Tag Archives: Mine

Did I do it wrong?

Looking for opinions from people not on the autism spectrum here (or those who are but have better insight into what neurotypical people like, I guess). The post is long and begins with a bunch of context. If you wanna cut to the chase, scroll down to the line of asterisks and read from there.

I’ve wondered if I might be on the autism spectrum ever since I went on a date with a guy diagnosed with Asperger’s who claimed he could totally sense one of his own. At first I thought that was just a line to try to endear me to him – establish an us-against-them vibe or whatever – but I have since read so many things about autism that hit home for me that…yeah.

One big autism thing that resonates with me is that apparently it’s common for people to find a person on the spectrum to be rude and the autistic person can’t understand why. In my case I understand why in a…technical sense? But I don’t, like, get it.

People seem to really want a cursory “how are you” at the beginning of every conversation, even if the two of you are strangers and you can’t possibly give a shit how the other one is, so I’ve forced myself to make a habit of that. Personally I dislike fakeness and the “how are you” thing often just feels like a way of softening someone up before asking something of them, but it’s what most people want so fine.

The other big thing people seem to expect as a matter of course is that you’ll remember details about them and follow up unprompted. “How was your vacation?” “Did you end up adopting that puppy?” “Where did you and Bob end up going to dinner?”

I do like it when someone does this with me. But it’s not, like, a requirement at all. I can’t remember a time when I started a conversation with a loved one and waited for them to say “so how’d the thing go?” and got mad when they didn’t; if anything I’m surprised when someone does remember details like that. I figure we’re each the hero of our own story and I can’t expect people to recall every little thing that happens to the side characters. If I want someone to know a thing about my life, I just tell them. I don’t resent this or even consciously think “Oh, they must have forgotten that my job interview was on Tuesday, I guess I have to remind them.” I just go “hey guess what? I think my job interview went well!”

On the flip side, I have a shitty time remembering things about other people and even when I do, it often doesn’t occur to me to ask about the things. I’m actively trying to develop the habit but it doesn’t seem to stick. I care about the people in my life, and if one of them tells me “the test came back positive” or “I got approved!” I’ll completely be sad for them or thrilled for them and support them as best I can. But usually they’ll have to tell me that a happy or sad thing happened.

Anyway. The Dandy has said that he never felt supported in past relationships, so automatically I started feeling nervous because I have a known habit of forgetting to ask people about their shit and with my anxiety etc I often need a lot of support, myself, and my partners have sometimes felt that I was kind of a pit of neediness and didn’t give much back.

Today The Dandy went to the funeral of a family friend. I rallied all of my limited focus and managed to remember to text him last night saying I was thinking of him, to let me know how the funeral went, and that if he needed snuggles after he could totally come over.

He never replied, nor has he replied to my text today asking how he’s doing. He often lets texts go unanswered (which I hate, btw; I like more contact from a partner than he gives me) so I don’t know if he’s distraught or just being his normal self.

Meanwhile, I ended up doing some hardcore apartment recon today – including looking at two places – and I didn’t have anyone else to come with me and give a second opinion on the places and I feel totally lost and alone and scared. This is a huge decision and I’m afraid I’ll fuck it up. And I really want to tell The Dandy all about my day and ask him for his opinions on a bunch of stuff but I’m afraid it’ll come off like “yeah so I know your friend just died but LET’S TALK ALL ABOUT MY THING NOW.” I’m fairly sure The Dandy wasn’t close with this guy – his parents were and he was just expected to attend the funeral to support them – but I just don’t know. So I haven’t said anything because I’m trying so hard to avoid being the constant-crisis, oblivious, attention-sucking girlfriend. But it’s hard.


But here’s a fun coincidence – when I got home from all the apartment-hunting, Mine texted me saying he wanted to talk to me. And what he wanted to talk to me about is that he feels I’ve been ignoring his problems lately and obsessing over my own.

Mine’s mom has had several heart attacks over the past couple of years. She had her latest one at the end of January, at which time Mine told me about it and said it had been a terrible week and he just wished he could be in my arms. I sympathized and sent him virtual hugs. The next day – trying to stay vigilant and do that follow-up thing people like – I texted that I was thinking of him and hoping he and his mom were doing okay. He thanked me and said the doctors were running a bunch of tests (maybe I was supposed to say something here?). Two days later he said “I wish you were here” and I sent back a heart.

Later that same day, shit started falling apart at my gallery job. The boss was being pissy with me over my anxiety symptoms (which she interpreted as laziness and/or stupidity, as most people do) and I was feeling like “oh nooooo I’m fucking everything up again and I will never be able to live a normal life or hold down a normal job” and I began a fairly involved, two-day text conversation with Mine in which I angsted about this and debated whether I should quit the job while I was ahead, or hold out on the off chance that I could avoid fucking up a thousand more times and getting fired. Mine listened and offered well-considered advice.

He also asked me how things were going outside of work and I told him how I’d just shelled out $700 to fix the wall that I water-damaged, I’m still seeking a new place to live because my psychotic neighbour bullies and terrifies me, and while technically I was approved for disability benefits back in mid-December, I still haven’t gotten anything in the mail (I called them and they said they don’t even have a decision on file yet and it can take a couple months) so I’m sitting here in this horrible limbo of not knowing whether I’ll be financially secure during my summer slow season or not. We talked about that for a while, too.

A couple days later I asked him if he could help me out sometime with learning how to properly clean my house. Nobody ever taught me how so when I do clean, I always feel like a giant faker/impostor. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing it wrong. I was hoping whenever I saw Mine next he could either clean while I watched or vice versa and I could get a feeling for what normal people do.

He did not respond to this at all. Over a week later he texted “Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” He does this a lot – vanishes for a while, even when we’re in mid-conversation. I responded by asking him how his mom has been, just in case he fell silent this time because of horrible developments with her health. He said things were a little rough for a while. That was a couple of days ago. Admittedly at this point I got distracted or something and forgot to reply, so today he texted asking me how I’m doing.

And from there we segued into him telling me he feels like I’ve been focusing on my own problems more than his and I honestly can’t tell if that’s fair or not.

Like yeah, we talked about my stuff over the past while more than we talked about his. But what the fuck am I even supposed to say about his mom’s heart attack other than “Oh that really sucks/I hope she’s okay/I’m thinking of you”? Most of the shit I’m going through is stuff I can do something about and need advice on, so yeah, it involved big talks. And I did ask about his mom a couple of times without prompting! And aside from not responding to “it’s been kinda rough” I never ever ignored any statement of his about how difficult things were for him or how sad he was! And if he needed even more “oh that sucks/I’m thinking of you/I hope she’s okay” he could have prompted it by just telling me again that he was having a rough day or whatever!

Just, like…I don’t wanna sound like an asshole here but how much “Oh you poor baby, there there” am I supposed to be doling out? For real, what’s the quota? Should I have been saying it every day? Every two days? Maybe it’s less about intervals and more about making sure I never ever mention how I’m doing without asking him how he’s doing? I honestly don’t know. I kind of feel like he’s being unfair to me here – at the very least he could have told me he needed more attention – but I don’t know. I so often fuck up and make the normals angry with me without understanding why. Maybe this is one of those times when any normal person would have understood how to behave but I just…didn’t.

I expressed some of this confusion to Mine (more politely though). I apologized a bunch for making him feel neglected and explained my thing of being terrible at remembering to follow up with people’s stuff and told him that I do try. He admitted that he should have told me what he needed and said he understands about my weird blank spot with follow-ups. Although in retrospect I realize he still didn’t tell me what he actually needed from me in order not to have felt neglected.

He said that he needs to take some time to mull over our relationship. At which point I mentioned that by the way, his habit of dropping off the face of the earth for weeks at a time kinda drives me crazy, but thank you (sincerely) for at least giving me a heads up this time. But yeah, regular contact (no matter how minor) is a big part of me feeling loved, and his inconsistency in that regard is the main thing keeping me from feeling closer to him. He said he knows this and he apologized. And I guess now we’re just not gonna talk for a while and maybe one or both of us will decide to break up in a more final way than we already did when we agreed he was no longer my sub.

But…yeah. Was I actually that neglectful and selfish or was Mine expecting an absurd amount of attention? If he wanted me to talk about the thing with his mom for as many paragraphs as I talked about whether or not to quit my job, what the fuck was I even supposed to say? How do I fill in that much space? I mean I guess I could have been all “oh, what treatments is she getting?” blah blah blah but I thought talking about his mom’s chest being cracked open and rummaged around in (or the future possibility of it) might be upsetting to him so I tried to just express sympathy and let him talk about shit to whatever depth he needed to. Did I do it wrong? Seriously asking.



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Mine seems to have vanished for the time being, as he sometimes does.

I don’t understand him. He tells me he loves me. He’s sweet to me when he’s here. When he’s going through a crisis of any kind he always talks as though his very first instinct is to come to me for comfort, saying that all he wants in the world is to be next to me, lying in my arms. He gives every indication that he cares about me…except he’ll sometimes go for a week or more without talking to me and I simply can’t do that when I’m into someone. I’ll miss them. I’ll want to talk to them. And no matter how busy or burned out I am, it’s never not possible for me to send a text message saying “I’m thinking of you” or “I miss you.” It takes seconds to do that.

This, in a nutshell, is why I don’t think of Mine as my sub or my boyfriend, even though I love him and enjoy spending time with him and am generally glad he’s in my life. There’s an element of inconsistency to him that makes me…”distrust him” isn’t quite it, because I don’t think he’s lying to me about anything. I don’t feel I can rely on him, I guess is what it is.

I texted him the other day asking a favour (nothing time sensitive, but still) and he hasn’t responded at all and it just bugs me. I’ve also talked to him about helping me move when the time finally comes and he said he will, but to be honest I think I’ll be looking to The Dandy or possibly my friend Dom to help me with anything that has a strict deadline. I’ll be paying for overlap between apartments so I won’t have to do all my moving in one day; I plan to go piecemeal. If I can manage to get Mine to haul his ass over here during that time, he can take a few carloads of my things for me. But when it’s getting down to the wire and I need the rest of it out by Tuesday or whatever, Mine is not the person I’ll be contacting. He seems capable of saying yes and then bowing out at the last minute because he has to work, or being two hours late and not letting me know.

Having more than one concurrent boyfriend (i.e., man that I love and see regularly and who agrees that we are in a committed relationship) has been my dream since I was a teenager but alas, I am not there yet.

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The mythical unstoppable juggernaut of male desire

Mine considers himself straight. He doesn’t want to date a man or kiss a man or touch a man. But he fetishizes fellating a man or getting an ass-pounding from one. He’s obsessed with making a guy come. Any man at all, really, but the bigger his dick, the better.*

I’ve known a number of guys with that fetish and I think it comes down to feeling desired. Straight men often don’t feel desired by women. That myth that women aren’t visual/aren’t carnal/aren’t into sex has fucked men up and made them feel as though they can’t possibly be sexy. And for whatever reason, instead of addressing that problem by adjusting their relationships with women, they seek out that feeling of desirability from other men. After all, the cultural narrative about men is that they’re all visual and carnal. Men (the stories go) never need to have feelings for someone in order to be physically intimate. Men want to stick their dicks in any pretty thing they see. They can’t even control it.

And so a small subsection of men starts kinking on the idea of being consumed by another man’s desire, of being used as a pretty, pretty object. They kink on the idea of unstoppable male desire even though they are men so they know men’s libidos aren’t really so indomitable.

The other day it occurred to me that often, once it’s clear to a man that I’m visual and carnal, he expects me to be the same type of always-on, ludicrous, frothing horndog that society purports men to be. Why men so often see physical desire in others as all-or-nothing like that I can’t fathom. But yeah. A few times, I’ve accidentally created a monster: tell a dude he’s hot a few times and suddenly he’s strutting into the room like “Okay, here’s my hot body. You may commence behaving like that wolf from the Tex Avery cartoon now.” But the thing is I’m just not that wolf all the time. If I’m in a sexual headspace, absolutely. Aroooooooo. If I’m distracted or something, though, I can’t always shift gears instantly, y’know? But I don’t wanna hurt the guy’s feelings so I end up faking it a little. It sucks because I genuinely do find my partners attractive, and I want them to know it, but then the weight of all their expectations and pent-up feelings ends up pushing me into performing desire that I’m not necessarily feeling.

I’ve only hooked up with The Dandy twice but already I can sense his self-concept of his body shifting from utilitarian over (tremulously, tentatively) to aesthetic. He’s always (he told me) been a nudist, and was comfortable being naked in front of me, but by the end of our recent time together his nudity had taken on a slightly different aspect, a sort of prickly awareness that I might be admiring him. His body was no longer this ignored shell, this means to an end; it was being seen.

I love creating and witnessing that shift. And I think men deserve to feel desired and am happy to do my part. But shit, some of them have so much pent-up neediness around the whole “being desired” thing and it all comes up at once and suddenly I feel like there’s a spotlight on me and I have to act stupefied by lust every single minute or their hearts will shatter. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen here.


*Pretty sure it’s because an erection is a symbol of his desire and to Mine (and many others), a bigger erection equates to more desire (hey maybe this is why some people fetishize trans women, too). Or, alternately, men are supposedly the carnal ones and having a penis is supposedly the defining physical trait of a man, so “more penis” equals “more man” equals “more sex drive”. (I’m not saying I believe penis equals man; I don’t. But for most of us, our first basic sex talk started with “boys have a weewee and girls have a hooha” or whatever, so the idea that gender is determined by genitals gets ingrained in us pretty young and needs to be unlearned.)

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Word nerd

So, this happened over the weekend while Mine and I test-drove the new bed (*cough*).

Me: Less vigorous, please.

Mine: This is only one.

Me: I said “vigorous.”

Mine: Oh. I thought you said “fingers.”

Me: No, I know, I picked up on that. [Pause] For the record, though, “fewer fingers” would be the correct form of that request, not “less fingers”. Even at a time like this I’d never use such terrible grammar.

Mine: [Chuckling] Noted.

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In other news…

I forget if I mentioned this but for ages I’d been thinking of getting a new bedframe – hopefully a loft bed sorta thing so I could stash my low dressers underneath and free up more space in the room. Everything I found was either too high or too low or too expensive or made for a child (who would probably be half my weight), though.

I mentioned this to Mine and he said he’d build a bed for me. So I gave him the specs and he designed it, got the lumber cut to size and bought bolts etc. using his employee discount (he works at a home improvement store), brought it all over on Saturday night, and assembled it while I was at work on Sunday.


Interesting side note: I’d been worried that maybe the height of the bed would freak me out and I wouldn’t be able to sleep in it. But Mine made it sturdy as hell and also nice and wide (I have a double size mattress and the bed is made for a queen size – I will upgrade at some point). And – I wasn’t expecting this at all – being closer to the ceiling like that makes the bed feel enclosed in a way that I really love. It’s like a super secret awesome fort up in there. I suppose humans must have some lizard hindbrain that feels safer in a small den or burrow.

I haven’t even put both dressers under the new bed yet but it already seems way bigger in the room just having that empty space visible under there. Oh and btw the bed cost me less than $200. It’s nothing fancy or anything – just raw wood, kind of industrial-looking – but I don’t need it to be fancy. And with it being so plain and industrial I won’t feel like I’m defacing it when I screw a bunch of bondage rings to the sides.

And btw I know the bed is sturdy because Mine and I tested it out. 😀














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MOAR anal adventures!

So weirdly enough I had almost a repeat of the incident with Mine, this time with The Jock.

I fucked his ass with a dildo. He got all ecstatic and moaned and flailed but then asked me to stop.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“It feels like I have to pee or something,” he said.

“That’s probably a prostate orgasm building up,” I said, grinning. I asked if he wanted to continue and he did. I reassured him that if he felt something building up, it was okay to let go. But he ended up asking me to stop for the night before anything happened. I think either he was too afraid of peeing, too afraid of the intensity of the feelings I was giving him, or feeling a bit rubbed raw from all the thrusting.

Another weird parallel between that night with The Jock and the other night with Mine: both of them separately came up with the idea of going down on me while I used the Hitachi. I hold the vibrator midway up the shaft of my clit, so the tip is still accessible for licking if one is careful.

Turns out oral plus Hitachi is the best combo evaaaaar, and I can set the Hitachi aside midway through my orgasm and let my partner’s mouth carry me through to the end. RAWR.

Both boys are quite enthusiastic about oral, too, and will go down without being asked. And they’re both pretty good at it. …Well, The Jock is pretty good. Mine is phenomenal. They’re also both good at petting me.

I actually got it into my head that it would be super fun to have both of them paying attention to me at once. Sadly, although Mine would be up for it, The Jock emphatically is not.

For years now I’ve had multiple partners in my life more often than not, and there’s always one – and only one – who’d be down for a threesome. This seems like one of those ironic curses the Greek gods would put on people. Woe is me, etc.

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Wanna hear the saddest story ever?

This is both sad and horrifying.

So, Mine has told me before that he’s bipolar and that he checked himself into the psych ward back in the day and got treatment. He only ever told me stories about the mania part of his illness, so I thought he’d managed to figure out that he was manic and that he needed help. Which is why I’d been hoping The Veteran might have a glimmer of rationality left and take me seriously when I told her she’s having a manic episode.

But no. Mine told me the whole story when he was here last. What actually went down is that his mania had swung the other way, into depression. A deep depression. Plus he’d alienated his friends and family and gotten hugely in debt during the mania part of the cycle so his life was legitmately fucked all up way beyond just his brain chemistry telling him that things were hopeless.

He decided to kill himself. He drove to the ‘States where all the guns live and went to a shooting range and rented a gun. He’d wanted little one – a revolver or whatever – but all they would give him (or all they could give him, legally? I forget) was some bigass submachine gun or something. Mine was afraid that if he shot himself he might also accidentally shoot some innocent bystanders, so he ended up just firing a few rounds into the target and then leaving again. He then came back to Canadaland and checked himself into the hospital because of the suicidal urges.

Mine says that when he was manic there is no way in hell he ever would have recognized that anything was wrong – part of the illness is that it convinces you you’re doing great and everything’s fine.

So I guess my attempt at saving The Veteran was doomed from the start.

And I guess Mine isn’t as self-aware as I thought, or rather, that self-awareness was impossible during the most chaotic part of his illness. I really liked his hospital story better when I thought he had diagnosed his own mania and set out to fix it. The reality breaks my heart.

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