This is what happens: I let three or four posts percolate in my head, and none of them complete themselves, so none of them get posted. In my head, this blog is much more lively than it is in the computer. So I will start with the tidbits, the little posts I haven't written, and then get on to a bit of ruminating.
Tidbit 1: The Tiny Diet Coke Fairy
I am a diet coke fiend. I wish it weren't so, because I know the stuff is made of plastic and dead babies and if it were sentient and animate would probably come and kill me in my sleep, it's so nasty, but I love it. I can explain in quite a bit of detail why I love it, but I won't bother here unless you really want me to. In any case, I love it so much that when I buy it, which is always in smaller quantities and less often than I would really like, in a perfect and luxurious world, it disappears far to quickly and I am left without. Probably a good thing, as I drink water instead.
Recently, Boy and I were shopping and we discovered six packs of half-sized diet coke cans. I dismissed these as silly, but Boy slipped some (very obviously) into the cart anyway. And when we got home he spirited them off someplace, and when I ran out of the two-liter I had bought for myself, they started to appear. In the fridge, on the table where I was cooking when I had looked away. Sometimes even in Boy's hand, but that makes the game a bit obvious.
I am trying to be good and never
ask for a tiny diet coke from the benevolent force that lives with me and buys me treats, but I have failed in that at least once. It really is so much better to have them given freely, and feel loved and watched over. Boy is pretty neat like that.
Tidbit 2: The Great Sex Toy Project
This is a tidbit I actually held off on intentionally. I am still not entirely sure that this will ever come to fruition, or more importantly, that it will come to fruition within the time frame we desire, but my part in the project begins here, so I feel I had better begin it.
As many of you know, Boy is a Maker. He is an improviser and an improver more than an inventor, and he has found a way to improve and create something beautiful for sex-play, something small and necessary and metal (of course). The product will be, at least when first on the market, at a higher price point than is perhaps desirable, but given that it will also be of better quality, and more beautiful, we hope that some of the more affluent members of the scene will not mind so much. It is a pricey subculture we live in, anyhow. The reason that this is a Project and not just a notion is that we've got a concrete goal: We want to have product to sell, and failing that, product to show off in an organized, planned out way, for the Winter Fetish Flea in February. My job is the organizing of the showing off, which means that even now, when our product exists in drawings in Boy's notebook only, I begin my talking-up-of-it. So send questions, guesses or suggestions this way. I can't guarantee you'll get answers, but I'll give updates as I can, and I'd love a bit of buzz.
Sundry Ruminations
It's December. My mother sent me an advent calender (we call them Opening Cards in my family). It is long and has a painting of the Met in front of a dark blue, starry sky, and when you open the little doors you see artworks from the museum inside. It is up in our living room, which is the room that used to be the dining room and used to be blood red, and now is the living room and is muted orange, and much more comfortable. We painted. I pot and re-pot plants. Boy works a full-time job that isn't currently what he wants but has possibilities. I work a part time job that is very confusing, but in the end is not what I want. I will leave it in a month, when I have not found any other work, in that time, to replace it. I will take a two-week vacation that I have not been working hard enough to deserve, and come home, and try to find a full time job that I want to commit to, that suits me, that pays all my bills and enough for a bottle of wine every now and then. I am scared that I am qualified for no such job, that my search is disorganized, that I don't know what I want or where my skills lie, that I'm not doing enough, that the time is out of joint. In the evenings I fall asleep on the couch sometimes and wake up when Boy turns out the lights to go to bed, and I am confused and small. Other times we wake up in the morning happy, have breakfast, explore the city. Things seem very hit or miss. I am trying to modify my behavior to change that, from getting up and cleaning the house in the morning to getting out, looking for jobs, contacting people, trying to make friends and keep in touch with my old friends. Everybody tells me about how hard a time this is, but I am trying to avoid the danger of telling myself it's ok to be unhappy because everybody's unhappy right after graduation. Better I should find out how to be a happy girl.
Sex is problematic. Somewhere in the past three years I feel like Boy and I have forgotten each other. People's bodies are bound to change, but when there is such a huge level of comfort, there seems to be little need to keep discovering. Or perhaps it's not even that we don't feel the need, but that we don't, at this point, remember how. My orgasms are harder to find, less overwhelming, less satisfying. I seldom have that languorous relaxed post-orgasmic feeling, where all the world is at rights. Mostly after I orgasm these days, I want to try again. To get it right. I haven't tied Boy up in ages, and I don't know how, and I am afraid that he won't be patient with me, because I know that he has a terrible time relaxing and trusting me with rope. I know that I've lost any skill I used to have with it, and will have to start over again, but he still seems much in advance of me... (and how often has he tied me up? why should that be true?)
I wish that we could admit that we've lost alot of skill with each other, turn away, and come back as excited beginners.
I feel my failures much more strongly than I feel his. I think he does too. Or rather, he has specific things that he wants. He wants harder than I do, and he can approximate asking me for things, but his wants change rather rapidly and I can't get good enough at any one thing to do it right. So I keep trying to respond and running a failed little scene because I've tried to put something of myself in and that has basically just meant taking out something that he wanted. And I can't say "I want to be a puppy, I want you to be my master, I want things in my butt." All I can say, if I could, is "I want an orgasm that I don't have to work for. I want you to remember my body so that you can tease me and I can build and when it's over be happy and relaxed, and not reach futilely for my vibrator again." I'm not being greedy when I do that, I'm just trying to get it right.
I haven't told him this yet. Not about the orgasms being sub-par. I told him about wanting him too pay more attention to me and my responses, and I asked him to approach me as though he didn't know me already, as though he knew nothing about my body. I know he has enough skill as a lover to leave me a shuddering, melting ball, but I don't know if he can access it. Or maybe he has accessed it, and has tried to do what I asked, and because I didn't know he was trying, or because it's not him but me, my body, the stress of life-without-purpose, the hormones, whatever. I hate that my sex drive is low. Not wanting sex makes me feel shitty. Like a bad partner and a bad girlfriend and a bad sex-positive-ist. And I can't help but think that if one partner wants sex and the other does not, it should be the sexy partner who puts work in to bring about desire in the other. And then I can't help but thinking that maybe he is trying really really hard, and I'm just failing to notice, and that would suck alot.
I keep thinking back to an afternoon a long time ago, I think our second year of college, before we were even a couple, officially. I went to wake Boy up, and found him in his bed, sorting through porn on his computer. I crawled into bed with him and we looked at porn all afternoon, and fucked twice, and eventually got ourselves some dinner, and maybe fucked again that night. I was so into sex! It was so comfortable and lovely to lie there with him, to be wanted by him and want him back. We are cyclical, Boy and I, and I know it will return, but it would make a lot of things a lot better if it could return right. fucking. now.
And Boy: You have gotten to the end of this post. Here are many things, most of which you already knew about, which have been on my mind. I read the note you left for me. Look there for my answer.
