“Get a job, you fuckin slob” – Everlast

He’s missing one thing on that list and it’s glaring. Early on, I told him I wasn’t interested in getting involved with someone who fishes all day while I work. Since then, he’s used that example to justify.however he spends his days “I wasn’t fishing while you were working”. But now, right now, he’s asleep on my sofa, it’s after 2pm and I’ve been working 5 hours withouta break. I grew so resentful sitting on the computer while he snored softely with the cats that I had to get up and move to work in another room. In my own house. I began thinking, why doesn’t he hang the door he offered to fix? Yes, his company is enjoyable as he wears my ass out in bed or soothingly brushes my hair. But he doesn’t have a job.

Hes not uneducated or unskilled. He’s not severely disabled. I try to put him in the category of some of my favorite people who are “retired young”. If I didn’t have to work full time, I wouldn’t. I’d love to spend these quarantine months isolated in the cool apallachian hills. Hell, I’d like to be the one napping on the sofa. But I’m working. He’s napping. And I have an unspeakable problem with that.

In karmic timing, my astrologer swing dancer friend text to ask “What does he lack off your list?” I replied quickly, “A job” and confessed he was sleeping on my sofa as we spoke. She replied: Interesting! Well now that Venus is direct see where things go and maybe you’ll be able to move past his retirement flaw?”

Flaw. Un/underemployment as a flaw. Or perhaps the underlying lack of moral motivation to contribute to…what? The GDP? The growing world deficit? But if work can be had and the body is able, one should contribute until they are of the age or financial independence to retire. I add that last bit thinking of another couple of aquaintances who invested well, early and spend their days traveling and fucking off. I envy them. And resent them. Too much to date them too.

I’m going to wake him, and tell him it’s because he won’t sleep tonight if he sleeps all day. But also because I’m ready for him to leave.

UPDATE as of 26 June, 9th House astrology just posted this. https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/94710042/posts/2777945465

So even if my decision isn’t clear, the reason for my indecision, my upset gut, is clear:

“Neptune offers idealization and poetic longing while bypassing or totally ignoring the harsher details. Romantic idealization could lead to disillusionment or disappointment later down the road once Neptune’s veils are lifted off…you might find yourself changing your mind again moving back and forth between yes and no or both simultaneously.”

“You dyed your hair blue” – Glass Animals

I licked your sunglasses before handing them back to you. You held them briefly then slid them onto your face without wiping them off. My nickname in your phone is Beautiful Bacteria because you will plunge the depths of a woman’s body to test the pH but have an aversion for The garbage dump that is the human mouth. But I will teach you to kiss me and you will teach me stop interrupting and apologizing so much.

It’s been a quiet month of discovery between us. I write but don’t post because every day is a reveal that I worry about jinxing. You spent the night, even on a “school night”, promising to respect my need for sleep even as you did a Futomomo binding of my legs, tore my panties away and remarked that I took a paddling “like a champ”. In the morning, you massaged my feet and let the dogs out, made coffee, made the bed while I showered before work.

Your compliments rival the Song of Solomon.

And yet I think of that spaceship tattoo on my hip and what it represents. You know. You looked at me with your cats-eyes and said “I’ll be 99 and hope to have been at least in a sideways 69 early in the morning with a 93 year young you. That is my hope.”

But of the 11 critical items on my Non Negotiables list, you are missing only one. CK was missing only one and it was the reason I broke it off. Because they ARE non negotiable!I’m not hiding it from you either. We have grown up conversations about your plans for the future and my need for an equal partner.

What I didn’t mention is my concern that I manifested a stop gap. Because you appeared a few days after my reading and placing a request for a lover until The One arrives on my altar. I’m superstitious, we’ve covered that. But in my habit of searching for signs, I see them. Like how you have G-d’s ear. And you put your phone away. And you’re a mountain man who knows how to make biscuits from scratch. And you are showing me that you know the difference between aggressive and assertive.

So I keep my eyes open and my heart’s guard up even as I submit to you. For now. Although you hand me your leather belt and say you will never ask for it back.

“All night, all I hear, all I hear’s your heart. How come? How come?” Neko Case

The in-between mundane moments outside the 8+hours staring at a computer for work. Sweep, mop, dishes. Put on a bra. Put on lipstick and Wonder woman bracelets, long dangly earrings. Vinyasa. Pace. Pill and clean up after the cats. Walk the dogs. Feed the neighbor’s cat  Test out some funny pick up lines on a friend. Watch a dance video and start crying. Light incense. Think about packing up the fur and going across state to stay with family. Lindy jump squats while listening to a teleconference. Contortions against the picnic table during the afternoon call. Take off the bra. Seriously consider packing two dogs and four angry cats into a coupe for a 4-hour drive and tell your family “thank you anyway”. Take hair down, curl it. Check plane tickets to Patagonia. No, not yet. Vinyasa. Think about eating your one meal for the day and settle on another cup of coffee instead. Brush teeth, Pin hair back up because it’s hot. Take a multivitamin and black cohosh because it might be hormones and a full moon. Put on a pair of high heels Even though I’m still sans pants or bra. Cover the AC vents in the back room, nobody’s using it right now. Catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and start crying again. Definitely blaming the moon. Take off the heels but put on pants. Walk the dogs. Pill and clean up the cats again. Think about going to bed early because today, I am hopeless.

“Your temporary touch, it’s a hit and run” Glass Animals

I claimed to be surprised but thinking back, maybe I was just too drunk or too naïve to see the signs. Signs being that I invited him in after our sunset post-work happy hour or signs being that by 2am, he was playing with my hair and I’d put on a Sinatra record. I think I said “I’m not in the habit of fucking coworkers” to which he replied “You can send me to the back sofa to sleep alone or you can take me to your bed right now”. His kiss was so delicious, I didn’t give it a second thought. I put the dogs away and closed the bedroom door. My shirt was off quickly (he’s a boob man) and I was already begging by the time he slid inside. He remarked softly “You’re so wet”. There was no kink involved (although days later, I fantasize about introducing him to rope and floggers). I think it will be a one-time deal although I’m sure we’ll hang out again casually and work together without anyone guessing. But I’ll remember his smile, and how it made me feel like the canary about to be devoured.

“Do you wanna touch…” Joan Jett / Greenday

Truth: there is a yoga video playing in the background while I stand in the kitchen eating pretzels. My excuse tonight is my dogs kept bum rushing me every time I tried to Cat-Cow.

I’m trying very hard to keep earning my paycheck because my employer doesn’t owe me a job. But trying to work from home on my own shitty hardware is like trying to recreate the Mona Lisa with a handful of blunt crayons.

I’m 43 and Greenday finally made a song that I like. But likely only because it rips the chorus from a badass Joan Jett tune.

Do you think history books will look back on this time and blame social and mass media for causing hysteria or is it a collective conspiracy by house cats worldwide? Or perhaps dogs are the more likely the culprits. M. Night Shyamalan Ding Dong made a movie about trees trying to wipe out humanity. This plot is house cats trying to turn us into one of them.

“Blame it on my juice, blame it, blame it on my juice”- Lizzo

No That’s not a reference to bodily fluids. It’s simply when a song comes on that was a hit 6 months ago and it triggers a deep nostalgia like “Those were the good days.”

I know everyone is freaking out, if not about Coronavirus then about how everybody is freaking out about Coronavirus. I know you’re inundated, maybe borderline OCD in your compulsion to stop listening to the news because you know it’s feeding the mania and yet you can’t resist. What if you miss something?

I miss dancing. I miss hot yoga. I even miss the gawdafyl ballet class. Sure, everyone is streaming but I don’t want to do yoga in my house. If I roll out a yoga mat and get close enough to the floor, I see paw prints and dog hair and can’t resist cleaning instead of down dogging. And now I’m going to miss the beach. They just closed that. When things first broke out, selfies and words of encouragement floated around telling us how this was a blessing in disguise, because now we would take long walks in the park, get our kids outside even while staying a safe 6 ft away from people. Then some a-hole in a helicopter took a picture of spring breakers on Miami Beach and ruined it all for the rest of us trying to stay sane and safe within the “rules”.

But I still go to work. And field questions from nervous friends and family looking to me to fact check The conspiracy theories nagging at their fried, rational minds. Like I have the Answers.

I have a lot of answers. Sarcastic ones. And if I open my mouth, I may start screaming. Or coughing. But that’s just seasonal allergies and chronic bronchitis so you can roll those eyes right back to where they came from.

“Now you’re treating me like I’m insane. You’re insane.” ~Selena Gomez

“Clearly he’s never had his dick in my mouth,” she announced loudly.

We were sitting at a crowded table in crowded restaurant within earshot of her mother and a 7-year-old sitting directly behind us. The proclamation came with a flurry of f-bombs from the mouth of The Birthday Girl, now 25-year-old middle school teacher, and member of my cabaret troupe. She fixed her glorious peridot eyes on mine and asked for my phone to show her mother a routine from our last performance. Her mother is only 2 years older than me and until she’s sitting at the same table, I never think of this young woman, my fabulous f-bomb dropping friend, as being someone young enough that I could have squeezed out of my womb.

My feelings for her certainly aren’t motherly. She is a bad bitch and a source of inspiration. I told her I wish I had half the confidence that she does. She’s gorgeous enough that she could be a train wreck and men would forgive her. But instead she’s gorgeous AND has her shit together. For the most part.

I haven’t heard from kinky guy since he went home. Shocking. Next.

My astrologer swing dancer friend posted my monthly horoscope and said I could start a new relationship this month. I commented back, “With a dog?” Because that happened. I adopted a German Shepherd rescue. Like I needed one more in the menagerie especially one with psychological baggage. But I have a soft spot for shepherds.

Today I got a text message from my Dom friend saying that things were not working out between him, his wife and their girlfriend. He and his wife were interested if I would reconsider a relationship with them. It’s not the first time they’ve asked and they know I’m not poly however, I do have a comfortable, non-sexual friendship with the both of them that includes rope play. Now, my recent rope play was brutally sexual and left me hungrier than I was before. Maybe that’s why they decided now was a good time to reapproach. I didn’t want to be rude and turn them down flat without hearing them out so I agreed we could have a conversation the next time we meet although I prefaced it with “I’m fairly certain we are looking for different things.” They want a relationship. I’m just looking for a play partner and preferably someone who is not already attached.

Speaking of unattached, I just realized it’s Tie Your Own Damned Self Tuesday but among my excuses not to: it’s already past my bedtime, I’m too bloated to touch my toes tonight, and my luck is I’d be hogtied just as the new dog decides to eat one of the cats. So maybe I skip this week’s self-care.

“Call me up whenever you wanna grind” ~Prince

“I don’t think you could fit me in your ass but I’d try”

No you won’t. You didn’t. Even though I laughed at that, I saw you twice in the two and a half weeks that you were here. Your messages becoming fewer and less flirty, full of excuses which I took for waning interest. Tried to call you on it once: I wear big girl panties, I can handle the truth better than having my time wasted.

I wore a dress, heels, carefully cultivated undergarments, messy hair and precise makeup everyday this week just in case you wanted to see me after work. I turned heads.

The night before you left, your only message to me  was that you were ready to go. My response: so, nice meeting you then..?

I archived 2months of conversation and porn, sick of the disappointment of opening my messages and seeing your adorable ass laid out like a platter across the bed.

You sent me one final text the next day as you boarded the plane to say you enjoyed our time together and were disappointed we didn’t have more of it. And whose call was that?

I’m disappointed but only because I’m still hungry.  He’s like sugar: Delicious, addictive and not good for me. Although I was more relaxed after adopting the approach that my relationship values cannot be applied to a playdate. Round two was a quickie, two hours, but I was glad to get it. Although he was less attentive after he had me, he was still a great kinky lay and brought out the rope.

Some knots were rushed, and I felt like livestock being hogtied in a rodeo for time. Other knots were more artistic and worthy of pictures, which I asked him to take with my phone for my FetLife profile since he was the one who called me out on being 98% rope bunny with no rope photos. Most of the pix made me cringe. Not at his work but at my body, oozing between the fibers. We should have made my nipples hard before snapping these shots, I joked.

I found myself lurking on Fetlife lately, checking out provocative photos and following beautifully bound women, wishing I was them.

He said he preferred older women but I think he likes young, thin and blonde. I assume that 49% of what men tell me is truth and 51% is bullshit.

Browsing photos and erotic posts  I wonder how far down the rabbit hole I will go. I must not be too far gone because I have other options but if they can’t verbally and cerebrally fuck me first, they’re just not interesting  enough to rearrange my schedule for as I did for this last guy.

But I’m looking to pad my fall.

I joined another group on FetLife called Self Tie Tuesday. Seems simple enough. I already have sex with myself so why not just tie myself too?

I watched videos but end up following my instincts. I figure Between survival training and general craftiness, I have a solid foundation in knots.  But tying myself is hard.  I wrapped my legs thinking that would be the easiest but was straining by the time I reached my toes.  I posted the picture of the end result with the caption “Self-tie Tuesday, or ‘Eat my taco Tuesday’ or ‘tie your own damn self Tuesday’ whatever. I can’t imagine how people self-tie harnesses but that’s for future education and Tuesday nights.

“Everything is a dream I forgot” Marian Hill

“We’ve got time” he said. That was days ago. My last message to him was “I still hope to see you again, when you have time.” And I’ve resigned myself not to hear from him again.

I purposely didn’t make firm plans for the weekend, thinking, hoping, assuming that I would spend much of it with him. I haven’t even heard from him. It’s like when he disappeared for super bowl weekend. Off the grid so he claimed. He’s not off the grid. He’s just a few miles away from me and has the weekend off. He just doesn’t want to see me.

The rejection Hit me harder than I could have expected. I got through a cabaret show. I swing danced my ass off at a live rockabilly classic car fest the following day. then went home and within half an hour, changed into black thigh highs to head to the local s&m club where I’m a member to see if a couple friend might introduce me to a local Dom. It was like every other gathering I’ve gone to: a house party with a bunch of leather clad nerds and a couple of people stripped naked and being whipped in the center of the room. Just another night at the BDSM club. I didn’t meet anyone to play with. I went home alone. Cried. Talked to my best friend “S”, felt better for a few minutes and then cried some more.

The next day was more of the same. Running myself ragged between rehearsals and dances. I was in an off mood, enough that people noted it. Got home, changed quickly and was back out the door. Met a coworker for dinner and drinks and he followed me to the local VFW for a weekly swing dance. He had never been. Didn’t even know there was a scene. He said it was a joy to watch. He used that word, joy. It’s accurate. God knows it’s the only time I’m truly happy, on the dance floor.

My coworker paid for dinner, it wasn’t cheap. I volunteered to get the next time. Danced my ass off. He watched while a couple of single dancer friends flirted with the new guy. I’ll answer questions about him later. I thanked him, sincerely, for stepping away from his PhD homework or whatever else he could have been doing with his time, to spend it with me. He and I both understand the value of time. And we ar en’t frivolous with it. He took Time out for me. It doesn’t entirely negate The bathos that was nearly 7 weeks in the making with the Sexual Tourist but long term, friendship is worth more.

Sexual Camel meets Sexual Tourist

He’s here. He’s real. We made it past coffee.
It went down every bit as hot and messy as I’d fantasized. We even accidentally drew blood and my wrists are delightfully sore for two days. But it’s been THREE days. But back to that in a minute…

That first night we met, really, was intended just for a drink and “nice to meet you” but it escalated quickly after a month of priming via text. I slept less than 6 hours that night and was mush at work the next day but I was smiling so no one questioned it. I wish we could have kept going and I told him afterwards that I hope to see him again while he’s here. In the heat of it, I THINK he enjoyed it but of course the days after, I question that as he does not seem as crazed for the next round as I am. Mixed and delayed messages in the following days has left me insecure and wondering what did I look like? Smell like? Taste like through his senses? If I only had one shot, what could I have done differently to have pleased him more? Did he come? I’m never sure when condoms are involved unless I ask, and I didn’t.

For all the intensity of my experience, and it was certainly intense, I did not come. Close many, many times but no cookie.  I rarely get off the first time I’m with someone but he still had me squirming and wet. I’m sure I’ll be more relaxed the next time. If there is a next time. That’s up to him. That’s not to say that I didn’t have release. In fact, it opened a floodgate. I havent experienced a total release of control like that in five years, since “C” was alive and my keeper for a brief time.

He bound my wrists, then my ankles, then my chest, eventually looping the rope to connect and further restrict the bound limbs. Once I was tied he paused to admire his work. Then started with his hand. Then slid off his pants and used his belt. He even had a thin paddle that snapped against me like a wooden ruler. Even without orgasm I was sopping, bound and gagging on him.

And I’ve thought about nothing else since.

That’s the problem with starving yourself: The moment someone gives you a bite, your body and psyche recalls how hungry it is. But now that he’s had me, does he want more? I felt so good that first night but it’s been three days since and I feel anxious, neglected, rejected. I look at the calendar. He has less than two weeks here. And as I leave work, I think he’s only 2 mi away. Two miles and 2 weeks and then it becomes a thousand miles and never again.

But that’s me. He is in a new city and it’s a buffet. Why would he eat at the same restaurant every night? Even if I’m the best thing on the menu, he is going to try other places. He’s a sexual tourist.

He might be a little lazy too after a long, hot day working in the sun but that doesnt make me feel better. Hmm, kinky playtime or Netflix? I suppose not everyone is as insatiable as I am or maybe this is what happens to a woman deprived for years.

He’s slow to respond too when I put myself out there. I told him last night that I really wanted him to spend the night Friday night after the show but didn’t require an immediate answer. So he didn’t give me one. Until the next morning witha lukewarm response that left me in a shitty mood all day, second-guessing whether he wanted to see me again. I’m so hungry…

I messaged “S” who confirmed “That sucks that he’s not into you”. Ouch. But that’s what real friends do right? Tell the truth. I asked my dom friend for a referral but he said he’s always on the lookout for me and he doesnt know anyone in this area, this region even, that’s not already attached (although if I was open to poly, which he knows I’m not, he and his wife and their gf would be thrilled to have me as an addition).

I mean, I would literally drive to your room, blow you and leave if you said the word. But you don’t. The crickets every time I offer myself to you is a kick in the gut. I expected to be this experience to boost my confidence but it has me at my wits end. Even my coworkers are asking what’s wrong. I’m not myself. 

Make excuses or tell me the truth but don’t leave me hanging. What I can’t figure is why you don’t just ghost me all together if you decided one round from me was all you wanted. Why do you keep messaging me at all?

I rearranged my underwear, all the best panties to the front, wear dresses and heels everyday just in case you call me over. You haven’t played that playlist you made for me yet. You haven’t fingered me in public yet. Are you done with me already?

What I really need is a Keeper.

Now I’ve experienced the loving, supportive, mature relationship of “CK” and the intensely kinky sexual dynamic that I crave. They seem as distant as the East from the West, never meeting, never embodying the same man.

But because of him I updated my dating profile to include, “brownie points for shibari”.