Captain Queer strikes again!

As I had previously discussed with The Scientist, I tend to have some capacity to, uhm... queerify my potential partners. I discussed it with him in the sense that I'd just hooked up with his best girlfriend who had never hooked up with a girl before. And I tend to find myself in threesomes... frequently... with two straight men.

Not the same two straight men, mind you. This marks the third different MFM threesome I've had. This year.

God, I love my life.

Which was, incidentally, exactly what I said when I walked back into my bedroom after my two boys and I had gotten back to my house and I'd excused myself to the restroom, as I opened the door and saw them both there, completely naked.

Yes, I have a very lovely life.

The night was an entirely random one. I went to dinner with C, came home and bought Bear a plane ticket to come visit me (huzzah! less than a month!), then was wanting to go play, but no one was around. Which is when a random old friend, who I haven't spoken to in at least two years, facechatted me. And we discovered we live about 10 minutes from each other. And made the executive decision that he and I were going to get drunk together.

He got to my place quickly, and I don't think we stopped talking the entire way home. Or for the stop at the grocery store. Or the liquor store. He was adorably excited, and there was gushing on both our ends. His poor boyfriend must have thought we were cracked out or something. We were just...buzzing... together. It was a blast.

We mellowed as the rum kicked in, and I got a chance to know his boyfriend better - and even bond over some similarities we have. We're the same age, and, oh, are both into BDSM and are total subs. It was one of those kind of nights where nothing is taboo. I loved it.

Eventually, a few of his boyfriend's friends came over... they had asked his boyfriend earlier, apparently, if there was REALLY a girl over. His boyfriend said "Yes, I promise, there is a girl here." By the time the friends got there, I was just drunk enough to introduce myself by saying, "Hi. I'm the promise. AKA Sasha." I thought it was funny, anyway.

I'm not sure it was ever really discussed, but rather it was just assumed from the time the friends walked in the door, that the two of them and I would all be sleeping together.

I didn't have a problem with that. Clearly, neither did they.

I don't know if the two friends have had a threesome with one another before, but they certainly acted comfortable and smooth enough around each other to make me wonder. They worked me like they knew what they were doing. But then again, I let them work me like that. I knew exactly what they were doing.

I knew what they were doing when one of them leaned in to kiss me while we were standing alone in the kitchen. I knew what they were doing when the other came in and found us kissing. I knew what I was doing when I stole away with the other and kissed him on the patio.

And I knew what we were doing when we all decided we were going back to my house.

"God, I love my life."

They both smiled at the comment, pleased with themselves and my reaction, I think. I barely had time to process their reactions, though, before they were both on me, damn near ripping my clothes off.

I will never get tired of the feeling of having so many hands on me at once. No two people's touch is ever quite the same, and, yes, the exhibitionist in me really enjoys it. Also, I've picked up quite the appreciation for naked skin from Friend (and others, but he and I talk about it regularly), and this is just such a delicious way to feed that hunger.

There is much more to be told about the night, of course... But I did get some fantasies fulfilled, which is always excellent. (Aside: I'm going to need to make a list of fantasies I've had fulfilled and which I haven't... I think the former list is longer. Awesome.) Check for details in upcoming product reviews - I do so appreciate when guys aren't intimidated by toys. In fact, that was part of our motivation for going back to my house - I was bragging about my toy collection.

God, I love my life.

It feels like we've been here before...

It's been a while since I've written anything overly personal on here. With my real-world job as a web editor (did I mention that I have a real-world job now? Like, an actual career?), I spend my entire workday staring at a computer screen, so sometimes I'm not overly eager to run home and do the same. I've been trading online interaction for actual, real life socialization. Imagine that!

But there are other reasons for the relative silence of late, too. And I haven't written about them in hopes that they would get better. But, the truth is, they aren't getting better. And I'm starting to feel myself slip down into those dark places I inhabited years ago... And I don't want to do that. In the past, you, dear readers, have been so incredibly helpful and gracious and insightful, that I thought perhaps I would turn to you again.

I've noticed changes in some of my habits. i think some of it is just antsy-ness - this is usually the time of year I would be headed back to school... So it's possible I'm still adjusting to and realizing that this is, in fact, my life. This is not a summer job and a summer apartment and summer flings, but rather the real thing.

Well, in some regards. Of course, it seems the things I wouldn't mind being temporary - the things I wouldn't mind trading out - are the things that are stable, and the things I so desperately want to hang on to are those which are slipping away from me. And it's started getting to me. I'm exhausted all the time. Regardless of how much sleep I get. Waking up is brutal, although I was getting good at waking up at 7am for work without much difficulty in the past month. That has stopped. Of course, when I do fall asleep, it's never through the night. This in and of itself, of course, doesn't mean much, but it seems to be just one part of a series of small problems that add up to something that feels unconquerable. I've gone back to always feeling rather sick - a combination of allergies and near-constant nausea that hasn't been so pervasive since, probably, high school.

If it hasn't been clear from my "frustratingly abstract" (according to Friend) posts, The Optimist is gone. Through no fault of his own, and no fault of mine. The universe decided to throw him a curveball, and he took the good, responsible, compassionate route out. A route that led him, suddenly and without a goodbye, far away from me and his other friends in this state. I don't hold the decision against him in the slightest - actually, quite the opposite. His making this sacrifice confirms my belief that he is this incredible, compassionate, giving person. It makes me respect him that much more. It absolutely supports my fascination with who he is and how he became this truly singular individual.

But his leaving hurt more than I thought it would. I've talked to Nonboyfriend about it - since he and I were in essentially the same boat, being unpleasantly surprised by The Optimist's sudden departure. I felt like (after convincing him that, no, I really wasn't going to turn into some crazy stalker and terrorize his best friend... Because we all know that I do that regularly) he and I could at least identify with each other's heartache. I don't say heartbreak, because that sounds too dramatic. But there is absolutely an ache. And it is palpable. And harder to ignore than I thought it would be. I'm not angry in the least. I am just very simply and without anything else, very sad. It's a pervasive kind of sadness that is at the same time purer than anything else I can remember feeling. I am sad for the loss of the memories I was so looking forward to making. I am sad for the departure of the butterflies that only inhabit my stomach when he's around me. I am sad to not feel that electricity when he touches me. I am sad to not feel his lips on mine and hope my knees don't give out but know even if they did he would catch me - and probably have some perfectly eloquent comment about it. I am sad to not know when I will see his face again. I am sad.

But I believe him (and Nonboyfriend) when they remind me he will be back. I know he will. And he hasn't misled me yet, so I don't expect him to begin now. (Right down to his parting salutation on the phone, which was, verbatim, what I've always told friends I wanted to hear from someone who wasn't sure when the next time they would call might be.) And, again, his reason for leaving is so good and so... HIM... that I couldn't do anything but support it. There was never any other option in my mind. I couldn't not support him. And I hope he knows that. The last thing I would ever want to be or do would be an additional burden for him. That isn't what good friends do, let alone lovers or partners or whatever we were. But it does leave me pining a bit for something I know I can't have. At least right now. And the uncertainty of when I may or may not see him again is eating at me, just a little. It makes it harder to overcome the sadness, because I don't have a set point to look forward to. It's too abstract.

And I know that wound, if that's what we'd call it, is especially fresh. It will caulderize with time... Although I hope my feelings for him don't. I love that I simply cannot have my walls up around him. I love that I feel safe and comfortable and happy knowing he's in my life. I love that he talks to me about life and art and philosophy and also that we can get drunk with my roommates and write haikus about a missing cat. Like I said, he's rather singular. I've never met anyone who affected me the way he does. And just like how it's so easy to get used to sleeping next to someone, and so difficult to get used to sleeping alone (I still sleep on my side of the bed, although I haven't had a regular sleeping-over partner in years), accepting that affectation makes it that much harder to forget about.

And other relationships are suffering as a result. A few nights ago, I completely flaked out on Bear. He was having a rough night and needed someone to talk to, and I just... fell asleep. And I felt so incredibly guilty in the morning. And he's told me that he's not upset, although his tone indicated otherwise. Mostly, though, I just feel awful for being such a shitty friend. My friends deserve better. And usually, I can deliver. I don't know why I couldn't then.

And my best girlfriend, C, is going through some really serious things. I want so badly to be there for her, and it kills me that there's only so much I can do. Going to dinner with her and giving hugs and texting everyday seems so inadequate for how much I love her and how much I want to make her pain disappear. And I know, ultimately, there isn't anything I can do to make it stop, to make it better for her. I just wish there was. But I do know she reads this, so I just want to reiterate, my love, that I am here for any and everything you might need. And I love you more than words, and I only wish there was more I could do. I want to make all this stop for you. I want to fix everything. And I know that I can't. And that just... destroys me.

Maybe that's the best adjective for how I feel right now. I feel destroyed. Not by any single event or person, but I feel just so helpless and out of control, that it's driving me crazy. I'm falling back into old patterns of coping with that loss of control. I don't even know HOW to process these things in a healthier way. And the last thing I want is help, as strange as that might seem. I just want to feel better. I want these things that hurt the people I love to vanish (yes, even when I am one of those things). I don't want any of this. I don't want to feel like this.

My one-track mind...

..and how I worry it sometimes hurts people.

Well, maybe not hurts, exactly. But I do have a tendency to get singularly-minded and focus a great deal of my attention and concern on a single area. I like to finish something that I start. If I hear a new band that I like, I want all their music, and I will listen to it on repeat until I know all the lyrics.

It's part of the reason my job as a Web Editor is tough for me - it's so multi-dimensional, and there are so many big things happening simultaneously that I can't ever finish any single "project" in a day. That can get frustrating.

So, too, I'd imagine, can being my friend when I'm really excited about someone or something. I've realized that the past few weeks, my personal posts have all focused on The Optimist. And, indeed, he is becoming a consistent part of my life. I love that. I love that he's in my life and he honestly fascinates and excites me in myriad ways.

But there are other people in my life, too. People who, maybe, are a little more unsung. Perhaps it means I take them for granted, but especially in regard to one, I feel he's been making an effort to be more present in my life lately, and I haven't acknowledged it as openly as I should. I suppose affections and obsessions wax and wane naturally, but I'm pretty sure it's been a while since I've written a post really talking about Friend. (Who, rightfully so, points out that his nickname is the least inventive of those I am or have been involved with. I still contend that's primarily because he is first, foremost, and always, my friend.)

As a refresher, I've known him for a long time, and we've been sleeping together, on-and-off (off when I was out of town or when I test out monogamy, not because we're fighting) for a couple years. He is very, very smart, and some of my favorite memories with him are conversations we've had where we get in often one-sided debates railing on the uneducated masses. (Snobbery, you say? Never!) Especially when we are together, we are exceedingly silly. He is one of the few people in my life I can always count on to cheer me up when I need to take my mind off something by just being goofy. A week ago or so when he came over for dinner, we found ourselves playing in the rain in a sweetly romantic gesture.

All of these attributes aren't anything new, though. They are things that have always and continue to attract me to him. I love and appreciate them. What I wanted to recognize is what seems to have changed, especially since I've moved back after graduation.

Sometimes, when I was home for summers or vacations or whatever reason, I would get frustrated with Friend's seemingly inherent flakyness. It never felt malicious, it was just kind of... saddening when we would have plans and he just wouldn't show or he would fall of the face of the earth conveniently for the week I was home. I talked to him about it on various ocassions, and while he would apologize where appropriate, I didn't see any change right away. I had recently resolved to just stop letting it bother me. It was, I figured, part of his personality, and therefore part of our relationship. I could deal.

But in the past few weeks, I've noticed him making - what feels like, at least - an increased effort to include me. It's nothing major, but they are those little things that I really appreciate. If he's running late or has to cancel on our plans, he'll shoot me a text. Whereas I've historically been the one to ask him to hang out, there have been several cases recently where he called me and wanted to see me, not the other way around. A few nights ago, he called me up to come help him build some things for work. Admittedly, he needed an extra hand, but it was still nice to feel like he'd thought of me. It was nice to feel included in a part of his life that's normally cordoned off for me.

(It's important here that he's not the only one cordoning off areas of his life. I do the same thing, and as such our times together are necessarily usually just the two of us. We are, essentially, one another's secondary partners. Other partners know about each other, but only in an abstract sense, for the most part.)

The past few times we've spent time together, actually, there hasn't been anything particularly sexual about it. Which, as strange as it might seem, makes it feel MORE like a relationship, not less. I'm not sure entirely WHY that is, but that's the result that often seems to happen.

Regardless, the point is that he's been making an effort. And it has meant something to me. And I haven't mentioned it. So now I am. Because it's awesome. And appreciated. Much love, Gun. ;-)

The truth about my past.

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

These sound like simple statements to some, I suppose. But they are something I had not fully realized until this weekend and, largely, before quite possibly the most intimate conversation I've ever had with my best girl friend, C. She came over on Wednesday for a late lunch, because I wanted to be girly and gush about my weekend. We went to get salads and margaritas (the upgraded version of the chef salads we used to eat with our fingers in high school), and I started gushing essentially immediately. It was along the same lines of my last entry, with maybe a little more blushing and giggling.

I was emphasizing to her how it makes me a little nervous how much I like The Optimist and what a strong connection I feel with him. She reminded me that it is, indeed, OK to be swept off your feet sometimes. I just haven't been open to it in a long time. So we started talking about why I was so hesitant to believe that people might like me or that I might even be worth liking.

A little background: I am quite confident about myself, when it comes to two things - my writing and my sexual prowess. (Yes, that's largely why this blog exists, haha.) But Relationships, in the traditional sense, terrify me. I capitalize the R in Relationships intentionally, because I mean those in the more standard and socially acceptable sense. Those kind terrify me because I hold myself solely responsible for the demise of the few Relationships I've had. I have always done something to fuck it up, and because of that I've always felt like I deserved to be left. I haven't felt like I deserved someone in a long time.

I have told myself that I was OK with being the secret, the secondary. And in many ways, I am. But my justification, which I still believe, is that it was unreasonable to expect any single person to be everything someone needed. That was based not so much in my inability to believe that someone could be everything I needed, but that I would never be enough for someone. After all, I screw up Relationships. Sex, I'm good at. Friendships, I can usually manage. But Relationships? Absolutely not.

Perhaps the most spectacular example, in my mind, of my botching a good thing and thereby indicative of my inability to carry out a Relationship was how things ended with Ex. We were together (on and off, but mostly on) for five years. We made the decision to stay together for the first year of college, even though we were going to school across the country from one another. When we were both home for Christmas that year, he gave me a ring. It was expressly NOT an engagement ring, but I wore it (with his permission) on my left-hand ring finger. It was white gold (he knew I don't wear much gold or yellow), sapphire and diamonds. It was beautiful.

Five months later, after flying across the country to drive home with me, he broke up with me.

I have always held myself responsible for this. I don't know that I could even supply the reasoning, but there has never been any doubt in my mind that it was my fault that he didn't love me anymore. In the course of our Relationship, he had always been the stable one. He's pragmatic to a fault, and I (even more so then) am emotional and impulsive. Clearly, it was something I had done that had driven him away. I had been a bad girlfriend, because I didn't have the Girlfriend Gene.

C knew this is how I've felt. Despite an incident that first summer where The Scientist quite literally yelled at me to stop defending Ex and believe that he hurt me and he was wrong to do so, I held myself responsible. I deserved it, after all.

But today at lunch, C and I were talking about my insecurities and my fears about Relationships and how I destroy them. And she just looked at me and said "No, you don't." I looked at her with appropriate confusion.

"You didn't destroy things with Ex. In fact, you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't change anything about you or who you were. He changed, not you. It had everything to do with him, and nothing to do with you. He fucked up by giving you that ring when he wasn't sure about your Relationship. But all you did was believe what he led you to believe. He decided ON HIS OWN that you two weren't going to work. He did it on his own. It was. Not. Your. Fault. He mislead you. You're just a good person that got fucked over."

I didn't know whether to cry or start giggling. I had honestly never thought of it like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I believed what he said to me, what he told me was true. That was it. The decision, really, in the end, didn't have anything to do with me. (I don't mean to imply here that I was the perfect girlfriend throughout the relationship, because I certainly did things wrong. But in that period when we were separated, I actually was a committed, faithful and devoted girlfriend.)

It was an earth-shattering realization. No one had ever explained it to me like that. And I had been too hard on myself to see it from that angle. As the tears started welling up behind my eyes, though, it sunk in. She was right. The truth about my past isn't that I'm defective or inherently unlovable or perpetually insufficient. The truth about my past is that I got hurt when I wasn't expecting it. And when I didn't deserve it. That's it.

And I have built so many of my beliefs presently on the firm belief that I am simply insufficient and defective, that hearing C say this to me, and honestly believing her, was truly astounding. And I can already feel the ramifications. It means that I am allowed to be happy. Because it means that maybe things aren't inherently doomed. It means that I can be silly, because I don't have to worry about a responsibility to warn my partners about what a danger I am to them. It means that I don't have to automatically invalidate and be suspicious of strong feelings I might have. Because they aren't necessarily going to end in disappointment and heartache.

Perhaps this seems like an excessively sweeping revelation for something ostensibly solely regarding a Relationship that is far away and gone. But that Relationship was so important, that showing me a different perspective on that has shown me a different perspective on so many other things. It doesn't change my childhood. It doesn't change the pessimism or skepticism that growing up with my family has bred into me. It doesn't change the fact that I'm still not sure monogamy will ever be right for me. It doesn't invalidate the Relationships and relationships I've had since Ex.

But it might change the future. It does change what I think I am capable of. It changes what I think I am worthy of. It changes my no-other-options pessimism about Relationships. In many ways, it redefines who I might be able to become. To myself, and even maybe to someone else. For the first time, I actually believe that I am worthy of it. I believe that I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be so lucky to be surrounded by incredible friends and lovers. Who are honest and beautiful and brilliant and making my world and the world at large a better place simply by being in it. I believe that I might have the capacity to make people happy. I believe that I might be worthy of being loved, someday.

I believe that I do NOT deserve to have people like Edward still sending me messages and emails. I believe that I do NOT deserve to be made to feel guilty for being honest about who I am and what I do. I believe that I do NOT need to apologize for the same. I believe that I am NOT solely responsible for every bad thing that has ever happened to me.

And I feel so free.

I am not defective. I do not destroy everything I touch. I am allowed to be happy. I deserve to be treated well.

so many things...

There is such an incredible volume of things to write about, that I can't possibly decide where to begin.

OK. That's a lie. The practical first.

I have a new computer! I am writing this entry (and all future ones, thank you very much), on my shiny new macbook. I've already switched all my documents (and more importantly, my MUSIC) to this computer, and set up my home pages, and emails and sex-toy site bookmarks. Along with my computer came a beautiful new printer that has a card reader which should work with my old camera... But even if it doesn't, I also recently acquired a Blackberry, which has quite the decent camera. Oh, and, yknow, there's the webcam and photo editing software that come standard on my Mac. There are already HNT photos scheduled.

And as I mentioned, I'm going to start reviewing sex toys for a few companies... as soon as they get to my door. I've already talked to a few partners who are eager to test them out with me. Which is really exciting.

Speaking of partners, there are two new ones. Who, if I can write this without jinxing myself, I think are going to be important. In fact, check back tomorrow for an introduction to The Scientist.

And this weekend was one of the best I've had. It rivals my Spring Break/Birthday week in terms of sexiness and happiness and beauty. Yeah. Be prepared for several entries about all of this.

Which are set to begin posting...tomorrow.

I'm sorry. I'm admittedly a little bit of a tease. But you know you love it.

I will, however, leave you, dear readers, with a surprisingly non-hypothetical question: How many different people have to independently call you a sex goddess before believing it is NOT conceited?

Getting Settled.

Well, things are calming down. I am still without my own computer, but I've moved in with a good friend for the next few weeks until my roommate gets back and we can get our own place. It's amazing what just getting out of my mother's house has done for my mood. I'm living with my friend, her partner, and their adorable toddler. They are laid-back and fabulous, and I love playing with their daughter. And the fact that peek-a-boo is endlessly entertaining to her.

I'm still in limbo when it comes to my career, although I am freelancing, and STILL negotiating my way into a web-editor-ship. I hope. The meetings keep getting rescheduled, which is frustrating, but I'm not willing to give up hope. I am starting to look more seriously at other options, though, although this position is my first choice, so I'm hesitant to let it go.

Holy run-on sentence, Batman!

Anyway. Yes, things are falling into place. Also, thanks to the lovely Essin' Em's help, I'm going to start reviewing for a few companies. So, expect those in the coming weeks. Who knows, maybe I'll even get some of my partners to play with these new toys with me.

And there are new posts in the works, too. I know it's been a while since I've written any smut. I'll be fixing that. There are things I want to explore here, so those are forthcoming. I promise. Thank you to those of you still reading, things are looking up.

such. bullshit.

Yup, the title hopefully accurately conveys how emo and whiney this post is going to be. I apologize in advance, I'm just pissed off.

So, this is precisesly why I KNEW I couldn't live at home. To bring everyone up to speed, I've graduated and moved back about 10 days ago. Since then, I've been staying at my mother's house, with the express understanding that it is a temporary setting until my roommate returns from across the world in a few days. I figured I could handle a few weeks here - after all, I hadn't been home in something like four months... so no big deal, right?

Wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong.

At the moment, there are four of us living in the three-bedroom condo - myself, my 17-year-old sister, my mother and her freshly-minted serious boyfriend. (Seriously, he moved in after something like two weeks of them dating. Nice one, mom.) It's a three-story condo, although the basement has a crack in the foundation and floods every time it rains, so basicaly it's a two-story condo. In any case, it isn't especially cramped with the four of us. My sister and I each have our own rooms, so there's some level of privacy. At least ostensibly.

So, a few nights ago, a friend of mine from high school came over after we'd spent the evening out with some old mutual friends (more on that in another post, perhaps). I should preface this all by saying that there has never been any kind of sexual activity with this friend. I dated his best friend for quite a while, and actually, when we were freshmen in high school, he had a crush on me, but that's the extent of our romantic entanglements. We went to a tiny high school, and as such, are still both friends with several people from that school. We all hang out together somewhat frequently when we're all back in town. Nothing new there. After hanging out with friends at a bar and then at another friends' house, he and I came back to my house to finish our six-packs. By the end of those, we had concluded that neither of us should be driving. We came upstairs, climbed into my bed, and went to sleep.

I texted my mother in the morning letting her know my friend (who she knows well) was in the house so she or her boyfriend wouldn't be startled when she saw him walking around. My sister had been outside drinking with us the night before, so she already knew to expect him. As it turned out, no one was awake by the time I walked him to the door and said goodbye.

Then last night, this same friend and I got together at his house to watch a basketball game. After a heartbreaking loss, we came back to my house together with a bottle of wine and a few beers to drown our sorrows. As the temperature had cooled off to almost chilly, we decided to hang out in my room instead of outside. My mother and her boyfriend were home and expecting us as I'd texted them, so we said hello and went upstairs with the wine and a couple glasses. Being friends for so long, we're quite comfortable with each other, and conversation comes easily. We talked all the way through a bottle of zinfandel, and soon needed something else to drink. We went downstairs to get our beers from the fridge, where we ran into my mother and her boyfriend again.

My friend has apparently started hooking up with someone back at school (he goes in-state), and had a fading hickey on his neck. My mother's boyfriend asked him what it was. My friend shrugged (he hasn't told me the details, either), and said he didn't know. Then my mother's boyfriend leans over to my friend and says "how do you guys kiss with that thing in her mouth?" (Referring to my lip ring.) "Don't it get in the way?"

And then I just about died. I didn't even know what to say. I was fucking mortified. And embarassed, mostly for putting my friend in this super-awkward situation. My mtoher finally caught on and said something like "Uhm, honey, I think you may be implying things that aren't accurate..."

Her boyfriend kept chuckling and probing at us. I just took the beer and bolted upstairs. My friend and I were able to basically laugh it off, but that doesn't mean it wasn't exceedingly awkward, and we both drank our beers a little faster than we needed to. About 3 am, we went to sleep.

I took him home in the morning, and then came home and took a nap because I'd only gotten about four hours of sleep. Somewhere during that nap, my little sister came in to my room to close the window because it was raining outside (and she apparently concluded I couldn't do it myself? Whatever.), and asked why I was so tired and who I had over last night. I told her, and pointed out that my friend and I had been up late talking, like we always do. "Uh huhhhhh. Talking, I'm suuuurreee." She giggled.

And then I wanted to throw something at her.

I'm not sure why this particular reminder that my family thinks I'm a whore was so upsetting. I mean, I've known they thought that for some time now. But there was something particularly offensive about them both assuming that, clearly, if I had a friend over, I must have fucked them. Because I can't keep my hands off anyone. I am some voracious sexual carnivore. Or at least a cheap, easy slut.

I was particularly put off by my mother's boyfriend. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, and he lacks some serious social graces, but it's hard for me to believe he even had a right to comment when I've known the man for 10 days. I don't think a week and a half of knowing you gives you the right to comment on what you percieve as my promiscuity. (According to my mother, he has a serious problem accepting non-monogamy, even in those relationships around him.) Sure, I guess I wouldn't have a problem had he just said something to my mother about it in private, or even, maybe, asked me about it... NOT in front of the friend being discussed. That's just tactless. And really makes me feel fucking cheap. I mean, that's just not something you DO.

And then I'm sure my little sister was just being a shit, but it was the icing on the cake. I am SO tired of them judging me for how I live my life. Especially my sister knows that my bed is this kind of magical place - there are cuddle puddles, late-night talks, and yes, sometimes romps. But she knows about all the people I'm sleeping with - at least in some sense. And actually, at the moment, that number is only two people. So it was frustrating that she would give me shit about something she knew wasn't true.

And it reminds me so poignantly why I don't want to live at home. Having these people in my life, being able to conduct my relationships - romantic and otherwise - the way I want to, is crucially important to me. I refuse to sacrifice my relationships because someone doesn't approve. But shit like this makes me want to just run away, and never tell anyone in my family anything about my life ever again. Especially my sister is so judgmental - I haven't been able to tell her about Edward and how he's stalking me, although I really should since there's a chance he'll come back to the house. It's not because I don't want to keep her safe or informed, but because I know she'll chastise me for ever having been with him in the first place. And that is SO not the right reaction when someone tells you something like that. She just doesn't know how to do empathy. At all. And I understand that she's 17 and that means the world revolves around her, but I just can't handle it.

So I think I'm either done bringing anyone home, or I'm going to start bringing everyone of my friends home for the night, regardless of whether I'm sleeping with them or not, regardless of whether I'm even attracted to them. Maybe that would fuck with my family's head even more. They just wouldn't know how I could POSSIBLY be sleeping with that many people. Maybe because, yknow, I'M NOT.

Fuck this noise. I need to get out of this house. I'm a grown up and I shouldn't have to be curbing my relationships and the way I live my life for other people.

I should mention that overall, I'm a pretty considerate roommate/houseguest/grown daughter living at home. I do the dishes, cook at least a few times a week, help pay for groceries, am considerate of quiet hours, and clean up after myself and others. I don't think I deserve to be judged and treated like some sexually deviant delinquent. And I'm fucking tired of it.

There are worse things I could do...

So, first off, I apologize for the absence of late. My computer is completely dead, and I'm graduating in a matter of days, so I'm relatively incomunicado. But there's nothing wrong - I'm just busy and frustrated with my computer situation. And it's hard to write smut in the communal computer labs on campus. Which doesn't stop me all together, but still... yknow, it complicates things.

There are things to write about, including the Viking pulling a kind of dick move a few nights ago. (This is what happens when I admit to myself I like someone... I find a way to screw it up. And end up walking home alone in the rain at 4am. Sigh.)

Anyway, in my effort to, I don't know, put off studying for my law exam - my last college exam EVER - I found myself watching Grease last night. Like the Pilot jokingly tells me "You know you're queer when..." you do silly things like LOVE cheesy 70s musicals. Well, yeah. It's true. I know most people love the classics like "Summer Lovin'" and "Greased Lightnin'," but THIS has always been my favorite song. From my favorite character. I've always kind of identified with Rizzo. Is anyone really surprised? I mean, c'mon, the opening lyrics to this song are "There are worse things I could do than go with a boy, or two..." Yeah, welcome to my life.

So, for your viewing pleasure, enjoy today's musical obsession.



Rizzo's rather misunderstood for most of the film, and that's what this song is really about, and maybe why I identify with it so much. But I should mention a warm-fuzzy conversation I had with one of my best girlfriends back home the other day. We were talking on the phone, which is a little unusual for us (it's usually text or facebook), and we, of course, got to talking about our lovers. She knows nonboyfriend as well, and at some point the conversation turned to him. And I mentioned that I hope I get to see him when I get back - something I'm not sure about, because he gets jumpy around me when he's got a girlfriend. So do some other people, in regard to he and I - like I'm going to jump him, in total disregard for the exclusive relationship he's chosen to be in. Aside from the overly assertive confidence and predatory credit this belief gives me, it's rather ridiculous. And my friend said that - she even phrased it like it was something she's said to other people about me. "What people don't seem to get about you, Sasha, is that you would NEVER do that. It's like, Sasha wouldn't screw around with his relationship. She's too honest for that." Or something like that. And it was just this really lovely moment, and made me feel so wonderful that someone understands it. Understands where I'm coming from with all this, and that just because I'm not monogamous doesn't mean I'm automatically a man-eating, insatiable whore. And then, of course, it was nice to know that my effort to be honest and open in my relationships hasn't gone unnoticed. Because I really have been making an effort, and I think I've been doing a decent job, even if sometimes it means I'm alone more often than I'd like to be.

Sigh.

Anyway, she reads this blog, and I just thought I'd write a post about it and let her know how much I appreciated what she said. I miss you, sweetie! And will see you soon!

all those things I don't care about...

So I haven't written about it much, but I've been spending time with the Viking lately. It's not exactly habitual yet, although it's getting there. And we've moved past just the convenient post-hanging out in a group hookups to blatant booty calls. Which are always fun. And it's actually been a while since I've had a regular booty call, especially here at school. Which is weird to think about, but I guess it's true.

This weekend, it was my friend's girlfriend's birthday... Hmm, how to explain the relationship without using names? OK. My best friend in The Band (and one of my best friends in general) is the drummer of the band. I went to Ireland with he and his girlfriend last semester, and she and I get along great. The Band consists of the Drummer and his five roommates, although the actual band is four guys, only two of whom live in the house of guys that makes up The Band. Anyway, the Drummer's girlfriend invited me out for her birthday with most of The Band - she and I were the only girls. We went to a swanky sushi restaurant, and as the ice has finally receded here in the tundra, I got to get dressed up. I went with a teeny, tiny green dress (worn last on new year's eve), and fabulous green and black heels that have an adorable rounded, wing-tip toe. The Viking (who's the other roommate who is actually in the band - he plays bass) met the rest of us after dinner for bar-hopping.

I was terribly over-dressed for the pubs we were going to, but after a few drinks, I wasn't too concerned. And in any case, it was really fun to watch the Viking stealing looks at me. (I'll admit, those shoes DO make my legs look pretty fantastic.) We still haven't told our friends about us hooking up - although I have mentioned it to the Drummer's girlfriend, so there's a chance the Drummer knows. If he does, though, he hasn't said anything about it. We all (six of us by that point) eventually closed down the last bar and took the bus back to my apartment. The Drummer and his girlfriend and the Viking and I all sat in the back row. Of course, the Drummer and his girlfriend were being adorable and PDA-y, although thankfully not to a nauseating extent. Then somehow the Drummer and the Viking started jokingly punching each other. It turned into a psuedo-wrestling match. The Drummer eventually conceded that even though he's the taller of the pair, the Viking is stronger than he is. And then there was the bromance moment where the Drummer got all mushy and was telling the Viking that he was, like, his best friend, and he's such a great guy, and the Viking reiterated the sentiment. And then I got this strange feeling. Of warm fuzzies. Of course, the only reason I know the Viking is because he's such good friends with the Drummer, but I had this random flashback to when the Drummer first introduced me to his girlfriend. She had to leave Ireland a day early, giving the Drummer and I the day to hang out alone, and he confessed to me that he'd been really nervous about us liking one another, and he was so happy that we got along so well. Because we both mattered in his life. It was this really nice moment. And that's what I flashed back to, watching the Viking and the Drummer act out their friendship.

It was very strange. It made me want to just cuddle with the Viking right there, be all adorable and PDA-y like the Drummer and his girlfriend were being. And I suddenly felt very silly for thinking that I needed to keep our relationship a secret. Of course, I didn't say anything about it there, on the bus with everyone else. But it was a new sensation at the same time that it made me aware of the fact that I'd been looking forward to seeing the Viking all night, and that I'd noticed how he smiled when he saw me. And that I liked the way he said my name. And then I stopped myself. I don't get mushy like this.

I don't generally like PDA. It makes me uncomfortable, more often than not. I'm not used to having traditionally legitimate relationships, and so I guess I've gotten cautious and that urge to kiss people in public has mostly faded. (Not entirely...there are notable exceptions. Like my random and somewhat childish desire to be that obnoxiously cute couple cuddling in line at the amusement park.) But even more than that, I don't like the mush. I don't like the cutesy stuff. Saying "I love you" should be a statement of fact, not some massive production in my book. I expect to split the bill on dates. I don't want people opening doors for me unless they already would have or just walked through it themselves.

But it's something that's struck me since the first time I hooked up with the Viking. He's really sweet to me. Yes, there's the funny bluntness, the no-nonsense discussion that's always there, and the sex. But the things that really stick with me are the way he puts his arms around me. The way he gently kisses my neck, my forehead, my nose. The way he intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls me closer before we fall asleep. The way he sweeps my hair away from my face and lets his hand linger on my jawline as he kisses me.

These aren't things I should be focusing on. It's not that I've never had them before, I've just not been so aware of them. And I don't know why I am so aware of them with the Viking. Certainly, other partners cuddle with me, other partner kiss me softly or brush the hair from my face. So what's so different with the Viking? Maybe it's just a contrast with his aloof personality. I don't expect such tenderness from him.

Then again, I guess looking at me, knowing me, you wouldn't necessarily expect that I'd want those things, either. Maybe that's why it works. But it concerns me. I find myself wanting to see him more. I text him more often, not always late at night. I get excited when I know he's going to be where I am. Good lord, I'm developing a crush on him. Shit. Of course, it's not overly serious, and things will end when we both graduate shortly. But this urge that I have to spend more time with him now is rather strange to me.

And then I'm not sure how much of this has to do with the fact that at the end of that night, after he'd convinced me to come back to their house with the band, and after the Drummer had made up the couch for me and the Viking had waited til the Drummer left to come in and ask if I'd sleep in his bed with him, and I'd said yes and made a joke we'd both laughed at about his messy room, and I laid down and the Viking just wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck and pulled me close to him and let me sleep. We spent the night in bed together and there was nothing else. There was no pressure for anything else. Why does that feel so much more intimate and personal than had there been sex? It just seems like another step further from the just-a-booty-call classification.

But it was nice. I WILL miss his cuddling. And yes, those adorable little things I told myself I don't care about. Shit.

Camp counselor

The few real-life friends who read this and have known me for some time will get the above reference. But as of late, I've found myself back in my old camp counselor shoes. No, I was never an actual camp counselor, but that was always how friends referred to my (and often our communal) tendency to be the one people wanted to talk to about their problems. The person people sought for advice. I know a lot of secrets. And in almost every case, those secrets have stayed exclusively with me. Then that habit faded for several years. Perhaps it had something to do with my own problems becoming more apparent and all-consuming... I'm thinking about an HNT possibly demonstrating as much one of these days.

Anyway. In the past few weeks, I have suddenly found myself back in the camp counselor position. Strangely enough, this time it's basically entirely with boys. (Traditionally, the clientele were almost all women.) It's possible this is a side-effect of my recent conversion into "one of the boys" - really, more of a solidification of my status there - but it seems strange to me that suddenly people are coming to me. And in every case, I can almost watch myself from the outside, as if someone else was narrating. I can hear the tone in these guys' voices, (or, sometimes, pick it up through our conversations online) and I just get the feeling that they desperately want someone to listen. So that's what I do. I ask them questions, prodding them to keep going. And they do. And sometimes they don't stop, at all. Occasionally, they stop periodically to apologize for blathering on about themselves, at which point I assure them I don't mind, then continue asking them questions about themselves. And they seem to appreciate it.

One case has been exclusively online, but is nonetheless interesting. He was a classmate I went to school with my freshman year of college, which puts us currently on opposite ends of the country. Up until about a month ago, he and I hadn't spoken since I left that school in 2006. Not even when I visited the campus last year - he and I didn't run into each other. We weren't exceptionally close friends when we were classmates, though we did live a few doors down from one another, have many mutual friends, and a shared sense that we were both a little "weird." (A term I use knowing both of us still identify as such and enjoy it.) I happened to make a comment about his status on facebook about a month ago, which started a conversation that has essentially been running since.

After the obligatory catch-ups (where are you at? what's your major? single or not? etc), he launched into a discussion about sexuality. He and I had never particularly talked about it before, although I probably looked more like I was into what I'm into then than I do now. (That was a terrible sentence. The cough syrup is getting to me.) Anyway, he launched into a conversation about sexuality, heading towards non-monogamy. It was honestly fascinating to stumble across another person in my life who embraces this "non-normative" sexuality so openly. He's also fascinatingly at peace with himself - something he's actually helping me work my way towards. But he seems so eager to have someone to talk to about his relationship, and these new things he's exploring... It's great to be that person for him. I'm sure I'm not the only one in his life, but I get the impression he really enjoys having someone who is honestly interested and curious about what he's doing. Tonight, he was exploring how he's feeling about the fact that his long-distance fiancee is going to be with another guy (pre-discussed, determined, OK'd and all that, of course) and deciding whether or not he wanted to watch via webcam. He was so nervous and anxious and excited... It was carrying through in his responses. And he kept coming back to talk to me, more emotions he wanted to work through. It was fun to be there for him. Of course, in situations like this, it's easy to be the camp counselor.

Then today, another friend contacted me out of the blue. He graduated from my current university last year, and was my right-hand-man when I was running the magazine last year. We didn't exactly have a falling out, but he came under the impression I had feelings for him (which I entertained for about five seconds) and ran scared. He has since apologized, but we haven't actually seen one another although he's been back to visit periodically.

He called me up tonight - I couldn't quite tell if he was drunk. My guess is that he'd had a few. But he started telling me to put off the real world as long as I could. I got a feeling this wasn't simply a phone call to offer me advice. So I asked him what he meant. And off he went, talking about how he hates being tied down to one place, how he wanted to travel and DO something with his life. And he likes where he is but he doesn't like what he's doing and so on. I reminded him that he's 23. And his life is hardly over. I reminded him that while yes, he does have some responsibilities, he's a single, talented guy (working in advertising presently) and he can still do anything he wants to. He wanted to rant more. So I let him. And then assured him, again, that things would be OK.

There was one other particularly shocking incident as of late - someone who I had neatly tucked away into the "Pleasant Memories" file reappeared and turned that drawer upside down, leaving its contents in a pile on the floor. I'm still sorting through the remains. Trying my damndest to file them away again. That was a good place for them to stay. But when he called, his voice sounded so vulnerable. He asked me if I was happy, and I couldn't tell if the tone in his voice was one almost hoping I'd say no so that he might not be alone... But I confidently and honestly told him I was happy. And I asked him the same question, mostly just to reciprocate. But it came out as something much bigger. "What about you, are you... happy?" I asked. And I heard him take a deep breath. And answer me honestly. And in that moment I wished I WAS a camp counselor and that we were sitting on some bench together and I could throw my arms around him. And maybe then he wouldn't have hustled himself off the phone, or sounded so surprised when I asked him a question that was relevant, but revealed that I'd really listened to his previous answers, even to our conversations a year ago. It always breaks my heart a little when people like him are so surprised that I'm so awed by them. I don't know what else to be, and it makes me sad to realize that others aren't aware of what these incredible people are worth.

But I guess, if everyone realized things like that, there would be no camp counselors. I wouldn't be needed. So perhaps I should be happy that, even though it's out of the blue and seems to come in waves from the people I least expect, it shows that I am needed sometimes. And that these certain people still trust me. It's a good thing, I suppose. To be worthy of people's trust.

And thank you to you, dear readers, for being MY camp counselor. I think it's no coincidence that I'm able to handle people's secrets once again because I have somewhere to unload my own. And recieve your wonderful feedback. I am truly a very lucky girl.