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In the kink community, I don’t go by my real name. There’s a number of reasons. But, one of the strongest is the fact that several of the people who regularly attend munches are undergraduates at the institution I teach at. While I feel relatively safe with this group, I’d rather not put my job at risk.

A lot of people in the community don’t use their names either, and there’s no issue with it. But, one tiny problem is the fact that people like Pup have met me under a real-sounding but totally false name. I just felt better going by a normal name as opposed to Sprite or Dolly or something. So, it can be easy to just assume that the name I use is my real name.

After the whole Jenga fiasco, Pup asked me out to get some lunch and try to diffuse the awkward. That afternoon, I was running a little late (I couldn’t pick out an outfit, sue me) and he ended up showing up while I was half-dressed. I managed to throw myself together and let him in, but then I couldn’t find my keys and as I was wandering my apartment I said, “get your shit together, Ivy” except by Ivy I mean I used my real-ass name.

We just kind of stared at each other for a minute before I said, “so, yeah, that’s my name.” I then told him Sir’s real name, which was a relief and made everything easier because the name Sir uses in the scene is Pup’s real name.

“Well, now we’re both assholes,” I said as we walked to lunch, “you bled on me and I used a fake name. So, we’re even.”

Pup laughed, “don’t worry about it.”

We had a nice lunch, and afterwards Pup asked if I wanted to go back to his place. I sent Sir a text making sure it was all right if I played with Pup, and the two of us walked back to his apartment.

When we got to his bedroom, he asked if I wanted to have sex, and I explained that Sir and I had a whole arrangement about that, I’d like to get to know him better first, and that it would require me discussing it with Sir in something longer than a text.

“That’s fine,” Pup said, “I’ll just take some time to learn you.”

What he learned pretty quickly is that I’m super sensitive to biting, even though I like it. The next day, I’d found a few tooth imprints on my shoulder.

And what I had learned, or at least was pretty surprised to discover, was that Pup could make me cum surprisingly fast with his fingers. Which is strange, because usually I have a little trouble cumming with new partners because I get nervous. But, somehow, I was suddenly cumming before I even was aware that I was going to.

Was Selfie a triumph of television? On one hand, no. Its writing was trite, its portrayal of a generation was more or less archetypical, and its episodes left a lot to be desired.

But it’s probably the first time I’ve ever seen a relationship that looks like mine on television. I fussed so much about when I saw porn like that, and then to see that sort of representation on mainstream television meant a whole lot to me. To the point that I watched this fairly average show just to add my head to those demonstrating to sponsors that, hey, yeah, you can make an Asian man complex and sexy and give him a white woman as a love interest and we’ll watch it. Because representation is fucking important.

So, I’m disappointed to see it go. Especially since things were heating up last episode.

(Look at that grab, yo. That intense stare. That nervous swallow. Hell yeah.)

I get to see Sir in 3 weeks!

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Cute

Filed under things I’m thinking about this morning to get me through the day.

I like big hands. I like how inherently overpowering they feel, even when they’re just on my shoulders or resting on my hip.

I’m bringing one of my (comparatively) vanilla friends to a munch tomorrow. We were hanging out the other night and she asked if she could come along.

She’s a little bit kinky, but I’ve never mixed friend groups like this before aside from bringing Pup to a party once.

I’m just a little bit worried my silly, wild, boundary-blurring kinky friends are going to freak her out a little. But also a little hopeful they do, maybe?

I went on my first date with somebody I met on tinder (whatever) yesterday and he actually handed me his freaking business card to confirm to me that yes he was a legitimate human being.

But we had a great time. We have some similar interests and he’s a great conversationalist. He’s got a Southern accent which clearly does absolutely nothing at all for me clearly guys clearly. He’s also got about a foot on me, but so does Sir, just about, and practically anybody else I hang out with by default of me being the shortest ever.

We ended up making out in his car at the end for a little while and we’re going to try to see each other again next week. We’ve both got busy schedules and I’m kind of like argh nobody has time for this I definitely do not have time for this but I think I’ve determined that scheduling is the ultimate poly problem.

A year ago, Sir and I tried to have anal. Key word: tried.

Sir had engaged in anal in the past, but I never had. I also had the kind of interest in it that stopped at fantasy. I considered it a soft limit. It wasn’t something I sought out, though every so often I would stop on it in a porn and think “damn.”

I consented to trying it with Sir because I knew how much he liked it and I enjoyed the idea of doing that with him. But, I was really anxious about it. I was worried I would make a mess (I’d heard a few horror stories), I was worried it would hurt, I was worried I would hate it. I also found the invasiveness of it – though super sexy – a little triggering.

We tried an enema one afternoon and I was completely triggered by it. I kicked him out of the bathroom and expelled it on my own, then wound up crying. He took care of me afterwards, but I wound up reacting out of trauma and turning the situation to blame him for “making” me do it. He hadn’t, but I’ve come to recognize these are the kinds of trauma responses I have.

Another time, we tried anal sex and I got so anxious I clenched my sphincter right as he was trying to enter me. Even though he’d made sure to warm me up a lot, it still hurt like crazy because I’d clenched. And, once again, I got super upset and somehow blamed him for making it do that.

Sir was incredibly patient with me, and we had a long talk about why I was being triggered. He held me and promised that he wouldn’t bring the subject up anymore.

But over the past year we’ve both eased into the idea of it, and I’ve also grown to trust him more deeply than I ever thought possible. So, when he came to visit back in August, we tried again.

This time, I relaxed through the enema. He was patient with me. I let him stay in the bathroom with me the whole time and we shared in the pride of how calm I’d stayed.

Even though I was still incredibly anxious about it, I let myself relax and trust that Sir would take care of me. He was experienced in this. He went slow, tried a few positions, and when we finally had a comfortable momentum, I caught myself smiling. “We did it, babe,” I kept saying, getting used to the feeling of him inside me. I was swelling with joy over the fact that this had turned out to be this really amazing bonding experience which I guess isn’t the first thing you think of when you consider anal, but that’s what this was for us.

So what’s the secret to anal sex? I don’t know, I think it’s trust. And probably a lot of lube, too.

Sometimes, even though he prefers cats, Sir gets to play with a little puppy named Sprinkles.

She’s not all that bright, but she’s cute and she means well and she knows one or two tricks.

I hate sounding like a unicorn-hunter because I know firsthand that whole practice can be so problematic but gah what do I have to do to have one evening or a whole series of evenings or an ongoing dynamic like this with Sir and another girl?