Oh and another good talk.

I almost forgot – later on last night I was like “Hey so I know I’m letting my anxiety run rampant here but I feel like it’ll make me feel more secure if I have a plan in place…so…if, god forbid, this back pain is a permanent condition and I can’t model anymore…then what?”

The Dandy sat there silently instead of immediately saying he’d take care of me, which kind of freaked me out. After the whole thing with Dandette he told me that one of his big criteria for dating someone, in the future, would probably be “HAS A JOB” and that he wouldn’t ever again want to date someone who didn’t work. And I get it, I really do. But I also, y’know, don’t want pain I have no control over to destroy my relationship and living situation.

To fill the silence I told him my own contingency plan: I’d get back into quasi-sex work. Make clips to sell, which I can do on my own time and according to my own abilities and which could eventually generate a trickle of cash from repeat sales even without me actively working at it. I’d try to whip up more business dirty-texting people on Phrendly. Shit like that. Maybe I could get work transcribing stuff from home, where I could work at my own pace and wiggle around in my chair as much as I needed in order for my back to stay somewhat comfortable. I said, though, that to be perfectly honest I didn’t see myself being able to make nearly as much at quasi-sex-work as I do now, modeling. So I couldn’t guarantee I’d be able to pay the same amount of rent.

That’s when he finally said “Meh, I would support you. I mean look how long I put up with doing that for Dandette, right? Clearly I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I think with Dandette there was a bit of Stockholm syndrome in the mix but, okay. So if my health blows the fuck up, I still have a place to live?”

“You do.”

“Okay.” I got teary again for like the sixth time that night. “And…if I have permanent back pain I assume I won’t be able to do much by way of housework, either. But I would try as hard as I could. I mean I’ve still been managing to load and empty the dishwasher this past week even though I’m fucked up.”

“I know. I noticed,” The Dandy said soothingly.

Later still, when I was internetting on The Dandy’s bed and he was internetting at his desk, I interjected “Hey – just to be clear – I love modeling. It’s my favourite job ever and I don’t actually want to stop. If I had to, it would break my heart.”

“I know,” he said, and I could tell that he does know. He doesn’t think I’m looking for an excuse to get out of work and get a free ride from him.


I mean it, too: I love posing for art classes and I’d keep doing it even if I won a billion dollars and never actually had to work again. Admittedly I’d be a lot more choosy about who I worked for and when, but I’d still do it. I get to inspire people and feel beautiful and most of all I get to play in a way that most adults do not. It’s a Hallowe’en party every day up in here. I adore it.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Rough times.

My back is still fucked up and it’s freaking me out. When it first began hurting, I got pain when I stood or moved in certain ways but otherwise felt okay – I could mostly avoid feeling pain. And my back felt a little better the next day and a little better the day after that but then things leveled off. Then yesterday, working a single fairly easy three-hour shift threw me into a hell-spiral of pain where no position I could sit, stand, or lie in was one hundred percent comfortable. And today is the one-week anniversary of the back pain. And I’m freaking out wondering if this is the end of my modeling career or what.

Oh but remember how I wondered if stress was exacerbating things but I couldn’t think what I might be stressing out about? The Dandy pointed out last night that it may well be about my teeth. Because yeah, in addition to throwing my back out a week ago and injuring my arm a few days ago, a couple of teeth on the left side of my mouth have been hurting lately. One of them has an actual chunk busted off it(!) but the other, I’m assuming, hurts because of a cavity. I’ve never had tooth pain from cavities before. Not even the two times the dentist ended up doing a root canal.  So I figure this one is really deep and AnxietyBrain is whispering to me that the dentist will probably need to yank it right out of my head and I’ll either have to pay for a dental implant or look like a hillbilly.

The Dandy has put me on his benefits plan but I’ll still, I think, have to pay fifty percent of whatever ends up being done, which I bet will be a lot of money. Plus, y’know…I’ll have to make a phone call in order to secure an appointment and then I’ll have to endure the whole needles-and-drills in my mouth thing.

So yeah. That’s happening.

Also I’m PMSing like a motherfucker right now.

Last night was really difficult. We were running short on food and really needed to do a major grocery run soon. I don’t trust The Dandy to go alone (I mean I don’t believe that he’ll actually go if I tell him to; he seems to hate doing it unless I nag him about it fifty times and then keep him company) and this evening I leave for work right around the time he comes home, so that’s a bust. I didn’t feel we could wait til Tuesday. So last night was The Night.

My model gig yesterday had aggravated the shit out of my lower back, as I have mentioned. And being in pain plus constantly worrying about whether this might in fact be something serious, chronic, and career-ending has been using up a lot of my energy. But WE NEEDED FOOD and getting a huge load of groceries with the car would be better for the back pain in the long run than having to go out myself and procure a knapsack-load of essentials that I’d have to carry home. So all day while I was working (and contriving to seem relaxed and pleasant while my back seized and my arm intermittently hurt me and my teeth throbbed) I had it in my head that I needed to keep some energy in reserve for grocery shopping. I needed to hang on by my fingernails, somehow, and get that one chore done, and then I could finally rest.

I got home and told The Dandy “I’m gonna eat some of last night’s leftover pasta and then let’s go get groceries.”  That sounds like I mean business, right? It sounds like I’m gung ho to get the shopping the fuck over with and the only reason I’m not flinging myself out the door is that I just got home from work and need to refuel, right?

The Dandy said he, too, would eat some pasta, and then yes, we’d go to the grocery store. But for the time being he stayed at his computer messing around on YouTube.

I heated up some pasta, sat in the living room, and ate (but not nearly enough; there wasn’t much pasta left and I wanted to leave some for The Dandy, so I barely took the edge off my low-blood-sugar crankiness, really). A little while after I was finished, The Dandy also came out to the living room and ate. And then he made himself a cup of coffee and went back to the bedroom again. I sat on the couch, biding my time on Netflix and trying fruitlessly to find a comfortable position to sit in while waiting for him to get some fucking pants on. Twenty minutes later he still hadn’t emerged so I formed a one-woman search party and found him sitting at the computer on YouTube, still in his pajamas.*

I was PMSing so hard that I didn’t know how to tell him to get ready without screaming. Instead I lay on his bed and tried to do relaxation breathing instead, and waited to see if he was just finishing up one last video and then gonna get ready, or what. At least ten more minutes went by with him nonchalantly sipping coffee and browsing the internet while I sat there hungry and in pain and JUST WANTING TO GET THIS FUCKING SHOPPING DONE SO I COULD EAT SOME MORE AND THEN TAKE A HOT BATH.

Eventually I managed to choke out the words “I’m really kind of dying to get this over with” in a halfway normal voice, and The Dandy finally got up and started getting dressed.

On our way down the elevator and walking to The Dandy’s underground parking spot I was feeling on the edge of some kind of breakdown. I was hungry and angry and my back was just hurting so much and we hadn’t even begun the long process of tromping all through the fucking store and getting everything home and putting it away. When I’m really miserable I get so inwardly focused it’s almost like tunnel vision. I fixed my gaze on the backs of The Dandy’s shoes and followed him semi-blindly down the hallway with my brain throbbing with misery.

When we were almost at the door to the parking lot, The Dandy sensed that I was messed up and reached out for my hand. I grabbed it with the desperation of a drowning person and laced my fingers into his and squeezed. He asked me if I was okay and I silently shook my head, trying to hold back tears. He asked if my back was hurting a lot and I nodded. I managed, at that point, to use my words and tell him that not only was my back hurting incredibly much but also I was PMSing really hard too, and having a really hard time holding myself together. The Dandy stopped and hugged me (but did not – I noticed – offer to do the shopping his damn self so I could stay home and rest**) and I cried on his shoulder for a few minutes and then we continued on.

I’m trying to be as open with him as I can even when it’s scary or awkward, so a while after we got home we were lying in bed and I said “I have a fear that if I try to pull myself together when I’m not doing well, you won’t realize how bad things are and you won’t help me, but if I don’t pull myself together you’ll think I’m being a drama llama or trying to manipulate you on purpose, the way I believe Dandette sometimes did.”

“What do you mean by not pulling yourself together?”

“Like if I have a bit of a meltdown because of anxiety stuff or my back hurting. Just…I know that my anxiety issues have a fair bit of overlap with Dandette’s and I hate thinking that maybe there’s a sense of ‘oh shit not this again’ when I’m having a bad day. Like that her stuff may have used up your patience for this sort of thing, or you might think I’m just being dramatic to get attention or something.”

The Dandy thought about it. “Well, you’re a lot more communicative than she is, which helps a lot.” He stuck out his arm, inviting me to cuddle up into him so he could put the arm around me, and I gratefully did so.

“I think I need you to tell me that when I say I’m doing badly, you believe me. That you know I’m not faking it or exaggerating it,” I said.

“I do. If you don’t tell me then I might not notice there’s something going on with you. But when you tell me, I do believe you.”

“Okay. Thank you.” And I had a tiny stress-cry and we cuddled some more. Then I remembered “Oh also, I’m PMSing really hard right now. So sometimes, you might do a thing that legitimately upsets me but the PMS blows it up into such huge anger that I don’t know how to talk it out without accidentally being really really mean. So ummm over the next few days if I seem like I’m upset with you but can’t get any words out, it’s because I’m trying desperately not to blow up. I might need to be alone for a while and simmer down and then we can have a proper, productive talk later.”

“Good to know.”

On a somewhat related note, a week or two ago we had a fight/discussion/whatever over him always going to bed so fucking late despite me pointing out the time/offering to snuggle him to calm his brain down for sleep/etc. I’ve been trying to ignore it – I’m not his mom, it’s not my job to put him to bed, etc – but it brings back a lot of triggery shit from my marriage, back when I thought it was my job to rescue people and my ex basically never ate or slept (and was an alcoholic to boot) so not only did I feel like I was failing as a rescuer, I felt like I was watching the person I loved most in the world slowly kill himself. And really, whether it’s my job to fix anyone or not, if my partner drives to work overtired and gets in a fatal accident because of it, that’s gonna have a negative impact on me. Hell, The Dandy insisting on being on the internet all night during the week and then catching up on sleep all day on the weekends has a negative impact on me – we don’t get to spend as much time together as I’d like.

Anyway. During that convo, I told The Dandy that while I think I’ve gotten over the idea that it’s my responsibility to fix people, my ideal relationship is one where we help each other to be better and go further than we could have on our own (hence me trying to optimize him by helping him get to sleep at a decent hour). He thought about this for a minute and said he thought I was right. Just as I opened my mouth to say “you…think I’m right about what I want in a relationship…?” he quickly amended that what he meant was he thinks that sounds like an ideal sort of relationship to him, too. It seemed as though the idea of people in a relationship actively trying to make each other’s lives better may not have occurred to him before, but now I’ve planted the seed. And I hope that seed grows into him actively trying to customize himself to what I need anxiety-wise – like just noticing what’s going on with me and automatically stepping in to alleviate my anxiety and pick up my slack. I mean I think he was open to doing that, anyway, but maybe now it’ll be a mission.


*Just FYI I’d mentioned “we should get groceries on Sunday after I get home from work. It’ll be our last chance to do so for a while” several times over the past day or two so he’d know to reserve time and energy for it. It’s not like I suggested it out of nowhere and expected him to hop to it.

**Part of his thing with groceries is that apparently Dandette (queen of passive aggression) would often ask him to go get food and when he asked what exactly she wanted she’d shrug and say anything/whatever/it was up to him; but then afterward, of course, she’d be angry and tell him he got the wrong stuff. I’ve told him I would never ever do that to him (mostly because I would never say “Oh I don’t care just get me anything” in the first place- I would hand him a heavily annotated list! 😛 ) but I think he’s still a bit gun-shy.


Filed under Uncategorized


On Monday, my back started hurting. Like literally I was standing by The Dandy’s computer chair, saying goodbye to him because I was about to go to work, and suddenly I got stabbing paints in my lower back. Which is exactly what you need right before going to pose for an art class for three hours. 😛

The pain did get better in increments over the next couple of days, but it’s Saturday now and there’s still something there. Not exactly pain. More like…constant, uncomfortable lower-back pressure and a feeling of impending doom. And it’s freaking me out.

Last night I figured maybe the back issues were a manifestation of anxiety, and tried to figure out what I could be stressing out about. My living situation – with Dandette gone – is great. My financial situation is comfortable and I’m able to have a lot more days off than I did when I lived on my own. My romantic relationships are good.

I asked The Dandy – as we lay snuggled in bed – what he thought it might be and he ran through the same list and came up empty, like I did.

Then I remembered a nightmare I had recently: Dandette was visiting for some reason. She walked into the living room barefoot, freaking out and in pain with her toes bubbling and sizzling from some sort of chemical burn; she’d somehow managed to do this to herself while painting her toenails. She said she needed one of us to pour nail polish remover over her feet to stop the burning. I was like “…I feel like that’s counterintuitive though…?” but The Dandy rushed to her aid. I, meanwhile, left to hang out in my bedroom, only to find that Dandette had been doing her pedicure thing in there and left bubbling, smoking puddles of caustic liquid all over the floor. I came back out again and confronted her: I yelled, “You can’t just pour toxic shit all over the place. That’s my room now. YOU DON’T LIVE HERE.” Her face crumpled and she started having a full-on panic attack over me daring to point that out. I sensed that this was entirely faked for The Dandy’s benefit, and indeed he did hover around her all concerned and shit. I went and tried to barricade myself in my room to be rid of her but the room suddenly had a sliding glass door leading to a patio, and also a bunch of windows on several walls, and none of them had curtains or functioning locks.  I was running around trying to secure them before Dandette could try to peer in at me or even climb right in.

So I surmised that something about Dandette was bugging me and making my back seize up, and I said to The Dandy “Tell me again how once she gets the rest of her stuff she’ll be out of our lives and you’ll never talk to her again?” – because he did say that to me, once, completely unprovoked.

And The Dandy paused. And my brain and body flooded with dread. And he said “Well, I don’t know if I want to cut her out of my life entirely…”


I asked him what benefit there would be to continuing to have any sort of contact with her. He went silent. I waited and waited and still nothing. Fine, I guess this is one of those things where he needs to ruminate on it a while. In the meantime I riffed about how angry I was – like WTF would it take for him to cut ties with this asshole? If she’d actually stabbed me with the sword instead of just playfully poking me, would that be enough for him to maybe not want to associate with her? Or would nothing she could do ever be enough to actually put him off? Also, this “well I don’t have to cut her off completely!” thing reminded me uncomfortably of the time my ex-husband realized (for like the twentieth time) that his drinking was ruining his life, and when I said he ought to stop he was like “Well I don’t have to stop entirely! I could have one every now and then!” No, he couldn’t – that’s why booze was ruining his life – and also, how creepy and sad that he was so desperate to cling to this thing that he consciously recognized was totally fucking him up. The Dandy was reminding me of that right now; it feels as though Dandette is some kind of destructive addiction for him.

And I said that if he insists on hanging out with her sometimes then that means that either he needs to keep that entirely secret from me – and I’d hate to have secrets between us – or else I’d be traumatized on a regular basis, because if I wasn’t clear before, her actions toward me have gotten me to a point where THE SIGHT OF HER FUCKING FACE MADE ME WANT TO VOMIT and I unfollowed her on Facebook weeks before she moved out because every time her profile picture popped up in my feed my brain went into fight-or-flight mode. Hearing about her or thinking about her makes me woozy. So I’m not really up for The Dandy just casually mentioning that he went for a drink with her or whateverthefuck. I want her out of my life and thoughts, permanently and entirely.

He tried to reassure me by saying that hey, they are broken up, at least; he has no romantic interest in her and she’ll never live here again.

“I honestly don’t want to keep bringing this up and rubbing it in your face,” I said, “buttttt…you do have a history of lying about your involvement with Dandette and your feelings for her. You led me to believe that the two of you had been broken up for years, there was nothing between you, you were basically siblings, when in fact you’d been fucking her just three months prior. A while later, you insisted again that you had no feelings for her, but I got such a strong vibe of chemistry between you, and when I said you might as well go ahead and date her again if you wanted to, you did. So why would I believe you now when you say your feelings toward her are only friendly? There’s an established pattern of that not being true.”

Again he went silent. I let it go (well, not in my head. But I let the thread of the conversation go). I cried a bunch and he held me. And sometime during the crying I realized where my anxiety lies.

It’s that Dandette still has a bunch of her stuff here and has made no plans to come get it. It feels like a power play: she knows The Dandy won’t be enough of a hardass to throw her shit out, at least not anytime soon. In leaving stuff here she seems like she’s keeping her foot in the door (having an excuse in her back pocket to see The Dandy one last time, even if he doesn’t want to – to what end, I don’t know). Or maybe she’s just fucking with us by taking up our space – same principle as writing “tried to kill myself twice” on The Dandy’s BIRTHDAY CAKE last year – she’s inserting herself into our lives even when she can’t physically be present.

I said to The Dandy that I’d probably feel better if we had a timeline on her getting the rest of her stuff. Doesn’t have to be crazy fast – it can be six months from now, if need be. But I need a time limit; I need a “get your stuff by [date] or we’re disposing of it” ultimatum in place.

The Dandy pointed out that a bunch of her stuff isn’t actually packed up, though, so really we need to do that first or else this bullshit will drag on forever in bits and pieces. Better to have a neat pile of boxes in the corner of the living room that she can just take and go and that’s the end of it. Fine. Fair. Let’s make packing a priority, then. The Dandy said that the main thing is packing up all her various little tchotchkes and whatnot, and since he works full time and I have a looser schedule, maybe I could do it. Which annoyed me because I don’t know which pieces of brick-a-brack are hers. I’ve packed up everything in her room already but there’s a ton of nerdy figurines and action figures and shit in the living room – but she and The Dandy are both nerds and both kinda hoarders so how the fuck do I know which items are whose?

Anyway, I’m glad I got to the root of my anxiety, but it didn’t make my back stop hurting so I guess this really is a purely physical thing.

And I’m annoyed all over again because tonight I started angsting over whether this might be an actual spine problem and not a muscle thing. I asked The Dandy if he would Google what a slipped disc looks like and then take a close look at my back, just to make sure. The next time I passed by his room, I noticed he was looking at a web page with a diagram of a human pelvis and some arrows pointing to the tailbone and I thought “Oh cool, he’s actually helping.” But when I asked “are you learning some things about pelvises and tailbones?” he chuckled and said “it’s amazing the weird things that come up when you’re reading about medieval history.”

I was like “…Ah. And here I thought you were actually Googling spinal things like I’d asked. I didn’t want to do it myself because when you look up medical stuff on the internet, there are always alarmist blogs and whatnot that come up and my anxiety would have a field day and I’d probably convince myself I was dying. I wanted someone calm and sensible to parse out the real information from the scary stuff for me. But hey, learning about shit that happened hundreds of years ago is obviously just as important as my physical well-being, so I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

And I stormed off to my room to angry-type this blog entry.

A little while ago he came in and petted my head soothingly and told me that he’s not trying to downplay the pain I’m in or anything but his understanding is that a slipped disc is a huuuuge damn deal that will incapacitate someone, and I seem too functional for that. Okay, that’s probably fair.

I said though that he needs to understand that my fellow art models (the ones who’ve been doing it a decade or longer, anyway) have all grimly told me that the job dooms everyone to chronic pain eventually – back pain in particular gets mentioned a lot. And from what I can tell, I work a lot more than most models do (or I did, anyway, when I lived on my own and my expenses were so high). And I’m middle aged and my body was never especially robust or good at healing itself, anyway. So I have pretty legit fears.

I also pointed out that maybe I just power through extreme pain better than most people. Like okay I do think if I had an actual slipped disc it would probably hurt too much for me to walk around or work or anything. But the fact of the matter is that after a couple of decades of my mom dismissing any sort of discomfort I ever felt, I’m convinced that I’m a faker; I always tell myself that whatever pain I’m in is probably not that bad, and I’m too embarrassed by what a stupid drama queen wuss I am to actually say anything or stop doing whatever painful thing I’m doing.

I did a pose at work, once, with a string of Christmas lights playfully wrapped around me. This was my idea. I thought it would be cute. Two of the bulbs were sandwiched between my ribcage and the floor, and became first uncomfortably hot, then excruciating, like to a point where sensations like “hot” no longer have any meaning and it’s just my skin screaming and my brain filling with panic chemicals. I often count off the time in my head when I pose, even if I’ve set my timer, and I can tell you that when things got to the excruciating point, I was about two minutes in. I told myself, though, that it probably wasn’t that bad. They were mini-lights, ffs; you touch those and they feel warm at best*. I was probably just being stupid. And I held the pose until the end – eighteen more minutes. And when I got up I saw that the Christmas bulbs had blistered my skin.

So yeah. Ironically, years of my mother telling me I’m a wuss who can’t deal with pain turned me into someone who can lie there serenely smiling for twenty minutes while getting second-degree burns. This happened shortly before Christmas of 2016 and there are still visible scars.

My point being that The Dandy can’t necessarily judge my health by how incapacitated I seem because I have a tendency to push myself inhumanly hard.

Oh and by the way, two days ago I was on the bus to work and it was standing room only and I hurt my right arm trying not to get flung when we went around a corner really fast. I feel like I tore my triceps or something; when I do certain things with the arm I get huge, shooting pains. So that’s going on in addition to my back constantly feeling under pressure/borderline pain.

I’m thoroughly pissed off at my body right now. And I’ll probably have to have a few more talks with The Dandy about why the fuck he still wants to be in contact with Dandette. And I’m afraid there won’t really be any resolution on that.


*Of course, touching a mini-bulb and pinning it between your skin and the floor so the heat has nowhere to go are two very different things. As I found out.


Filed under Uncategorized

I always do this to myself…

I’ve been thinking lately that I don’t want to look for additional partners right now. If a stable, established, comfortable relationship could somehow magically drop into my lap fully-formed then yay, but that obviously won’t happen and I need to focus on healing myself and my relationship from the traumas caused by Dandette and getting my bedroom set up the way I want it. I don’t have the time or energy for doing the getting-to-know-you thing with someone new.

(Also – call me selfish but I really really REEEEALLY don’t want The Dandy to date someone else anytime soon – I’m still getting over the last one and frankly I do not trust his taste in women right now, I think he needs to get his shit together in Dandette’s wake, too – and I fear that if he sees me dating, he’ll want to date, too. Especially since Dandette’s exit frees up a lot of time and energy for him.)

And yet I found myself skimming my local Fetlife personal ad groups and responding to one of them yesterday. And the guy is twenty. In my defense, his ad was far more articulate and self-aware than anything I’ve seen from a sub/maso guy of any age in a long, long time.

Still, though. I wish Fetlife had a feature that tracked my menstrual cycle and wouldn’t let me write to a new guy during horndog week (which I think was what happened here). That would probably save me a lot of trouble.

The twenty-year-old wrote back to me, btw, even though I exceed his stated age limit by quite a bit and he knows it. He seems charming and nice. I’ve abruptly snapped back into not giving a shit about meeting or talking to people, but it would feel rude to make an advance on someone and then disappear when they did nothing wrong, so I’m gonna gamely follow through and see where it goes. Chances are it’ll come to nothing, anyway. I don’t click with people that often.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized


Had one of my rent-a-suite-in-my-building-and-fuck-The-Pedant visits recently. It was good. 😀

I mean yeah he was six hours later than he said he’d be but after that it was good.

Allegedly, the issue this time is that work suddenly needed him to be on a conference call that afternoon and it ran long. While The Pedant was waiting for it to start, he decided to surprise me by trimming his pubes. I’ve grown to like his ridiculous amounts of body hair but despite me telling him this plenty, he still thinks I prefer hairless twinks like I did when we first hooked up. So he trimmed his pubes – the first time he’s ever touched any of the hair below his neck. I’m pleased that he would do this for me (even though I was no longer interested in it) and actually it looked pretty neat. I like variety, and this did make his crotch look very different, so yay.

More importantly, he could feel my touch more clearly. I lightly scritched all around the base of his cock and it made him moan like crazy. Nice. 😀

The Pedant is always obsessing on the idea of me leashing him, and I finally got around to it that first night. I didn’t end up leading him around, especially; I put his collar on, clipped his leash on, used it to pull him close for more kisses, then sat on the couch (with a towel on it because I was naked), slung the leash under one thigh, and yanked the end of it so his face more-or-less got pulled to my crotch. I love his enthusiasm when he goes down on me but it tends to involve a lot of saliva so note to self: don’t ever again try to kiss him soon afterward. His beard was sopping wet like a sponge. Pleh.

What fascinates me about The Pedant is that he’s such a huge germaphobe but when it comes to sexual fluids he’s not fazed at all. He’ll happily get his face covered in my juices, and last time I saw him I fed him some of his own pre-cum and he allowed that, too (he wasn’t as enthusiastic about it as if I’d dipped my finger into my own wetness, but he did let me. And, oddly, when I wet my finger on the tip of his cock and then circle the fingertip on one of his nipples it makes him insannnnnne).

Eventually I bent him over the couch so I could finger-fuck his ass. Before I hauled out the glove and lube, though, I fetched our gag with the silicone ball that goes in his mouth. I stood next to him and put one foot ostentatiously up on the back of the couch so he’d be drawn to look over and see me running the silicone part of the gag through my labia to coat it with all the wetness his oral sexing had elicited. Then I shoved the gag in his mouth and fastened the strap (he’d mentioned before that this would be hot).

I didn’t mean to use him up so soon but it was so much fun burying my finger in his ass and reaching through his legs to touch that silky, pretty cock of his that I ended up making him come (on my towel that was still there). Didn’t seem like too intense of a climax, although maybe it’s just that his sounds were muffled by the gag. I’d make up for it the next day.

More later.


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

I just remembered.

I asked The Dandy once, “when was the last time you cried?”

He said he couldn’t remember, then amended this to “Probably sometime that I was single and thinking nobody would ever want me again.”

I was like “Pffft. When have you ever even been single?” – he was with his ex-wife for I think seven years, then moved Dandette in when his wife was not even quite moved out yet (well, she was gone, but some of her stuff remained in the apartment and she had to come back for it). And I guess I must have been thinking of Dandette and I as being overlapping relationships, too.

“There was that time when you broke up with me and Dandette and I weren’t going out either, just living together, remember?” The Dandy pointed out.

Oh yeah. I’d dumped him because, although they were “just roommates, there’s nothing sexual or romantic there, honest!” Dandette exploded into a mighty fireball of tears and drama over him dating me. Plus they had really shitty boundaries in general and I just didn’t have the energy to deal with that. So I bailed, and The Dandy was left saddled with a “roommate” he wasn’t dating but whom, he must surely have seen, would probably drive off every romantic prospect he ever had.

And it turns out that this circumstance may have brought him to tears at some point.

That is satisfying to me in all the ways.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

WTF is going on with my body?

Aging is weird. A (female) friend of mine, who’s about my age, says she’s noticed her distribution of body fat seems to be shifting lower as she gets older. Maybe that’s happening to me, too. All I know is, I’m looking pretty thin lately waist-wise (measurements confirm this: 31″) so I thought perhaps I’d lost weight. But I haven’t; I’m still hovering around the 195lb mark, where I’ve been for months now. My thighs scrape/stick together when I walk around naked lately, though, in a way they haven’t since I weighed 210.

1 Comment

Filed under Uncategorized