay (and didn’t seem to be dozing off anymore by this point; his caresses were steady and constant) but still just stroked down as far as my ankles. I actually had to prompt him again. Only then did he touch my feet – and it was to massage them.
I like having my feet rubbed. But I like them caressed more, and caressing is what he’d been doing all the way down my legs, so the fact that he switched to a different mode of attention at my feet makes me wonder if he somehow forgot (AGAIN) that my feet are a major erogenous zone for me when petted, and assumed that my soles are ticklish like most people’s. That would be fairly infuriating as I’ve been his primary (and often only) partner for a year or two now; it’s not like he has a whole bunch of women whose preferences he might confuse. I have flat-out told him on several occasions that I like my feet petted, and he has petted them and seen me howl in pleasure. Nothing else but orgasming makes me utter sounds as intense as when my feet are petted. And yet the memory of making me scream and thrash and hump the mattress apparently done slipped his mind. So again I say: I’ve given him hours upon hours of pleasure, tailored to his specific body with almost scientific precision – and this is what I get back?
Honestly I feel kind of stupid for having such a weird erogenous zone, anyway. If a guy refused to touch my genitals I think I could muster some righteous rage because dude, wtf? If a guy keeps subtly avoiding touching my feet, though, or doesn’t touch them quite the way I want, I feel awkward having to repeat the words again and again. So I received The Pedant’s reasonably adequate foot massage without telling him that I really wanted to be caressed.
Then I reversed myself so we were lying head-to-head and foot-to-foot again. I cuddled up to him and ran my hand over his torso and he started making the tiny little moans and whimpers that mean he’s receptive to sex. Cool, but I wasn’t going to let his seductive sounds distract me from my own needs and make it all about him again. I rolled onto my back, dragged his right hand onto my crotch, and said “pet me.”
He started stimulating my clit pretty hard and in a way I don’t like. “No, no; just pet me. Lightly. Tease me,” I said. He did the same uncomfortable clitoral stuff but with slightly less pressure. What I had meant was that I wanted him to run his fingertips lightly over my whole vulva, not stab my clit like a doorbell. I took his fingers and tried to guide them to lightly stroke up the centre line, but that initial pushing of his hand to the bottom part made him assume that I wanted his fingers inside me. And I thought sure, fuck it, let’s do that. I didn’t have the patience to explain every little thing right then; I’d probably snap and just start yelling “Why do you suck at everything?!?!?” and he doesn’t suck at everything so that wouldn’t be fair.
Fingerbanging is one of the things he does in a way I like. After a minute or two he got up and knelt between my knees for a better angle. I reached over the grabbed the Hitachi and – shockingly – he took it from me and wielded it himself.
When The Pedant is trying to get me off, he never just finds a thing that seems to get a good reaction out of me and then sticks with that. He seems to want to be all fancy and be trying different shit out all the time. Or maybe he’s just so socially tone deaf that he can’t tell when I really like something so he’s just cycling through every technique he can think of, figuring once he hits something that works for me, confetti and flames will shoot out of my vag. I don’t know. But basically he kept changing things up every ten seconds. A lot of it did feel good, but too intense, like if I let it kick me over into orgasm it would hurt. I told The Pedant this, and compared it to the time I way overfocused on the head of his cock during a hand job – it got him off but was way too much. I took the Hitachi from him and finished myself off while he slammed his fingers into me, and the orgasm was better than I’ve had in a long time (probably because someone else was helping – my last bunch, even ones had with The Pedant, were entirely me).
After a quick pee break I cuddled up to The Pedant again and thought about maybe falling asleep. He was making tiny “oh hai there just so you know I’m up for sex” whimpers from my arm being across his chest, but hey, I’ve gotten him off without reciprocation a bunch of times so I would give no fucks about passing out and leaving him hanging.
But I decided that I craved more penetration, so I got The Pedant all riled up and then used my legs to pull him on top of me. Interestingly, by now he was finally in sub mode and remained so despite being on top. He gasped when I rolled him on top of me and lifted himself up slightly to allow me to put his cock inside me if I chose to. Once he started thrusting I played with his nipples relentlessly, wanting to see how fast I could get him off, both for the thrill of power and because I was pissed off and PMSing and feeling neglected so I was damn sure not going to treat him to my usual hours-long extravaganza of attention. As soon as he came I kind of wished I’d allowed him to last longer so I could have had more sex, but oh well.
And then when he rolled off me to fall asleep I shoved his hand to my crotch again and made him fingerbang me again while I got myself off.
The calibre of attention he gave me that night was not what I’d been seeking and I’m still pissed off about that. I don’t feel mollified. But I feel a tiny bit avenged.
This morning he said something stupid that pissed me off and I decided I’d had enough. He’d been going to crash here again tonight for convenience but I said don’t come by after all, I want the place to myself. He asked if it’s because I was still mad about his stupid comment and I said I’m actually angry about a few things lately but I’m also PMSing really hard so I’ve been trying to wait until after that to discuss it all.
All last night I’d been stewing and he hadn’t noticed at all, but now he finally became solicitous. Suddenly he started talking about how he would help me back up my aging computer one day soon, and put all the stuff onto the newer one. When I walked him downstairs to lock the door behind him, he kissed me and murmured “We’ll talk soon and work things out, okay?” and even stood there massaging my temples and shoulders for a while. Seeing him get a little panicky was kind of vindicating. I can see that he wants to please and impress me, and that’s a good thing.
What’s not good is that he only wanted to please and impress me once he realized I was becoming disenchanted with him. It doesn’t seem to occur to him to do happy things for my body just as a matter of course, when I’m not angry and he’s not trying to suck up. So…that’s not great.
*I don’t really know what’s up, there. When this plan was first set in motion, he referred to her as a friend that he used to be seeing. They were going to move in as roommates – not “live together” in a romantic capacity – but she had apparently told him that the prospect of them fucking was not out of the question. Lately he’s been referring to her as a partner. I’m vaguely threatened by this whole moving-in thing anyway so I’m opting not to ask for details of whether he’s back to screwing her on a regular basis and that’s why the title change, or…?