Nobody’s dick is important enough to change any part of my identity
Unfortunately, I’ve got family coming for the next five days (why?) and so napping will be sporadic slash probably not a thing. And it sucks because it’s the side of the family I like less and that requires a fuckton more work.
Even more unfortunately, it’s the side of the family that isn’t poly-aware, so I can’t hang out with Pup at all now that I actually have free time.
I’ve had this aspirational post queued for a while in anticipation for today.
So ready for graduation
I just successfully defended my Master’s thesis, meaning I’ve completed everything necessary to receive my degree. Thank you, tumblr, for supporting me through this process and being patient when I disappeared. You’ve all seen me through two degrees now, and it’s been nice “growing up” in your company.
FYI Katya is of major importance to me slash sometimes embodies the crusty ol’ ho I transform into at the full moon.
Whenever I see posts like “I just want to fall asleep in your arms” I always think “you’ve never tried to get a decent nights sleep with someone else’s weight against you”.
So just in case you’re worried that somehow you’re not normal because sharing your sleeping space with someone doesn’t grant you the serenity of the stars on a clear night, let me tell you a thing, as someone who is very much deeply in love with their partner.
You will not find yourself in someone else. You may find a part of who you are in relation to who they are, but you will not find the true sum and total of who you are. It’s okay to not feel overwhelming peace in the arms of another, it’s okay not to find your mind quieted by their mere presence alone. It’s okay to be irritated that you’re trying to sleep and their energy is too warm beside you, too near, their breathing too quick, their limbs restless. It’s okay to get up and go sleep on the couch because sometimes you don’t want to contend with elbows and knees and twitching feet. That’s okay, it’s okay that every night is not salvation through tranquility and searing bodily worship of each other. I guess what im saying is, it’s perfectly normal to love someone and still want personal space, because personal space is important. And so few romantic idealized posts acknowledge this. You do not need to be conjoined at the hip and find perfection in every gesture to know what love is. Love is in fact, the opposite.
Like not holding a pillow over their head at one am because they’ve just kicked you for the second time and stolen all the blankets because you’re too pretty for prison and you’re 99.999% certain you’d miss them.
I used to be able to wear fun sheer stuff like this before birth control boobs.
The fact is that while I’m mostly comfortable posting about the times I’ve been fucked over or been wronged by partners on here – after all, this blog is mostly an exercise in catharsis and processing – I struggle when it comes to admitting the times I’ve messed up.
I realized that I skipped it in proper order, though I’m not sure if it was conscious. I knew it was either before I went to see Sir for Thanksgiving or before the holidays. Part of it may have just been that it was a long time ago, part of it that I’m a little ashamed and anxious to put this here.
So, before Thanksgiving I was hanging out with Pup in his bed. It was a lazy weekend morning, and the sun was pouring in softly through the window. We were naked. Pup rolled me onto my stomach and climbed on top of me. He started teasing his cock over my slit.
In early October, I started the pill. In late October, Pup and I started having sex. Before that, Sir and I used condoms and so, when Pup and I started having sex, so did we. I’d never been on any other birth control before, and so I had never had vaginal sex without a condom.
So Pup was teasing me by pushing his cock between my legs and running it along my slit. I was really aroused, I could feel myself practically dripping onto him, could feel his thrusts become more liquid and easy.
“Do you want it?” he asked. “Just a little bit?”
I buried my face in the pillow. There’s a version of me that very clearly said that this was highly irresponsible and not something I had talked out with Sir, had even done with Sir. And I wish I could say that was how this went. But I got carried away. “Yeah,” I said, “I want it.”
It felt so good it took more longer than I’m proud to admit to ask him to stop. There was a point where I realized what I was doing and how I was wrong, a point remembering getting in an argument with Sir last spring where I said getting carried away wasn’t a real excuse. I didn’t tell him to stop right when I realized how damaging this was. But, eventually, I did.
We talked about it. We said the same things I’d once written off as bullshit. We got carried away. It felt too good to stop. We weren’t thinking.
I dreaded calling Sir. After all, I’d gotten so furious with him when he had come to me to admit to something similar. But I did. I thought that was just going to end it. And while he was upset, we talked about it. He forgave me just about right away, and we had a long conversation about both incidents. Our slip-ups, if you will, his and mine. Though I’m not proud of what I did, I’m proud to have a partner who was understanding and another who knew why what we did wasn’t okay and felt genuine remorse.
I’ve been scared to post this, but I feel part of good non-monogamy is accountability. So I’m being accountable here. I slipped up. He and I had negotiated condom use when it came to Pup, and I overstepped that. Luckily, some good came out of it in that we had this talk. But it’s also maybe important to know that people do fuck up, and a lot of a successful relationship like this isn’t just abiding by the rules (though you should do that, yo), but how you handle the fuck ups when they happen.
Her blog got shut down and her life’s been super hectic. But I saw her last month and she’s lovely as ever.