Shit.

I haven’t taken any steps to hold an “intervention” for The Veteran yet. But someone must have, because behold her Facebook status:

“To all of you so ‘concerned’ that you would text or bother my work colleague about my personal well-being. I’m fine. I’m having a ‘break-up’ not a ‘break-down.'”

This is exactly what I was worried about: that she would not only refuse to listen to what was said to her, but also call people out in public about it. I don’t know that our friendship could survive her talking shit about me, even anonymously. I just don’t want to know that she thinks of me as stupid or nosey or whatever it is she’d say.

I don’t know what to do.

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In need of closure

Shortly after The Pedant finally broke his silence and responded to my email and texts the other day, I sent him:

“I want to tie you down and run your pretty cock through my hands until you beg me for release.” This was not a request for a visit per se; it’s just what I was thinking about at the time. Although I did want to see him – the sooner the better – to basically have make-up sex. I’ve mostly made my peace with the fact that he goes through periods of bravado and says shit to me that makes it sound like he doesn’t care. His actions say that he does care about me. But for me to be the recipient of his actions he kinda has to be around me, so…

The Pedant responded to my sext: “I think we can arrange that. It’ll be a week or two, though.”

…Fuck. I guess smoothing over our recent rough patch with snuggles and sex isn’t as high on his priority list as it is on mine. Which bothers me. As does the fact that he didn’t specify an actual day to see me. He got a bit better about that shit this time around, but when we were going out the first time he would be so vague with the making of plans that I could swear he was actually trolling me. Like I’d say I wanted to see him and he’d be like “I might have one day of the weekend free.” Just that. Not even telling me which fucking day. I hope he’s not gonna revert back to that bullshit again.

Perhaps he’s still in a bravado phase a little bit and this is why he’s not trying harder to see me. I feel it would be bad strategy, then, to bombard him with attention right now. And I do want to bombard him, yes indeed. Although I’m really big on keeping ulterior motives out of my interactions with people I love, so even if he wasn’t possibly in an aloof phase, I’d be keeping myself from messaging him overly much – because frankly I’m only consumed by the urge to text him right now because I’m feeling insecure about our fight (or whatever you’d call it) and want to say any old shit just to prompt responses. I don’t like that. So I’m not letting myself do it.

It amuses me sometimes (and frustrates me at other times) to think about just how much goes on in this relationship that The Pedant has no idea about. He thinks I don’t know the “real him” when in fact I’ve observed things about him that he doesn’t even know or admit about himself. He knows I suffer from anxiety but he’s only really seen the paralysis and hating-being-in-public parts; he only gets the very, very tip of the iceberg when it comes to the insecurity and paranoia aspect since I’m generally meticulous in keeping that away from him. He probably has no idea that I read his aloof moods and accommodate them, or notice his insecurities and try to subtly reassure him.

I don’t mind doing an unbalanced share of the emotional labour, most of the time. Arguably he does more of other kinds of labour. He spends (what to me feels like) extraordinary amounts of money on restaurant meals for us when he’s over. He helps tidy my apartment. He’s constantly coming up with ideas to make my life easier. By comparison I feel like I don’t do much of anything for him but get him off, and even that is more for me than for him ’cause I like the sounds he makes.

But at times like this I do feel a bit of resentment because, again, at this particular moment he’s not doing anything for me. He’ll (eventually) respond to texts I send him but that’s it. I haven’t gotten a phone call from him in ages. He hasn’t come over in ages. He hasn’t sexted me in ages.

Hopefully he’ll see me soon-ish and we’ll get back on track. I keep remembering how, when he’s come over the past bunch of times, he’s paused mid-foreplay to give me a long, reverent, grateful embrace. Like just palpably pouring devotion into me. I need more of that. Like…right fucking now.

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Less confusing.

I never did talk to the guy from this post to clarify his intent. He was pretty fun to hang out with but not so fun that I missed him after he was gone, so I mostly just forgot the whole thing.

Then tonight he texted asking if I might be free for a session, and the fact that he said “session” made our deal pretty clear. I asked him to come over in an hour and a half to give me time to get ready. He said okay, and added that this time he was okay with me leaving marks on him. Oooooh.😀

He just left. I got him to massage my feet for a bit, then chained his arms up across my hallway and bit and punched him (interspersed with making out and nice-touching). I’d put on a music mix ahead of time where I knew what song was at about the fifty-minute mark so I could start the hand job and finish him up by an hour, tops.

It’s hilarious how much he flinched and “ow!”‘d at my punches. Dude trains in martial arts and spars with (presumably) other buff men.

“Surely when you spar with guys they hit you way harder than this!” I said.

“I don’t let them” he said. Ohhhh right, because in a sparring match his arms are free and he can move around and block punches and stuff. Derp.

All his flinching, squirming, and squealing makes me wonder whether I punch anywhere near as hard as those guys or if it’s just scarier because he’s so vulnerable with his bare torso on display for me and his hands restrained. Or if he has more endorphins and adrenaline coursing through him during a sparring match so the pain is blunted down.

Anyway, I got him off and (as before) he was immediately awkward afterward and left quickly without touching me whatsoever – it’s like he sent out a prickly aura around himself in self-defense just from me thinking about maybe hugging him goodbye. I don’t love the madonna-whore implications of him only being willing to kiss me when he’s horny and then practically brandishing a lit torch at me like I’m Frankenstein’s monster after he’s come, but whatevs, I made a hundred bucks. And I’m relieved to know exactly what our deal is.

Oh, and I’ve come up with a much more succinct answer to “if you’re enjoying yourself then why am I paying?” than I had before. Not that he’s asked me or anything.

But if someone asked me, I’d tell them, “Because you’re not paying me to hate this. You’re paying me to be available on short notice, look pretty, and cater to your desires without any kind of emotional commitment. And I’m doing that.”

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Shit.

My friend The Veteran has been giving me a kinda spooky vibe lately, mental-health-wise. And a while back when I was over there, she casually mentioned that she’s gone off her mood stabilizers.

I think she really needs to go back on them again. But I don’t know how to tell her. I’m afraid she’ll get angry at me if I tell her, or think I’m picking on her or something. I mean the fact that she’s off her meds in the first place implies that she doesn’t think she needs them, so…

But I’m afraid she’ll (eventually) get angry if I don’t point out that she’s going off the rails, too. She’s been making a bunch of posts on Facebook today. Like, a bunnnnch. Long, rambling, borderline conspiracy-theory type posts, to which she (and usually only she) replies multiple times because apparently she realized she had more to say. Some of the posts are about art  modelling, and really stress the awful parts of the job and how hard it is and stuff. And she’s Facebook friends with some work people so I worry that her disparaging rambling might cost her some work.

The Veteran is bipolar (and I suspect what’s going on here is mania). Mine is also bipolar (and managing it with medication), and I texted him a few weeks back asking him what I should do. He said if I confront her, I need to have actual evidence to present – that just saying “you seem weird” probably won’t be an effective argument. He makes a good point, but I don’t know what to say.

What first tipped me off about a possible issue is the way The Veteran would talk about her apartment when I was over. She lives in a studio/loft type space, and when I first met her it was fully of interesting, salvaged old furniture and knicknacks but basically tidy. At some point over the last few months it’s turned into that garbage dump from the movie Labyrinth. It’s not clear to me whether The Veteran had accumulated new stuff or taken pre-existing belongings out of a bunch of trunks and nooks and hidey-holes and laid them out to take stock of them, but the entire apartment is just piles of stuff. Piles on every table, every chair. Piles on the couch. Piles on the floor. Literally as high as my shoulder, and I am six feet tall.

Recently, her landlord popped by and saw the state of the place. He told her the place was a fire hazard and she needed to do something about it ASAP. He gave her a weekend. She enlisted me (and some other friends) to help. She had me flattening out a bunch of cardboard boxes and lining them up neatly in a bigger box, filing cabinet style. As I did this, she spoke to me rapid-fire about how the landlord thinks she’s a hoarder but she’s not and just you wait, when she’s done with the studio and has it the way she wants it, everyone will know that she’s actually a genius and that they should never have doubted her. She kept talking about some big plan that was coming together. Maybe you had to be there but the way she talked was making the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

When I finished breaking down the huge pile of packaging she’d given me, I assumed she would want me to put it out with the recycling. I asked her where her building keeps that stuff and she said no, none of that stuff was being recycled, it was being upcycled. She gave me a speech about how we should all reuse things, and how objects with a history to them are so much cooler than brand new consumer goods and she was on a campaign to teach people this. She said she was going to use these packages to make stationery and she’d sell the stationery and that would be her ticket out of poverty. Most of what I broke down was cigarette packages. I can only guess that she is planning on trying to sell people used, cut-apart cigarette boxes so they can write on the blank side. Also she had me save all the cellophane from outside the cigarette boxes and the paper from inside because “it might be useful for something.”

So, y’know…I’d say her landlord is right and she is a hoarder. In that she is literally keeping bags and boxes of trash in her living space. But a) she genuinely sees this as an awesome commercial venture and b) she was already a bit of a hoarder even at the best of times (she has three broken sewing machines, for instance, and she doesn’t even know how to sew…when free shit is available she’s powerless not to take it). So I don’t know how to cite the hoarding thing as evidence of a manic episode.

I’m not sure how to cite her torrent of Facebook posts as evidence, either. “So heyyy…you’ve been making a lot of Facebook posts within a very short time and they’re all very very long and barely comprehensible and then on top of that you reply to them with more rantings and ummmmmm that’s…not normal…” just makes it sound like I’m gaslighting or something. And I can’t be like “compare your posts now to your posts from a year ago” because she’s only just now started using Facebook again after a long hiatus.

How do you convince a malfunctioning brain that it’s malfunctioning when part of the malfunction is that it convinces itself that everything is normal when it’s not?

Maybe she’s self-aware enough that if I point this shit out she’ll be like “Ohhhh shit, yeah, I’ve gotten off-track. Thanks for pointing that out.” But I somewhat doubt it.

 

 

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I love having a blog.

I accidentally realized a thing.

Remember this conversation with The Pedant about forced orgasms etc.? I didn’t mention this before but when I was talking about the various experiments I wanted to do with stimulating him beyond what he’d normally be comfortable with, he said something like “The best orgasm of my life involved continuous slow gentle stimulation all the way through.”

He definitely said orgasm, singular, which surprised me so much that almost blurted out “You’ve had a best orgasm? Just one that stood out that much?” but I stopped myself because I feared he would end up regaling me with a story about another woman, in glorious technicolour detail, and I didn’t want to hear it.

I was recently browsing through some previous entries here, looking to titillate myself with Pedant sex stories, and happened across this one – in which I slowly and gently stimulated The Pedant all the way through his orgasm and he ended up slurring his speech and falling into a half-hour coma nap as if drugged. He does normally doze off after coming but this was seemingly a whole different animal.

So…it’s not 100% certain, but it seems entirely feasible that I gave him that singular best orgasm. And I probably would not have been able to put that together if I didn’t keep this blog. Awesome.

Tangent: during some recent visit I finally asked The Pedant something that had been on my mind for ages: “So hey, you told me once that you sometimes need both hands in order to jerk off. That’s been driving me crazy ever since. Dude what are you using the other hand for?”

The Pedant shrugged, perhaps in embarrassment, and said “You’ve used two hands on my cock before. You know what that does to me.” Then he made some snide remark about me probably expecting that he’s doing stuff to his ass, but he doesn’t do that on his own, thankyouverymuch.

I had not been thinking of ass play, actually. I’d been thinking that probably he uses one hand on his cock and the other to finger his nipples. The idea that he’s using both hands on his cock had not occurred to me at all, and is fucking hot as hell.

See, this is another reason I’m glad we didn’t break up during our recent kerfuffle. The Pedant seems to have a hand job fetish. My mouth clearly feels good to him and will elicit pleasure-sounds if I work at it, but he’ll moan the very second I wrap my hand(s) around him as though just the idea of my hand on his cock turns him on. It’s backwards from how most guys are, but I totally dig it. I like giving hand jobs (I like doing mouth stuff, too, but I have a lot less stamina for that). I like getting creative with it and using both hands and lots of lube and just being a total artist with it. And he appreciates my hand job ingenuity more than anyone else has.

Picturing him being a creative hand-job artist on himself is just……….I’ll be in my bunk.

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Manual

Since The Pedant has dropped hints that he’s afraid of me breaking up with him out of the blue, and I told him as long as my needs are being met I won’t do that, I thought it would be a good idea to specify what those needs are. That way he can comfort himself knowing that he’s definitely doing the things I want, and I have a better chance of getting what I want because he knows what it is.

I’m not gonna send him this just yet, since we just got back to normal-ish and apparently thought-provoking emails about our relationship clog his brain up to where he can’t even text a simple “hello” to me. But it’s saved as a draft and awaiting its time.

Once I finished writing it, I was surprised by how short and simple it actually is. Look:

——-

Here is a concrete and hopefully clear list of my expectations/needs from you in this relationship. Do the things I say here and the relationship stays happy and functional whether you understand the “whys” behind it all or not.

You do most of these already, hence my still being here after however many years.

Disclaimer: I AM NOT AN INFLEXIBLE MONSTER. I do not expect all of these things to be adhered to in perfect lockstep every minute or else I’ll flamboyantly show myself the door. Life happens; I get it. I have room for leniency, and if things slip to a point where I’m consistently unhappy, I’ll say so – I won’t just walk away. Only if things can’t or don’t change after that do we likely have a problem.

General relationship stuff: I need the following things in order to feel happy and secure in a partnership:

REGULAR CONTACT

– A visit every two weeks (minimum), preferably overnight and preferably incorporating sex. After two weeks without your touch I start REALLY going squirrelly, like to a point of physical discomfort, soooo yeah.

– Some form of remote contact (texting etc.) every couple of days (doesn’t have to be some big epic thing. TBH times that you called me and I wasn’t available, your “missed call” notification in and of itself registered for me as “he’s thinking of me/present in my life, d’awwwwww.” We didn’t even have to actually talk for the call to mean something)

TRANSPARENCY

– Give me a heads-up if you’re going to be busy/silent for an unusually long time.

– Give me a heads-up about any development in your life that might affect our relationship in some way.

– Let me know if something is bothering you before it gets to the critical point.

FEELING LOVED

I interpret certain actions/gestures as love. And I WANT to feel loved in a romantic relationship, obviously. So it behooves anyone I’m with to do at least some of the following things, some of the time. The main things that rock my world, in no particular order:

– Feed me

– Do (or procure) things that make my life easier/better

– Touch me affectionately

– Submit to me (in the bdsm sense)

– Fuck me/give me orgasms

Basically, take care of my physical needs, is what I’m saying. Plus BDSM which is squarely an emotional need for me.

That’s it. That’s all I can think of as far as keeping the relationship stable and on-track. Pretty simple, yeah?

Feel free to send me a similar list of your own, if you’d like.

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Y’know what? It resolved itself.

Did I ever tell you I’m psychic? I’m serious. It manifests itself as me knowing when I’ve received an important or highly anticipated voicemail/text/email/snail mail.

This morning while I was three-quarters asleep the thought popped into my head: “The Pedant has replied.” To be honest I dismissed this thought because it wasn’t accompanied by the usual ripple of stomach butterflies that I get when I have a message about some fraught emotional thing.

But when I finally woke up an hour later, I checked my phone and he had indeed replied. About an hour before – right when my brain-notification had started blinking.

The last thing I’d said to him – and this was two days ago – was “Yo, Silent Boy. Everything okay?”

His response was “Not really, since you sent me an e-mail that would have taken me three or four days to process in a normal week, and this was an exceptionally busy week.” And then he addressed the chatty text I’d sent him about the custom clothes he recently ordered.

I said, “I’m beginning to realize that it takes you longer to process things than it does me. Unless you mean that you haven’t had time to read the email at all, in which case never mind.”

“I’ve already replied.😛 And if it’s anything related to human emotions, then yes, it takes me a lot longer to sort through them.”

“Oh. Derp. A string of Facebook notifications pushed your reply down too low for me to see in the preview window of my phone. BRB.”

I read his email response. It said:

If you’re okay with me not actually having any understanding of what’s going on, fine, but you’ll have to accept my actions without the commentary as well – by which I mean, stop thanking me.

Frankly, even if a “thank you” from anyone wasn’t a nuisance to me, it still wouldn’t sit well with me when people thank me for doing something that I wasn’t actively doing.

To take your “heroes” analogy to its conclusion, the kind of people who get tagged as “heroes” typically don’t think there’s anything noteworthy about what they’re doing and consequently get annoyed with being thanked for it in a hurry.

I texted him: “I can’t get my head around ‘thank you’ being a nuisance but I’ll do my best to accommodate. If our places were reversed I’d feel like I’d hit the jackpot in finding someone who thought I was being amazing when I wasn’t even trying. :P”*

Him: “I’m sure you would.”

Me: “HEY. Only I can point out that I’m lazy. Not you.😛 Tangent: when there’s an emotion-based email in the queue, do you have a hard time maintaining casual conversation with me in parallel?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit EVERYTHING makes sense now. Thank you for that. I will bear this in mind going forward.”

I have to say, after an initial moment of “WTF” over his whole thing of not wanting to be thanked, I think I’m kind of digging this. Because his implication seems to be that helping me is such an obvious response to my anxiety that it’s stupid to even make a big thing of it. I could get behind that.

 

* Actually, that is how I feel…

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