Pedant and Dandy: together at last

The Pedant came for a visit. We spent the first night at my place and the second in a rented guest suite because reasons.

He arrived late, of course. And it still makes me feel stabby. But it doesn’t seem like something he’s capable of changing so I’m trying to get over it.

The Dandy got home from a social engagement literally five minutes after The Pedant arrived. As I have mentioned previously, they were friends (or acquaintances, at least) before I ever met either of them. We ended up standing in the hall talking for a while – or maybe they talked and I stood around near them.

The Dandy and The Pedant have a weird relationship; I don’t think they’ve ever hung out together on purpose, only bumped into each other at clubs etc. In fact, The Dandy has indicated that he finds The Pedant a bit assholish and tedious. And yet when they are together they immediately get into super intense and animated conversation about politics and stuff – not arguments, the intensity seems to come from them agreeing with each other on most things and getting into a big validation circlejerk. I might be wrong about that though because their chosen topics are sooooo fucking boring to me that I tune out.

As they talked, I would idly go snuggle and kiss first one man, then the other, and they affectionately squeezed and kissed me back as they continued talking. Neither of them was weirded out by me being so clearly enamored with and involved with both of them. I’m still not used to this amount of openness at all, having gone straight from monogamy to solo-poly, so I felt like I was big-time getting away with something and it was thrilling as fuck. 😀

On a side note, when Dandette was living here and we were both The Dandy’s girlfriends, he would walk around the apartment naked because why the hell not. I mean we’d both fucked him and he’s kind of a nudist anyway so there really was no need for modesty. It was always hella weird for me, though. I’ve only ever been solo-poly so I guess all my mono socialization kicked in and made me feel like him being naked in front of two people was weird or wrong.

That quasi-triad we had stretched me out of my comfort zone in a million different ways and TBH I’m still a bit bitter about it and I sometimes have petty revenge fantasies about making The Dandy endure some of the same discomforts he put me through. So eventually as we all stood in the hallway I took off my shirt and bra. Although it turns out The Dandy wasn’t weirded out by seeing me naked while his acquaintance was also present and seeing me naked so meh.

The Pedant and I did have sexy funtimes that night, though, in my bed with The Dandy right in the next room, so The Dandy likely heard me loudly getting off from someone not-him. Which is satisfying.

As for the sexytimes themselves, The Pedant and I had fun (obviously) but we were slightly self-conscious of The Dandy being so close by. I didn’t want to be giving a lot of commands etc with someone within earshot plus my room is not yet really well equipped for bondage etc so basically there was just kissing and touching and him getting me off and eventually I rode him for a bit but it seemed like that wasn’t getting him anywhere (he said something about having done…something earlier to ensure that I could play with him for longer. I assume jerking off before he left the house or something. But he consistently does dirty talk/sexy talk in a whisper and half the time I can’t hear him…). Eventually I switched to a hand job and that made him come. Fascinatingly, there was a ton more semen than usual and it seemed to arrive all at once, like his cock threw a cup of warm water on me: GOOSH!

And then he fell asleep in the dead centre of the bed as usual. I even braced against the wall and tried to shove him over to make room for me and he didn’t budge – although to his credit when I poked him and told him to shove over, he did.

The next morning I woke up hungry as fuck, and everyone else was asleep and the apartment was warm, so I didn’t bother with a robe or anything. I thought I would eat a bowl of cereal and then maybe go back to bed, but The Pedant came out, instead, and saw me eating cereal on the couch naked and was bemused (“so you’re…just not gonna bother with clothes, then? Okay.”). He went off and had a morning poop and then The Dandy woke up and was puttering around making coffee and stuff and long story short I never did end up putting clothes on, mostly because I didn’t want to admit that I did feel slightly exposed and uncomfortable. But also maybe a teeny-tiny bit because I was daydreaming about a threesome. 😀

My two guys got suuuuper engrossed in conversation over the breakfast table, again about shit I don’t care about. I was on the couch just eating and zoning out, bored shitless. So after I finished my food, when I was able to get a word in edgewise (it took several tries 😛 ) I said to them, “Hey – it seems like a waste that I have access to two pairs of hands and none of them are on me. You should come over here and pet me while you continue your conversation.”

Hilariously*, The Dandy immediately stood up and took a step toward me – and then glanced over at the still-seated Pedant and hesitated.

The Pedant laughed and said something like “Well this is a novel approach. Normally a person would just say ‘stop talking now, I’m bored.'”

“I don’t care about the talking. I care that I’m not getting petted,” I said. The Pedant remained seated, just kinda staring at me. The Dandy was frozen in place standing two steps from the table, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Dude, I’m six feet tall,” I said, mostly to The Pedant.  “One of you can be at my head and the other at my feet and you’d still be halfway across the room from each other.” I almost added “your balls aren’t gonna touch, ffs” but bit the words off, thinking I might come across a wee bit too strident.

I think it was The Dandy who started making his way to me first, at that point, and The Pedant got up a moment later.

They continued yakking away on the couch while I stretched naked between them, drifting in and out of sleep, getting my calves and feet massaged by The Pedant and my head lightly scritched by The Dandy. After a while I changed position so I was pointing the other way, and The Pedant worked the knots out of my upper back muscles while The Dandy petted my feet. At times, one or the other of them would do something that made me thrash and howl with pleasure. Neither of them acknowledged this at all, and I’m sure that’s less because they were so focused on their conversation and more because acknowledging my sounds would make the whole interaction seem kind of sexual and neither of them wanted it to go there. For my part, it felt a little weird to be ignored like that. But if they’d focused on me I would have felt really in the spotlight and under pressure to entertain them (which is kind of why I didn’t go the “hey shut up you’re boring me” route in the first place: I would have felt pressure to come up with a conversation that I could take part in, too, and that would also entertain both of them, and I was not up to it. Or I could yoink The Pedant away for more sex, but I do like that the two of them are friends and don’t wanna wedge myself between them (except if a threesome were on offer. 😀 ). Also I wanted to save the Pedant sex for when our suite was ready and we’d have proper privacy.)

Being co-petted while half-listening to a conversation I wasn’t particularly expected to participate in (but could jump into if I felt like it) was restful as all hell. It lasted a while; then it was time to get the keys to the suite, and when I got back they were still talking so I slotted myself back in there and dozed off some more. All told, the pettings lasted for about an hour and a half. *Bliss.*

I’m gonna split this saga up into another post. TTYS.

 

 

*Hilarious for two reasons: 1) The Dandy identifies as dominant, and says he does so because people just somehow tend to do what he tells them and that he hates being told what to do and is just too goshdarned headstrong and independent to ever obey an order from someone (presumably he means from social equals, not his boss or a cop or whatever). But here I am, telling his extremely heterosexual self to come team up on me with another guy, and he just stands up automatically like I’d pushed a button. The only reason he stopped is apparent fear of what the other man in the room would think of him. I actually tell The Dandy to do stuff a lot and he does it without even noticing I didn’t phrase it as a question. 2) Before this visit I’d been letting my fantasies run wild-ish and was debating channeling them into a wee piece of erotica and posting it here. The erotica was going to be about The Pedant and The Dandy acting mildly homoerotic for my viewing pleasure: specifically, I would ask them to pretend to be about to kiss so I could ogle them and then fap to the scene later. In my mind’s eye, The Dandy willingly began to perform for me but then got awkward and drew up short because The Pedant was a lot more reticent. So yeah. I totally called it. 😀

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Goddammit

Whatever this sexual issue of mine is, it seems to be getting worse. Orgasming is more difficult; I apply the Hitachi and I barely feel anything. I try to get myself off but my mind keeps wandering off sexy thoughts to dumb shit like what groceries to get later (when I was young and fully functional, it was the opposite: I could decide to get off without being in the mood whatsoever, and all I needed to do was stimulate my clit and my scattered thoughts would start moving toward sex all on their own).

My actual sex drive (or orgasm drive, I guess) seems to be going down. I’m barely ever feeling even the hollow echo of horniness that I have for the past couple of years. Being tingly and turned on and needing to come is a distant memory.

I’m hoping this is a temporary hurdle. I think whateverthefuck this is has progressed in a couple of stages and I’ve been adapting each time. Like when I first noticed that I don’t get clitoral erections anymore, there was a while where even rocking my full weight back and forth on the Hitachi took me like ten  minutes to get off and my crotch constantly felt bruised by it. After a while, though, shit got a bit better; still no boners and no capacity for getting myself off using only my hand, but I could get there via Hitachi in under five minutes and not have to bruise myself on it. Maybe a similar thing will happen this time.

I really want to fix this but doctor(s) seemed kind of dismissive before (the sexual dysfunction specialist I saw ended up concluding “Meh, you’re getting old, stuff doesn’t work so well sometimes when you’re older. Think of men and their erectile dysfunction” even though I’d told him the problems started in my mid-thirties and nobody assumes that a 36 year old guy probably can’t get it up) so I’m reluctant to approach them again.

Can’t help wondering how much more helpful people might be if I were a dude. Because dudes neeeeeed to have fulfilling sex, amirite?!

Sigh.

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For posterity…

Forgot to mention before: remember how The Dandy had that moment the other day of coming home from the vet, dropping Grumpus off, then leaving again to drive Dandette home?

I was on the couch watching tv when he came in, and I remained there as he stood by the door updating me. Then he left and I belatedly thought “Shit, I wish I’d kissed him goodbye.”

Just then, The Dandy’s key rattled in the lock a second time. He came in and said “forgot something…” and came to the couch and kissed me and then left again. That’s it, nothing else. What he’d forgotten was to kiss me.

 

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Hard times

Our oldest cat (I think I called him Grumpus in an earlier post) seems like he might be on his way out. He hasn’t been eating or drinking and he just…has a really miserable look in his eyes. The Dandy decided we needed to take Grumpus to the emergency vet tonight and see if he’s salvageable or what. He figured if we waiting til tomorrow to make an appointment it might be too late. I should add that The Dandy has seen four or five other cats off to the next world so he’s pretty fine tuned to the signs at this point.

So off we went. But Grumpus was originally The Dandy and Dandette’s cat; he arrived from a previous home about eight years ago, hating all women on sight for reasons we don’t know (we assume the woman in his previous house abused him), and Dandette rehabilitated him over the course of years and now he’s just calm and friendly with everyone. I kind of hate Dandette but I think she deserves to know her cat is ailing, and to come say goodbye if it comes to that. I suggested The Dandy text her and let her know the situation.

I accompanied The Dandy and Grumpus to the vet for emotional support, and while we were waiting to be seen, Dandette texted The Dandy back saying she’d be there by around 9pm. “How much do you need me to be here when she’s here?” I asked The Dandy. He told me I could bolt if I needed to. And at about 8:45, that’s what I did. If he’d asked me to stay, I would have (and felt barfy the entire time) but he didn’t. I hope he didn’t let me go solely for my benefit and later he’ll be resentful that I didn’t read his mind and stay.

So I went home, and like ten minutes after I got here, The Dandy got back, too (he drove, I took public transit, so he’s faster). He shut Grumpus in the kitchen with some food and water (isolating him so we could better tell if he’d eaten anything; Bastardcat will eat Grumpus’ food if he can get to it), then told me that Dandette was downstairs having a smoke and he was going to drive her home and in the process pick up my blanket and DVD that she’d taken with her when she left.

It’s only right that she be kept informed about Grumpus’ failing health and come be with him if she needs to, and I don’t begrudge The Dandy driving her home after. But for the record I hate that this crisis required Dandette and The Dandy to spend time together and I hate that they no doubt fell into an easy old pattern of relating to each other and reminisced about old times and all that crap. And/or she (understandably) burst into tears about Grumpus and The Dandy felt obligated to comfort her through hugs and god knows what other measures. They have a long history. A lot of it is shitty but it’s still a lot longer than what The Dandy and I have, and against all odds, she and he seem like they’re still comfortable around each other. I mean, he’d even been debating remaining friends with her. More recently he seemed off the idea but now that fate forced them together again who the fuck knows what he’ll think.

Meh. I started writing this entry a few hours ago and then got sidetracked. The Dandy is home now, and he has my blanket and DVD – huzzah! The only thing I asked him about Dandette is whether she tried to seduce him so he’d admit he was wrong to let her go, and invite her back into the fold. He said she didn’t. I didn’t ask anything else about their time together; now is the time to gloss over that shit and focus on helping him through the emotional turmoil of his cat probably dying. I just kinda needed to know if they’d ended up having ill-advised makeouts.

 

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Money gulf

Last night I realized just what a toll it’s been taking on me mentally that my bedroom (and to a lesser extent the living room) is in disarray. I’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor and using a shitty little cheap bookshelf leftover from Dandette as a nighttable. I don’t feel like I should assemble the bed I bought or add any other furniture to the room until it’s been repainted the way I want. I began this process the other day – shoving my minimal furniture to one side of the room and then the other in order to put primer on all the walls – but the exertion hurt my back and I had to stop after one coat. So now on top of the room’s lack of furniture/personality/convenience, the walls have a layer of  white primer through which the previous maroon shows in patches, so it looks extra makeshift in here. I feel like I’m camping and I hate it.

Add to this that even when I do eventually assemble the bed, it’s a queen size and my mattress is a double. I put up with this same disparity with my previous bed for a year or two because I couldn’t afford to upgrade my mattress, but I really hope I can save up enough to buy a properly sized mattress soon*. I just…really want a bedroom that looks like it belongs to an actual grownup.

I told this to The Dandy and he said “Sometimes you just have to be patient and save up for things.”

This unfortunate wording made me flinch and then start to rage-cry. I asked him why the hell he would say that to me. He said he meant it as comfort, like “don’t worry, you’ll get it eventually, hang in there.”

I believe him. But what he actually did say came off like he was explaining the concepts of saving up money and delayed gratification to me.

The Dandy has never been poor, currently makes nearly six figures, and doesn’t have any kind of nest egg in the bank; he spends any extra cash he has on luxury goods. I’m fairly sure he spends more than the cost of the mattress I want for myself on custom shoes and/or antique fountain pens and/or designer clothes and/or fancy knives every month. Probably he’s had to save up for something at some point in his life, but most of the things he wants seem to be within a price range where he can get them immediately.

And I…have been trying to save up for the right-size mattress for my bed for two years. I haven’t been to the dentist in seven years. I’ve worn the exact same bra every day for, I don’t even know. Multiple years. I haven’t bought that queen-size mattress or new bras or dental work because instead I’ve had to squirrel away enough money during each lucrative school year to get me through the substantially poorer summer. A couple of times, despite my best efforts, I fell short and had to put a month or two of rent on credit, but I paid it back. Bastardcat needed major surgery and I put that on credit and paid it back, eventually, too.

I do not need Mr. Moneybags to explain the concept of having to wait a while and apply myself in order to afford things. It felt like my dismissive parents blaming me for my own poverty all over again. Either that, or condescension: “sometimes you (you specifically, I guess because you weren’t smart enough to go to university or whatever and get a great job like me) just have to be patient and save up for things. (Good luck with that! I’ll just be over here impulse-buying a $450 knife that is almost identical to three of my other knives.)”

I’m not sure if The Dandy understands how his comment came off to me. I tried to explain it. But he doesn’t know the strain of being poor and I secretly suspect that he does kinda see my poverty as my own fault – or, not my fault exactly, but that he thinks the job market is a lot more of a meritocracy than it actually is – I suspect he thinks he gets paid so much more than I do because his job is proportionately more difficult or valuable than what I do, rather than because the people I work for are underpaying me.

But yeah. He’s sympathetic to the fact that I’m poor. But he doesn’t get it. And this sometimes leads to him being a bit insensitive by accident.

 

*Technically I have enough for the one I want right now…but I also have a bunch of urgent dental work that needs doing and that The Dandy’s benefits probably won’t completely cover. So I gotta see how that shakes out before I go buying any big-ticket items.

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Almost forgot

One time, a few weeks ago or something, I woke up from a sex dream (in my bedroom, alone) and wanted to get off immediately. And I was in such a desperate state that I thought I might even manage it by hand rather than using my Hitachi.

And I did manage it. The orgasm was pretty much just a blip, but it was better than nothing. Blew off some tension, anyway.

Right after I was done (like right after  – I was still all disheveled n shit), The Dandy appeared in my doorway looking puzzled. “I thought I heard…did you…?”

For Pete’s sake, he hadn’t even been in his bedroom when I was getting off. He was in the bathroom, which is further away and he would have been peeing and running water and stuff. And I hadn’t been moaning or anything. Harsh breathing sounds at the very most. And yet.

I hope/assume he was coming by to possibly help out; otherwise he surely would have ignored the sounds. A few times back when we shared a bedroom I started masturbating while he was a few feet away on the computer and he didn’t even turn around or acknowledge me in any way  (and a few times when I started masturbating he abandoned his internetting and participated. He just doesn’t feel any need to be part of these activities with me unless he’s in the mood, I guess). So that’s something. But I always felt self-conscious and on display knowing he can hear my vibrator, and now it seems that even when I’m being vibrator-less and stealthy he knows what I’m up to.

Goddammit.

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CURED!

Well okay no. My depression and anxiety aren’t cured. But living with The Dandy (with him paying a larger share than I do of the food and rent, and having the means to pay all of it if he had to) is SUCH A GAME CHANGER.

  • The constant, churning fear of oh shit what if I can’t work enough/anymore and end up homeless is gone.
  • I don’t need to work as many model shifts in order to pay my expenses each month, and don’t feel like I have to squirrel away as much money as possible during fall/winter to get me through the slow season, so I’ve stopped taking on a batshit insane schedule and started to relax and pace myself.

As a result of these two things, my time and brain are considerably freed up and I have almost the same amount of energy as a normal person. At least I think I do. I’m able to come home from work and do stuff instead of sitting and staring at the wall in a state of profound physical and mental exhaustion. I have leisure time, sometimes, rather than “this is my one day off in three weeks and I should take advantage of it by running all the errands I couldn’t get to before oh oops I ended up just staring at the wall all day instead” time.

And the energy is somewhat self-perpetuating because I’m able to get up and make myself food when I’m hungry, which in turn fuels me to do other things (including making food the next time I’m hungry). Also The Dandy cooks (or orders) dinner most nights so I don’t have to feed myself as often as I did when I lived alone.

I’d always suspected that my anxiety issues would improve immeasurably if I wasn’t so pinched for money all the fucking time. That’s what going on disability was supposed to accomplish*, although that would have come with a bunch of bureaucracy** – filling out forms every month stating how much I made and having them deduct some of it accordingly. Nobody – not even social workers or my lawyer who defended me at the disability tribunal – was able to definitively tell me how much I’d be allowed to make before they started taking some off. But my experience of government assistance is that they’ll give you enough to keep you barely alive but never, ever let you actually get ahead, so I assume I’d end up netting about the same amount of money each month no matter how much I’d worked – or that if I had a month or two where I worked a lot and made enough money to be comfortable, they would declare me to be doing fine and take me off benefits entirely. Oh and by the way with rent in this town being what it is, even the max monthly amount of disability money would not have paid all my expenses on its own.

There’s an idea being floated by the government called “basic income” in which (if I understand correctly) poor people (or…just everyone?) would be flat-out given about a thousand bucks a month, and they could still keep whatever money they might earn on top of that. You could have some financial burden lifted off you and if you worked really hard to make even more money, they wouldn’t take it away! You could actually dig yourself out of poverty instead of treading water until you die! I am staunchly in favour of this program. More than ever now that my theory that financial stability would hugely alleviate my mental illness is no longer only a theory.

 

*I can’t remember if I told you guys – in August, after approving me for benefits, they were like “Oh just one more thing before we give you any money – PROVE TO US YOU’RE POOR, BITCH.” They asked me to send them a whole shitload of tax records and bank records, not all of which I was able to procure, but I did my best and sent it in just in time for the deadline. Months went by and I heard nothing, but that seems like par for the course; they move slowly and have also forgotten my existence and needed reminding several times. Finally in like November or something I called to ask if they’d processed my info or what. They said they never received it and had closed my file. Maybe this sounds a little conspiracy theory-ish but I half believe they made that up just to put up another barrier to entry. I spoke to a manager and wrangled a second chance. No deadline this time. Just gotta find the emotional fortitude to put together all that fucking paperwork again. And yeah I’m aware that with my current living situation I probably don’t qualify for benefits anymore. I’m fine with that. What I want is to get some money retroactively for the time period where I first applied, because I was struggling then.

**Ha ha I accidentally typed “bureaucrazy” at first. ACCURATE.

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