Plans

The Dandy, by the way, is off at Dandette’s parents’ place with her again and I opted not to join them. He has some family gathering to go to tomorrow so I knew he would be coming back for at least a day; for a while it wasn’t clear whether Dandette would return with him, or what. But I was hoping not because I’d really like some time alone with him, and some time away from her unmedicated ass.

Apparently, the current plan is for The Dandy to come back sometime today – alone – and stay for a couple of days before rejoining Dandette at her parents’. YAY.

Also, I just ordered a Clone-a-Willy kit so I can (hopefully) make a nice silicone mold of The Dandy’s erect cock. By the looks of it, the finished cock pops out of the mold without damaging it, and Dandette has worked as a prop-maker for film and television and knows where to get more silicone and how to use it, so I want to make an entire army of Dandy-cocks.

In fact, a few weeks back, Dandette playfully took a very realistic (but hot pink) suction-cup dildo of mine and stuck it to the centre of one of my dresser drawers like a handle. I kind of loved this. It looked hilariously incongruous and yet fit in my hand nicely and was fun to pull on to open the drawer. And now I’m thinking I totally need to do that for real – turn one of my small, cheap wood dressers into a sex toy storage unit that has dicks for drawer handles. I’m picturing the whole thing (dresser and dick-handles both) being royal blue for whatever reason. I’d have to make the dicks and then bring home some paint chips so I could find the colour that matched perfectly.

Too bad the “drawer handles” won’t have balls, though. I think it really added something to have a complete set of genitals on the drawer.

Oh the other thing about having Dandy dildos around is that if I were to hook up with a guy into cuckold stuff or forced bi or certain kinds of humiliation, I could fuck his ass with my boyfriend’s cock, or make him fellate it for my viewing pleasure. There’s a delightful perversity to that.

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Moar good talking. I think.

Another cool thing that happened at Dandette’s parents’ place when she wasn’t around: I talked to The Dandy a little more about his aversion to giving oral. It felt like a pretty productive discussion (though his habit of silently listening and nodding could mean anything, I guess – my ex husband used to listen to me like that when I was talking about things I needed in the relationship and wasn’t getting, and he never did give me the things). But yeah, he tends to be afraid of being judged, I think, and shuts down, so I’m pleased to have coaxed him out of his shell a bit.

The part where he came out of his shell was when I got him to talk about his reluctance to get his face on a woman’s genitals. Like I know he had a bad experience with an ex who smelled terrible, but he’s okay with my smell, so…? He said he’s afraid to even try to give oral in case it went badly. I asked what “going badly” would entail. Good thing I asked because he didn’t mean being bad at it, like I thought – he meant he was afraid he’d get in there and immediately be sickened/repulsed.

(I managed to keep a pleasant face on so he didn’t feel judged, but inside I was thinking what the fuck?!? This whole thing reminded me of an ex of mine who’d never gone down on a woman. One day, he told me he’d like me to be his first in that regard – but he’d want to do it in the shower in case he threw up. Both that guy and The Dandy had had their fingers inside me before these conversations. They’d both had marathon sex sessions with me that left the whole room smelling like my vag. My smell and texture had not been issues for them. So why were they so convinced that one touch of their tongue to my genitals was going to be so violently disgusting that they’d recoil and/or barf? Is this a societal stigma thing – all the casually misogynistic jokes we’ve all heard about vulvas being putrid and fishy getting into their heads and overriding their goddamned common sense? Jeez.)

The part where The Dandy nodded and smiled and seemed (hopefully) to be listening and understanding me is when I told him, as gently and non-lecture-like as possible:

  • He’s been fine with my hygiene and smell generally; he’s said so. And if he ever isn’t, he can be like “Heyyyy how ’bout you shower before we have sex?” and I’ll cheerfully do so, no big deal. Nobody’s gonna force him to interact with icky smelly parts.
  • Cunnilingus is not usually – for me, anyway – about trying to burrow your tongue into someone’s vagina while their juices all run into your mouth. The clit is where the action is. Nothing’s oozing out of there.
  • I haven’t gotten off from oral in a long time, and don’t expect some marathon session. It’s not like the second a guy’s face is down there, he’s locked in for the next hour whether he likes it or not. But I like the intimacy of feeling that my partner knows and likes my whole body. My ex-husband barely ever kissed me anywhere below the mouth and in some ways our sex felt really…stilted and limited. Like he was avoiding vast swaths of my body. I’d like a partner who will at least give my genital region an affectionate smooch in passing.
  • …But for the record, the last time someone did manage to get me close to orgasm with his mouth, it was super simple and didn’t require any fancy techniques or anything (…and here I demonstrated on The Dandy’s knuckle how Mine would lick my clitoris, just straight vertical licks that started off soft and got firmer as I warmed up. Just in case The Dandy was also stymied by performance anxiety).

So…we’ll see what happens.

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Falling for The Dandy

The Dandy comes off as…simple. That’s not a polite way to say “stupid” – The Dandy is wicked-smart and has an encyclopedic knowledge of a vast range of subjects. I mean, like…emotionally he doesn’t seem complex. He doesn’t talk about feelings much and seems kind of derpily oblivious/optimistic with regards to the weird polycule we have going on in the house (I’ll try to tell him about a weird vibe I feel or a potential storm I see brewing between the three of us and he just kinda shrugs and smiles). He’s always on an even keel emotionally – just blandly cheerful. His life appears to consist of working, decompressing from work by shopping online or watching nerdy things on YouTube or Netflix, and snuggling Dandette and I.

TBH, emotional openness and emotional intelligence are huge turn-ons for me and the main things that bring me closer to someone, and with The Dandy he just always seemed kind of…opaque. I love him, in the basic way that a cat loves its owner: he is warm and he pets me and he provides for me and is pleasant to be next to. But it never really went deeper than that. I mostly consider my living here to be a “marriage of convenience” sorta thing.

Somehow, though, on our recent trip to Dandette’s childhood home (after she went off the rails mentally and had gone upstairs to have an angry-sleep) The Dandy and I slipped into a big giant talk about our childhoods and our psychological scars and what we both need in order to feel fulfilled in a relationship. And it was him driving the convo.

He told me that his parents gave compliments for big, above-and-beyond things that people did, but rarely if ever did they compliment someone for the little things, for being cute or sweet or smart or kind or just for kinda being who they are. He says he has huge self-esteem issues and feels like he’s never good enough because he’s so rarely heard good things about himself. He also said that giving compliments is hard for him because it’s not a behaviour he saw modeled at home. We talked about The Five Love Languages a little and confirmed that affectionate touching and compliments are the two main ones he needs to receive, which is good because those are the main ones I give.

He told me that when he was a kid, if he was ever upset about anything, his parents’ attitude was that negative emotions were a sign of weakness and he needed to fucking pull himself together right now. “I suppose that probably explains a lot about me,” The Dandy said. I was like OH…EM…GEE it sure does. Specifically, what it explained to me is why he was so resistant to the idea of the three of us going to therapy when I suggested it – admitting to negative emotions is failure, to him. A bit later in our conversation I gently said (not pushing or anything) that therapy isn’t a failure – it’s how some people get their shit together. Repressing your feelings isn’t getting your shit together, it’s just covering the shit over. Therapy is realizing you have to get your shit together hiring an expert to teach you how. The look on The Dandy’s face indicated that this was an interesting viewpoint that hadn’t occurred to him. His main hobby is acquiring the best designer clothing, the best shoes, and the best personal grooming tools; paying top dollar to optimize himself is relevant to his interests. I hope he can start being more open to the idea of therapy at some point.

He told me that he has a terror of disappointing people. I was like “yeah, no kidding, I’ve noticed you have a hard time saying no to me. But for the record, if I ask you to do a thing and you giggle awkwardly but don’t actually answer me, I notice. You’re not cleverly avoiding conflict like you think you are.” The Dandy looked caught out. 😛 He said that when he disappointed his ex wife she’d go ballistic on him and if he disappoints Dandette she pouts, so he just really really avoids doing that if possible. “Do I react like either of them?” I asked. The Dandy conceded that no, I don’t, but avoiding saying no is an automatic habit now and it’ll take a while to break. Fair enough.

I told him that I feel he’s hesitant to ask for things he needs emotionally and that I worry this will result in him resenting me. He said no, not really; his biggest emotional need is touch/snuggles, and he feels free to just grab me when he needs that; Dandette can be prickly so he won’t initiate so much with her, but with me he knows it’s fine*. I brought up the time recently when his aunt had heart trouble and I asked if he needed Dandette or I to go with him to visit her (in another city) and he kind of couldn’t seem to decide. I opted not to go (I don’t know these people, after all) but was terrified that at some point he’d throw back in my face that I wasn’t there when he needed me. But he didn’t ask me to be there so how could I have known? He said he’s not one to hold a grudge and that he didn’t really need support there. Basically, his old training of “get your emotional shit together” kicked in and he was a robot for that visit, just there to support his family. Dandette or I would not have been needed there to help him with his emotional stuff because he was not allowing himself to feel anything. I get that. I did tell him though about the various times my husband didn’t ask for my help or support in a crisis but later rubbed it in my face over and over and fucking over that I should have just known that he needed me, and rushed to his side. So I have baggage about that stuff. I need people to be very clear with me about what they want. He reassured me again that it’s very very unlikely that anything I do or don’t do with him will come back to bite me in the ass later.

So overall that was a fantastic talk that (Now! After dating him for half a year and living with him for a month or more!) makes me finally feel like I’m getting to know him. And it made me finally start falling for him and feeling that closeness I wanted.

Also, though? Aside from that talk, he did observe to me, once, that Dickface the Kitten is at her most relaxed and cuddly when there are no other animals in the room – something I honestly hadn’t noticed. He’s told me some things about how Dandette works, emotionally, that make it obvious he pays attention and notices things. I think he has a lot more of an inner life than I’d been realizing. He’s more emotionally intelligent than he lets on.

I want to pry him open and see everything inside.

Challenges like that always turn me on.

 

*That’s the first time I realized that he’s kind of afraid of Dandette, too. And TBH it threw me for a loop. The more I observe how he is when her mental health is messed up, the more it seems like he’s a kind of hostage to her. And he got back together with her? On purpose?! This is what I mean about him being derpy and optimistic. Chick was on psych meds for a month or two and apparently The Dandy went “yay! Everything’s okay now!” and jumped in with both feet. Or…could he have only gotten back with her because her distress over wanting him back was irritating to deal with but he doesn’t have the balls to kick her out of the house? On a related note: I have made the fascinating realization that I’m not jealous of metamours if I understand why my partner is with them. When Dandette seemed mostly sweet and fun and awesome (just with occasional panic attacks) I was fine with their relationship. Now that she’s being a complete moody terror though I find myself thinking, “This is who I share my boyfriend with? I get less of him because he feels obligated to go cater to her bullshit? Fuck that.”

 

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The Trip

So, way back when things with Dandette were still good, she proposed we all go to her childhood home while her parents were on vacation. This was a three-bedroom house in a tiny town two hours away, with a fire pit and a pond and a full-size trampoline in the yard plus a Jacuzzi in the upstairs bathroom. She talked up the amenities big time and made it sound like a blissful vacation.

As time went on and Dandette became markedly less loving toward me, I began to sort of dread the trip. And then the bullshit with her trying to throw out my mug and bookcase happened THE DAY BEFORE WE WERE SUPPOSED TO LEAVE. Right after it happened I told The Dandy I wasn’t going, but then we all sorta patched things up and Dandette brought the cat-sitting neighbour in to show her where we keep the food and stuff and it would have felt awkward to pipe up with “well, actually…” so meh. I went.

Long story short: Dandette’s mental state was sort of…iffy the first two days; she alternated between slightly standoffish and friendly/normal. On day three everything hit the fucking fan, at least as far as I’m concerned.

I woke up to the sound of her sobbing and heard her yell “NO. LEAVE ME ALONE.” (Turns out this was not directed toward The Dandy, so…maybe one of the dogs?) Then there was some talking between her and The Dandy but I couldn’t hear about what; I was opting to hide in the bedroom. I think part of what happened was, we’d agreed the night before that we would wake up and go into the nearby tourist town for brunch, but Dandette ended up sleeping in past brunch-time. The Dandy gently woke her up, told her the time, and asked if she wanted to still go into town or just eat in the house. This caused her to start self-flagellating for “ruining our plans” by sleeping too late, and she had a panic attack and couldn’t make a decision either way. The Dandy came up and said we’d be eating at home and between us we figured out what he could make. When Dandette joined us at the table she was in her usual post-panic-attack mode: constantly apologizing in a voice so tiny I could barely hear it. When she’s like this she also gets into a mood where she’s convinced she doesn’t deserve basic human consideration, so like if The Dandy asked “Do you want some potatoes?” she’d insist that there wasn’t enough for three people so she wouldn’t have any and he had to convince her no, it was okay, we can spare some, she should eat. She kept hovering on the edge of another panic attack, which means going bug-eyed and hyperventilating and for some reason repeatedly trying to tell us things even though she was stuttering really badly and still using her teeny-tiny quiet voice.

A little while later, she was back to her normal self – kind of – but she would sometimes start freaking out over something and start hyperventilating and talking all quiet and stuttery again but a few minutes later she’d be speaking normally once more. She then started being super cranky – The Dandy asked her how her other partner (who was in the hospital after a cycling accident) was and she snapped “He broke his fucking head.” (We already knew he had a skull fracture. Obviously The Dandy was looking for updates on how bad it was or how he was doing generally. But sure, okay, restate the obvious in a bitchy voice, that’s helpful).

The actual trip was supposed to be for two weeks-ish (The Dandy took vacation days) with The Dandy and I going home a couple of times briefly because I had to work and he has some family thing to go to. We thought Dandette would stay there when we went home and honestly I was looking forward to the alone-time with him, especially now. But no, Dandette wanted to come back now so she could visit her partner with the busted head. So we piled into the car and home we went. Dandette asked The Dandy to pull into a nearby service station so she could buy a drink, and when it was closed and he offered to take her to the grocery store instead, she yelled “I DON’T HAVE THE ENERGY TO DEAL WITH GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE.” The Dandy didn’t offer to go buy a drink for her and from what I know of Dandette it’s because that would make her feel like a burden and she’d freak out even harder.

I spent the car ride in silence, speaking only when spoken to. And Dandette did sometimes speak to me; in-between stuttering and apologizing and long bouts of silence she’d swing back into normal mode and be chattering about various things and showing me funny memes on her phone. I almost wish she’d just been cranky and fucked up the whole time instead of having those random moments of normalcy. I don’t like inconsistency. I don’t like not ever knowing how someone’s going to be.

I needed some snacks for work the next day, and also I really needed to vent to The Dandy about a bunch of stuff. I asked if he could drop Dandette off at home and drive me to the grocery store so I wouldn’t have to haul the groceries by hand. He said yes, thank god, and basically as soon as Dandette left the car I had a huuuuuge stress-cry and yet another rant at The Dandy for not warning me about what she can be like.  I have always, always said to him that I value consistency in people above almost everything else and that I’m really sensitive to other people’s moods. He knew this about me well before I moved in. And okay, I was desperate for a place and this may be better than dealing with Harpy but WHY DID HE LET ME SUGGEST MOVING ALL OF US INTO A BIGGER PLACE. I mean I floated the idea to him first and then he floated it to Dandette. Why the FUCK didn’t he hear my suggestion and go “Well…let me give you an accurate overview of what she’s like before you start making any big plans. I want you to be able to make an informed decision.”

On a side note, while we were at Dandette’s place I got bitten by, I dunno, maybe mosquitoes or maybe something else, but my lower legs were covered in HUGE bites and they were driving me crazy to a point where the itching would wake me up at night.

 

I asked Dandette if her parents had any calamine lotion or anything like that and she said no. I asked The Dandy if we could drive into town and find some calamine lotion or something and I forget what he said. I think he didn’t know the area well and was like “I don’t remember the grocery store we went to having stuff like that.” So I gave up and just…suffered.

When we went for groceries (at a store with a big pharmaceutical section) we looked for something to stop my itching and they had nothing. On our way to another store (I was getting really desperate by then) I remembered that I’d given Dandette a thing of topical anesthetic for her cyst a little while back  – some stuff my gyno had prescribed me because reasons but I’d never used it. I texted her asking if there was any left, figuring I’d still try to get stuff at the drug store but at least I’d have a backup plan. Dandette texted back “yes…at my parents’. :(”

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS?!?” I yelled, within the confines of The Dandy’s car. He asked what was up and I told him, adding “I’ve been suffering for TWO DAYS. The bites on my ankle are so swollen MY SKIN FEELS TOO TIGHT. The bites are blistering and the skin is breaking and it itches so much I can’t sleep and you knew all of this and neither of you particularly seemed to give a shit AND THERE WAS TOPICAL ANESTHETIC IN THE FUCKING HOUSE THE ENTIRE TIME.”

The Dandy is good at listening to rants and not taking them personally. He just petted me. It’s cool.

But by the time we got home, Dandette had realized why I was asking about the anesthetic and had spiralled into “I’m a fuckup and don’t deserve to live” territory. Like literally saying that to The Dandy, then lapsing into her wee baby voice and stutter as she tried to tell him something for five full minutes, then just bailing the fuck out of the apartment. The Dandy shrugged and turned to making me dinner. He said he can’t help her – nothing he can say or do will snap her out of this shit – but he could help me, so that’s what he’d do.

Today I learned that Dandette is still off her goddamned fucking meds. Her appointment to get her prescription renewed was on the day she decided she couldn’t stand the pain of that ass-cyst anymore and needed it lanced. Which, okay, but instead of making it a priority to make a new appointment and get it sorted out, she…continued with the plan to go on a trip. To her parents’ place which was in the middle of nowhere and which, by the way, probably holds some emotional triggers for her because her relationship with her parents is kinda…complicated. She trapped us in a house with her when she knew she was very very likely to have some kind of meltdown.

So on one hand this means her horrible mood swings are the unmedicated version of her, and maybe she’ll become the person I loved again once she’s back on her Effexor.

On the other hand it means she’s not being responsible about her mental illness. Medication exists and you know it helps you – fucking go get some! Or ask for help getting some if you need to! And if it’ll be a while before you can get it, let us all know and offer to postpone the trip so you can hide and keep your crazy bullshit to yourself until it’s squared away!

Jesus fuck.

 

 

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A rough patch

Y’know…when I first moved in with The Dandy and Dandette (and more specifically after the two of them resumed their relationship, which effectively killed a bunch of stress that was building in the household), I loved it there. She and I became close really quickly and even developed a snuggly kind of relationship. We weren’t outright sexual with each other but in a way it felt like we were dating, too, and so instead of her being just The Dandy’s other girlfriend who I had to figure out how to live with, there was love flowing in all directions.

But now it’s different and I don’t entirely know why but I hate it.

The first major setback is that Dandette ran out of anti-anxiety meds and wasn’t able to get more right away. I thought what she was on was supposed to take a while to leave the system, so maybe it was just placebo effect in reverse or something but Dandette almost immediately started having panic attacks and other manifestations of her anxiety, like, a lot.

When she’s having a panic attack, she shakes with adrenaline and doesn’t want to be touched at all. She’ll stumble backward away from you all terrified if you even look like you might approach. And she becomes convinced that her panic attack is inconveniencing everyone, which makes her panic more. So you can’t try to help her in any way; she will perceive it as her issues inconveniencing you and she’ll freak out. But you also can’t let her know that her panic attack is, oh I dunno, scaring the shit out of you and twigging your own anxiety really hard, because that’ll convince her, too, that she’s a terrible person who ruins everyone else’s lives.

For the most part, her thing of not wanting her attacks acknowledged or helped works for me just fine. I’d come out of my room in the morning, see her in the living room shaking and hyperventilating with her eyes all dilated and weird, say “‘morning” in a cheery voice, walk past her to get some cereal and go back into my room again to eat it. She doesn’t consider this rude. She doesn’t change her mind once the attack is over, either; I mean it’s not like she says “leave me alone” during but then after she’s like “WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME ALONE WHEN I WAS PANICKING YOU ASSHOLE” so cool.

But one time she had an attack while we were out running errands together and I was kind of stuck with her and it was the most awful thing. She was clearly all fight-or-flighty and vulnerable and I didn’t want her walking home alone like that, so I had to pretend that I just happened to feel like walking home anyway and then walking back to complete the errands. It was such a lovely day out, after all. I definitely felt like taking a nice long walk. And of course the walk home was a grim deathmarch during which I contrived to act casual and comfortable and make light conversation that didn’t require any replies while making sure I stayed beyond accidental touching distance and trying not to let it show that my heart was hammering. At one point she was stressing out about how much work she still had to do at home (her whole housewife thing) but when I tried to comfort her by saying “I can help with anything you need” she barked my name all angry-like, meaning “stop making it worse by trying to help me” so fine, I guess I was supposed to let her sit there and stew in a cage entirely of her own making, then. And then partway home – cutting through the parking lot of the grocery store I’d been aiming to circle back to when Dandette started panicking – she insisted I leave her and do my grocery run but then a car started backing out of a spot and almost backed into us and I yelled “HEY” and my yelling triggered some kind of fugue state in Dandette. I could see her go even more wild-eyed and freaked out than before. But I knew if I insisted on walking her home, she’d scream at me not to, so I just kind of walked away. Dandette did end up finding her way home, but when she got there she wasn’t wearing shoes and she didn’t know why. She couldn’t remember anything after my yell. She was standing in the parking lot and then she was home, with nothing in between.

And any random thought could trigger one of her attacks at any time, which made me not exactly want to spend a lot of time around her. Plus I became afraid of ever touching her in case she’d begun having an attack and I just hadn’t noticed. Before then, I would touch her affectionately in passing all the time (and vice-versa). I didn’t even think about it. Suddenly though it seemed like there was a chance she’d be horrified and recoil and I didn’t want to be rejected so I kind of kept my distance and waited for her to initiate, which she…kinda didn’t. Maybe it was a vicious cycle; maybe she stopped being touchy and snuggly because I did. But for whatever it’s worth our whole ambiguous snuggling thing came about in the first place because she started it, so she sure didn’t mind making the first move before

The second setback for us was that Dandette had a sudden second health problem. She had a cyst a year or two ago – I forget the name of the kind of cyst it is, but basically it’s a zit that gets so huge and impacted (like, the size of a golf ball) that a doctor needs to slice it open with a scalpel to drain it. It’s right under her tailbone, where it presses on her sciatic nerve, so in addition to being all under pressure and hurting to sit on, it’s fucking with her actual nerves and causing pain that way. And a week or two ago, it started to come back.

I knew she was in pain and I assumed (correctly) that she’d be in no shape to fix us the amazing dinners she usually made. The Dandy and I fended for ourselves/ordered food in for a week or so until Dandette’s cyst was big enough to get drained. Please believe me that I was not on any level feeling bitter about this or thinking “humph. She should suck it up and cook for us anyway.” No no no. She was not doing well at all and clearly needed rest. Buttttt the nature of my psyche seems to be that I have certain things that make me feel loved, which in turn will make me love the person back. And if I’m not getting those things from someone, my feelings for them can switch off amazingly quickly. The main things that make me feel loved are affectionate touches (which she’d already withdrawn) and being fed. And so my feelings of love for Dandette…winked out. Just like that.

The third setback is that – overlapping with Dandette’s whole cyst thing – I had a fairly terrible week. I am a nocturnal person; at this point in my life, if I have to wake up in the morning more than two days in a row, I start to feel seriously depressed and fucked up. That’s even if I’ve gotten adequate sleep. Well, I had six days in a row of working 10am-1pm and I didn’t sleep well during any of that time. My bladder was doing this hilarious thing it sometimes does where it forgets how to empty entirely so within half an hour of taking a piss I’d desperately have to go again; I was getting up ten times a night to pee. And I was having issues with insomnia. And The Dandy was snoring. And my stupid asshole cats were being restless for some reason and would randomly jump on me at night and stuff. So I had six nights in a row where I didn’t, at all, even once, get into the deep dark black part of sleep that is actually restful.

Y’know how clinical depression is caused by low levels of a brain chemical called seratonin? The thing that restores a person’s seratonin levels is sleep. By the end of my week of hell, my anxiety and depression were off the charts. I was full-on crazy, like “nobody in my life really loves me, they’re all just pretending, they probably talk about me behind my back” crazy. Everyfuckingthing The Dandy or Dandette did seemed like a plot to fuck with me or a secret code spelling out that they didn’t like me or want me there. Oh and in fairness I also wasn’t cleaning the kitchen (my one official household job) to my usual standard, so maybe Dandette wasn’t feeling loved, either.

On the Thursday of my hellweek, Dandette got her cyst drained*. Presumably the stitches etc hurt after that but the draining process would have relieved all the pressure and nerve pain and stuff so that she was a lot more functional. And indeed, on Friday morning she set her alarm specifically to get up and make coffee for The Dandy, as she does every workday (except while the cyst was hurting her). She brought his coffee in to him and left it by the bed, like every workday. And then she went back to bed without fixing me breakfast.

(For contrast: when I had a solid week of work just a few weeks before, she woke up and made me breakfast every day, and packed it up so I could sleep in later and eat it on the bus. She packed me a lunch, too, when I had a two-gig day. And these were good meals, man. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. French toast. The lunch included dessert. Dandette made it clear that a) she loved being a housewife and considered feeding me like this to be her job b) she expresses love through cooking c) she receives love through appreciation of her cooking. And boy, did I ever appreciate it. I gushed to her so much I was afraid it might come off as fake. And she glowed and kissed me goodbye on the cheek and wished me a good day at work every single morning.)

The living room was in disarray and Dandette decided it needed a major reorganization so she pulled an all-nighter Friday night to do that. She was still awake when I got up Saturday morning and started getting ready for my sixth consecutive morning shift, but she didn’t make me breakfast. What she did do was hold up my old mug with the QWERTY keyboard printed on it and ask “do you use this?”

“I keep pens in it,” I said (or rather, I did at my old place and then I moved and didn’t know where it or the pens had gone).

“Do you want it still? Because if not I’m taking it to the garbage room.”

“If you hate it that much, I guess you can toss it,” I said.

“It’s not that I hate it, it’s that we have too much stuff,” Dandette said, and she left with the mug and some other things of hers. Then I immediately changed my mind and flung open the door and got it back from her. I like that mug and it feels like I’ve given up entirely too much lately: a shit-ton of my belongings so I wouldn’t have to pack them to move; my big dresser which got destroyed in the move by accident; exclusive use of The Dandy’s cock; having my own room… It’s too much. I wanted my fucking mug. So I told her I changed my mind, and she handed it back saying “Well, just don’t let me ever see it again.” Which I’m pretty sure was, objectively, a really fucking rude thing to say to me, but also remember I was suuuuper crazy from lack of sleep so it really hit me badly at that moment.

I said nothing and just stomped off and put my mug in the bedroom. The Dandy was in there putting clothes on because I’d begged him to drive me to work. I bitched to him furiously about what had just happened. I mean, Dandette regularly finds major pieces of (admittedly pretty cool, usually) furniture in the garbage room and puts them in the apartment. SHE BROUGHT IN A GRANDFATHER CLOCK a few months ago. All that fucking thing does is take up space doing the same thing a five dollar watch would do. Just a few weeks ago she brought in a huuuuuuge hutch and transferred all our dishes and silverware into it (four full sets of dishes, two sets of silverware, and maybe five sets of glassware, by the way, not including mine), and when I was like “Hey, now we can get rid of the previous hutch, which is sort of ugly and most of the handles are broken, anyway…” The Dandy and Dandette completely ignored me and decided to put the stupid thing in the front hall and keep shoes/umbrellas/etc in it, instead. The shelving unit that had previously been used for shoes/etc got crammed into the storage closet. The Dandy, meanwhile, has a bunch of assembled sets of Star Wars Lego on display. Ewok cities and X-wing fighters and a bunch of other shit whose only function is to be looked at and that’s been sitting there so long that I doubt anyone in the house even consciously notices it anymore. Neither of these people get rid of anything fucking ever (and I have been delicately sort of sniffing around the idea of them purging some things for a while, because the apartment is big but in serious danger of being totally subsumed by furniture etc and having no more usable space than my old tiny apartment). I’d been tactful and gentle in my urgings and both of them had seemed kind of hostile so I dropped it. They have a different aesthetic and different priorities than I do, and part of living with other people is accepting differences like that, so I worked on doing so. And now Dandette has a wild hair about clearing out the living room and my one little mug is too much but the Lego and grandfather clock stay? Fuck off.

The Dandy didn’t say anything during this rant of mine. He often goes silent when I’m angry. This time his expression wasn’t that frozen-up/scared thing he does when I’m mad at him, though. It was aggrieved, like “Ugh, why do I need to be listening to this right now?” When I saw that I reined in my ranting. But boy was I pissed.

A little while later when The Dandy and I were by the door putting our shoes on for the drive to my work, Dandette was like “Can you take this to the garbage room on your way out?” and gestured at a piece of furniture. It was facing away from me and lots of dressers etc have a cheap particle-board back on them so it took me a minute to realize what it was, but then suddenly I did. The Dandy said there wasn’t time or the dolly was in the car or something so we couldn’t. I walked straight out to the elevator without saying anything and just glowered pointedly at The Dandy while I waited for him to catch up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, once he was finally next to me at the elevators.

“What’s wrong is Dandette and I never discussed throwing my bookcase out. This is the first I’m hearing about this.”

…Oh.

I held it together until we got in the car and then basically broke down and sobbed the entire way to work about how Dandette seemed to have abruptly decided she didn’t want me there and was taking pains to let me know. The Dandy said he’d talk to her (and, thank god, said he wouldn’t mention some of the not-very-nice side-points I’d made in my ranting** and just focus on “hey, you appear to be getting rid of Cowgirl’s stuff without permission; what’s up with that?”

The verdict (reported by The Dandy when I got home) ended up being that Dandette had thought I did say I would get rid of the bookcase – and in fairness I probably did say at one point that I was thinking about it but hadn’t decided yet. So that was a misunderstanding. And the mug thing was just cranky, underslept, ass-stitches-hurting, up-all-night-organizing Dandette phrasing things in a really unfortunate way. And all of this was of course magnified by me being jussssst fuckin’ batshit crazy from lack of sleep. And Dandette apologized to me later and said she never meant to make me feel unwanted at all, she really did think I’d said I wanted to get rid of the bookcase.

I believe both of them (although I couldn’t manage to stop feeling persecuted and suspicious until I’d had a massive cry and an even more massive sleep and set my brain mostly back on kilter). But I still feel like something’s up, dammit. Maybe Dandette wasn’t actually trying to squeeze me out of the apartment but I increasingly feel like she’s not that happy to have me there, either. Not the way she initially was. And I don’t know if I did something or the NRE just died really fast or her initial enthusiasm was all an act to suck up to The Dandy or what.

 

*After the draining, The Dandy drove her home. They came in and I paused my Netflix show, thinking Dandette might want hugs or to talk about the ordeal or whatever. She just gave me a hostile look (or was my underslept brain just seeing it like that?) and went straight to her bedroom. Later, when The Dandy and I had gone to bed, she kept having things to say to The Dandy and calling out to him to come over for sec. Like five times in a row she did this, and he’d clamber out of bed and go into her room where she’d talk super-animatedly at him for a few minutes. And then he’d come back to bed and it would repeat again and this was at ONE THIRTY IN THE MORNING BTW but anyway a few days later Dandette referred back to the cyst-draining aftermath and said sorry if she was a bit withdrawn that night but she just couldn’t deal with people. Why am I “people” and The Dandy isn’t? When I first moved in Dandette said we were family, we were all in this together, we’d help each other through things. She supported me through some things and I wanted the chance to do it back but she just doesn’t seem inclined to lean on me. At all.

**I may have yelled a bunch more about the grandfather clock and the four sets of dishes and gone on a whole huge tangent that maybe Dandette is so used to finding all her furniture in the garbage that she’s kind of “easy come, easy go” about these things and doesn’t get that I had to work and save up and buy my shit. I didn’t even mean this as a jab at her not working; I really meant it at face value, and still believe it even though I’m less mad now. None of my furniture was a spontaneous “Oh cool, someone tossed this out, I think I’ll take it” affair; I had an idea in my head of a specific item that needed to fit in a specific spot and I went to stores armed with a tape measure and wrote down stats and prices until I found exactly the right thing, which I bought with money earned at a job I didn’t necessarily like, and possibly paid for delivery too, and in many cases assembled myself. I feel like that’s gonna make a person more attached to a piece of furniture than if they hadn’t even actively wanted a particular item but it just showed up for free and it was like “Meh, what the hell.”

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Power play

I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before but I asked The Dandy, once, why he identifies as dominant. By which I mean: he didn’t ever mention BDSM at all (beyond that one mention that he’s a dom) or seem to crave it or have any kinks or get excited by D/s type scenarios and I didn’t wanna assume he was just calling himself dominant out of a misplaced urge to blend in with other people in our largely goth/kinky/edgy social circle, butttttt…

He said that he just has a knack for getting people to do his bidding. First off (and I said this to him) being dominant, in the kinky D/s type sense, isn’t being able to get people to obey you. That could be charisma or being physically intimidating or seeming knowledgeable or any number of other things. Being dominant is liking to be in charge/be obeyed.

Also, though? (And I didn’t say this out loud…) I have seen no particular evidence of this alleged ability. I mean okay, I’ve seen him ask Dandette for things – even things that inconvenienced her – and she said yes. But Dandette…kind of has issues with saying no, I think. Especially to The Dandy, since HE PAYS ALL HER LIVING EXPENSES. Of course she’s not going to want to piss him off. Ooooh, big tough domly-dom Dandy shooting fish in a fucking barrel. So power. Much dom. Wow!

I wonder if he mistakes basic courtesy in people for obedience? Like is he asking someone “Hey could you pass me that pen?” and when they go “Sure” and toss it over he’s thinking “Awwwwww yeah. Everyone does what I want!”? I just don’t get it.

Since our “so…you’re…’dominant’?” conversation, it’s come out that The Dandy has a big kink for needle play, so fair enough, perhaps he’s conflating dominance and sadism. Or perhaps he wants to be dominant over someone but is conflicted about it (he’s conflicted about the sadism for sure).

But I’ve noticed that he has a really hard time saying no to things, which – for me – really undercuts his alleged superpower of making people obey him. Like, he’s a terrible snorer and (as a very light sleeper who shares his bed…) this has been driving me mad. I’ve told him several times that I think he should get assessed to make sure he doesn’t have sleep apnea. And each time, he does this awkward giggle but doesn’t actually answer me. So it seems Mr. People-Just-Seem-To-Obey-Me can’t bring himself to use his mouth-hole and tell me “I’m not comfortable doing that because I’d probably have to do a sleep study, which sounds hella inconvenient, and also I’m afraid of confronting possible health issues; stop asking” (which I’m pretty sure is what he’s thinking).

And when he doesn’t wuss out and entirely avoid addressing a thing I want, he’s doing what I want. I see this as him simply being an attentive boyfriend, not submitting to me, but it’s interesting because he defined his dominance around people doing what he wants and yet he asks me for very little and gives me foot massages on demand.

Oh that’s the other thing: when he does want something (well, an emotional/personal need fulfilled; he has no problem saying “could you take this suitcase down to the car?”), he doesn’t usually ask me using words. If he wants sex he hints at it by taking out his penis and flapping it around until I notice. If he wants a hug he’ll sidle up to me and put his arms out, or just kind of hover around me with a hopeful expression. I actually can’t even remember a single other time he’s asked me for something emotional-like except once, before I moved in with him: he was at my place cooking dinner and I was watching tv in the next room and eventually he said, kind of irritably, “It would be nice to have some company in here.” This was probably the fifth time he’d cooked dinner for me at my place, and I’d always puttered around in the living room while he cooked; I’d been puttering for at least an hour so far that night. Seems like he can’t bring himself to say what he needs until he’s starting to resent me for not reading his mind, which is…not great. And also, to my mind, not particularly dominant. Or at least, maybe he’s dominant (in the sense that it’s an orientation; he wants to take control) but he’s not great at it yet.

But yeah, back to him doing what I want…mostly, I am very careful to ask for things in a neutral way. I mean there’s a sort of energy I can switch on when I’m asking for a thing as a dominant and I don’t do that with The Dandy. He is not my submissive; he is simply a wonderfully attentive boyfriend, and that is where I keep my brain when I request things of him.

Every now and then, though, I have gotten a bit feisty and used my dom-voice on him a bit…and from the look on his face, he seems to know exactly what I’m doing. And he still does what I ask. And he doesn’t seem annoyed; he seems kind of…intrigued, or something. It causes some sort of frisson when I get toppy with him. I think probably it’s a challenge thing; my being toppy makes him want to, like, conquer me with his superior domliness or whatever. Except, like I said…he usually does end up doing the thing I imperiously demanded of him.

Earlier today, The Dandy was at one end of this big L-shaped couch. I was sitting in the crux of the L. The tv remote was at the empty end of the L. And (being quite possibly more audacious than I’ve ever dared before, with him…) I was like “could you be a lamb and fetch me the remote?” with full-on dom energy. He pointed out that I was closer to it than he was. I said “but it’s still so farrrrr” and batted my eyelashes at him facetiously. A moment passed in silence and just as I was about to relent and reach for the thing myself, The Dandy set his book aside, got up, walked to the other end of the couch to retrieve the remote (which I could have reached myself without even getting up, probably, just stretching real hard), and handed it to me.

An hour or so ago I got up to get a piece of cheese to snack on and bumped into The Dandy, who was exiting the kitchen with pieces of something white-ish in his hand. “Is that cheese?” I asked. It was. “Ha! I was just going to go get some of that, myself.” The Dandy asked me if I was going to try to take some of his from him now, instead. “No,” I said, “I was going to ask nicely if I could have some of yours.” (Actually I wasn’t even going to do that until he brought it up. Seeing if he’d relinquish some of the food he’d gotten for himself had occurred to me, but I didn’t wanna overdo these little D/s experiments. He does seem incapable of expressing dislike of my behaviour until shit gets critical, after all.) He gave me some of his cheese. (When I later decided I wanted more I asked if I could get him some too, just to balance things out.)

On a somewhat related note, The Dandy has a habit of turning off the shower without actually depressing the little button that diverts the water back to the tap. Which means that if I decide to take a bath later and go to fill a cup with water to rinse the tub out, I get cold water gooshed onto the back of my head, instead. The last time this happened I stomped into the bedroom where The Dandy was, half jokey-mad and half actually-mad, and demanded to know what sort of cretin turns off the faucets in the shower but doesn’t press the button.

“I just assume the button will fall down on its own when the water turns off, like it does in most showers,” The Dandy said.

“And you’ve been living in this particular apartment for how long now?” (it’s been five years and I knew it and he knew I knew it).

“…A while,” The Dandy said, sheepishly.

“The next time my head gets unexpectedly doused in water I’m making you lick it off,” I said, slipping into dom-voice kind of accidentally and looking him right in the eye. I so totally expected him to snarkily remind me that he’s stronger so I can’t make him do anything that I pre-emptively responded with “…Or, I’ll just get something of yours that’s made of fine leather and dry myself on that.” Only when I’d turned and was striding out of the room did I realize that he hadn’t actually snarked at me and that in fact he’d been looking at me with a mixture of, I think, arousal and unease.

Or maybe his expression was one of “I’d snark, but I did do a stupid thing sooooo…” who the hell knows.

At any rate, as much as I do want a submissive man in my life (and will continue to look for one), I think The Dandy’s toppiness sparks with mine in a sexy way. He keeps me on my toes a bit. He presents an appearance of challenge while in fact giving me foot rubs every time I ask and petting my head til I fall asleep without me even having to ask. Probably a submissive could challenge me and inflame my lust in some similar way, but I’m not sure yet exactly what that would look like. I’m not sure I would tolerate a sub acting exactly like The Dandy does, with me. Or at least I never thought that sort of behaviour would be tolerable or desirable to me in a sub. Maybe I’m wrong.

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Math fail?

The Dandy and I were talking about penis size the other night for whatever reason and he said that the last time he measured himself, he was seven inches or seven-and-a-half or something like that.

I almost blurted out “Pffffffffft! Where were you measuring from?!?” but I managed to restrain myself. I did give off palpable vibes of surprise, though, because The Dandy’s size looks dead average to me at most (average is 4″-6″ and is my favourite. I’ve been very vocal about that preference and very vocal about The Dandy being the perfect size for me). Then a thought occurred: “Were you thinner than now at the time that you measured?” The Dandy said that he was. “Ah, then some of that length may be taken up by this, now” I said, affectionately touching his lower belly. I’ve heard that a guy’s weight can make a difference to how long his dick is. Or how long it looks or how much of it is on the outside or whatever.

But that still doesn’t really make sense to me. If some of his dick-length was just subsumed in fat, any time he thrust into me hard, the fat around the base would compress and that extra, hidden dick-length would end up inside me and he’d probably nail me in the cervix. He’s never hit bottom on me and though I’ve never made a concerted effort to mash down his lower-abdomen fat with my hand, I’ve given him plenty of hand jobs and played with his dick a million times and I am not sensing a bunch of hidden shaft.

Our conversation segued into me giving him a hand job and I surreptitiously measured his erection against my index finger. My index finger is about three inches long. The Dandy’s cock was only a fraction longer than my finger. Budgeting in some extra room if you tamp down his fat, I’d guess him to be maybe four inches.

So how on Earth did he ever arrive at the idea that he’s 7.5″? Did he measure from his asshole? Did he lie to me in a very weird attempt to impress me (me, the one who loves average-size dicks almost to the point of fetishism and who has seen his erect penis hundreds of times)? Was he looking at the centimetres instead of the inches by accident? I just don’t get it. He seems to know that his penis isn’t huge (and is fine with that). So…maybe he just doesn’t know how big average is, and he believes he’s 7.5″ and that this is kinda small?

It’s all very strange. And I didn’t feel like I could ask him about the discrepancy without sounding as if I were shaming him or trying to humiliate him. You could ask a guy how he managed to mis-measure a shelf he was hanging but you can’t ask him how he managed to mis-measure his dick (by like almost fifty percent!!!) without there being a bunch of cultural baggage attached.

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