“I still owe money to the money to the money I owe

I never thought about love when I thought about home

I still owe money to the money to the money I owe

The floors are falling out from everybody I know.”

(Made out in bed to this song recently with Ace. And, ugh, yes. It’s just one of those songs that always does it for me. It’s evocative – I tried to explain to her, though I didn’t really have the words – of this weird sort of present nostalgia. Like, this feeling that these are these particular moments, these particular days that I’ll remember with that sort of warmth. And the music just feels like bedsheets and soft light. It feels like drowning in another person. But also that feeling of looking around a room and realizing this is your life, these are your people, this is all your suffering and your energy and your joy. Of being young and broke and stupid. It feels like thrill and cockiness and bravery and the weird way things can feel casual and intense all at once when they’re new or when they’re ending, like they’re nothing and everything.)

A couple of people have tagged me in the thing where you pull up iTunes and post up the first 20 or so songs that come on your shuffle. I wasn’t sure if I was going to do it, but I pulled up iTunes just to see what came of it.

The first song was one that I used to listen to right around when Sir and I first were messing around back in fall of 2012. Hearing it again, it took me back to the really weird space of that time where we sort of had no idea what was going on between us.

He’d given me the panic attack when he found my tumblr, he’d turned out okay, but I was still nervous. Even though I’d never seen him before at school, even though we had mutual friends and yet somehow had never encountered each other, once I met him he started turning up everywhere. Not in a stalkery way, in the way that something keeps appearing once you’re actually looking for it. And it made me anxious, because I worried about people somehow finding out about this blog.

I might just text you
Turn your phone over, when it’s all over
No settling down, my text go to your screen
You know better than that.
I come around when you least expect me.
I’m sitting at the bar when your glass is empty.

We started seeing each other behind everybody’s back. Not romantically, but just to mess around. After meeting him for the first time, I awkwardly got really subspaced when he tested out a flogger on me and felt really strangely attached. And I carried it out in doing this weird secret arrangement where he’d sneak in after my roommate fell asleep, tie me up and play with me, and then leave. It made me feel a little naughty and a little brave, and they say nothing brings people closer than sharing a secret.

You start calling, you start crying.
I come over, I’m inside you,
I can’t find you.

Aside from the obvious emotional fuckery that something like that comes with, I was coping with the fact that my relationship with that guy from my frat was not going to work and that he and I were awkwardly transitioning back into being just friends. To make matters worse, he was getting interested in my close friend, the Redhead.

And, even worse, I was placing all my shame and anxiety over this blog and my kink onto Sir. Worse, I was conflating it with him.

Meanwhile, Sir wasn’t over a girl and the two of us would just wind up venting to each other about our respective issues. I spent a night at his place, talking and crying on his couch until five in the morning.

I was wrong, but would you have listened to you?

In an effort to protect ourselves, we were absurdly cold to each other. He had trouble kissing me. I had trouble not turning every other comment into a bitchy wisecrack against him when we weren’t just messing around. It was a harebrained effort to protect my heart from someone I felt an instant connection with but who I wasn’t sure would reciprocate.

Are we dating? Are we fucking?
Are we best friends? Are we something in between that?
I wish we never fucked, and I mean that,
But not really, you say the nastiest shit in bed and it’s fuckin’ awesome.

Looking back, it’s weird to think that I felt so ambivalent about someone almost two years ago who now means so much to me. It’s also clear to me now how freaking lucky we were, because this could’ve all come together horribly. We were navigating this strange in-between space, we were trying to subvert an intimacy that was attempting to take root. Until, one day, he asked if he could kiss me. And then, at a Halloween party, he forgot himself and kissed me in front of my friends. Just like that, we weren’t a secret anymore. And suddenly, we felt free to be ourselves with each other, I felt safe being sweet and open with him, he felt comfortable being affectionate with me.

So, Sir and I are in love and happy. Even that guy from my frat and the Redhead are happily living together and are some of our closest friends. But, damn, could that have turned out pretty shitty.

I guess the moral of the story is that even though he and I were fortunate enough to work out, don’t put up walls with people you want to let in.

Thoughts (Not Sexy Ones)

So, I had a good cry today.

I’m not really much of a crier. It takes a hell of a lot to get tears out of me. Sometimes, I actually want the relief of crying and the tears just don’t come.

But, I cried today – a real, heavy, fully realized cry – for the first time since I moved here.

It was brought on by the fact that the bus that I was trying to take to the gym wound up taking me five miles away from my place and nowhere even close to my gym. By the time I realized that this bus had taken the wonkiest route ever, completely ignoring the schedule listed on the transit website, I was somewhere fairly foreign. Right after I was able to vaguely figure out how to get home on my phone, my cell promptly died.

The walk was long and, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t seem to find a bus headed in the opposite direction. Everything is so spread out here and I’m not used to that yet. Being without a car here, while at first glance seemed manageable, makes stuff difficult.

When I got in the door, I started crying. Not because of the silly erratic bus schedule, that has already let me down twice since Monday. For the first time, I acknowledged how far away from home I am. I’ve never lived this far from everything I’ve known. Before this, almost my entire life could be contained in a two and a half hour radius, give or take.

Now, I’m out here. And I’m happy to be here, I’m having an amazing time. But, I’m far away from my family, my friends, my boyfriend, a public transit system I knew like the back of my hand. For as much as I’m enjoying myself, I haven’t really stopped to take my entire situation in and acknowledge that this has been a big change and I am allowed to have feelings about it.

So, I let it out of my system today and I’m proud of myself. I’m usually one to say I’m not allowed to feel like A because B is going so well.

Afterwards, I washed off the mascara from my face and gave myself a brutal workout at home, which helped blow off the rest of the steam (and got even more makeup running down my face – yuck).

I’ve mentioned this blog is my only journal. So, consider this one of those lame diary entries you have to sift through to find the good stuff. But, it was good stuff for me.

Here’s to acknowledging change.

And tonight that’s my thesis advisor.

Eesh. Guess that’s where my heart is.

Goodnight, tumblr.

lovequotesrus:

EVERYTHING LOVE

Thank you guys for the advice you’ve been sending. I promise to get back to you soon, this week’s just a little crazy.

I should elaborate that Craftsmate and I are honestly mostly vanilla, go on vanilla dates, don’t wind up with his finger up my butt in public places, etc. We’ve got most of it sort of confined to the bedroom but we sort of want to expand out a little bit without going all naked on a leash. And so we’re sort of trying to negotiate what we want stuff to “look like.”

But, yes, thank you for your messages. They’re all very sweet and it’s wonderful to know I can totally take relationship advice from people on the Internet (look, Mom).

Now, ugh, to make myself sleep.

Some things.

I apologize for my relative inactivity as of late, some things have cropped up lately that have kept me busy. Nothing bad and nothing major and I’ll eventually tackle the messages that have been accumulating in my inbox. I promise.

But, in the meanwhile…

Don’t try ice play in the winter. Just don’t. Not unless wherever you are is well-heated. Otherwise, it’s a summer sport.
A follower who requested to remain anonymous told me about something awesome and kinky that happened to her and called it an “Ivy moment”. So, uh, this is partially a call for you guys with vanilla tumblrs who don’t have places that you think you can talk about this stuff to go ahead and contact me. Because, listen, sometimes you just want to brag about something cool you did in private or you’ve got questions. Basically, I receive messages from vanilla tumblrs sometimes with this stuff (and always a request to answer privately) and I just wanted to let you guys know you’re safe here.
Also, teehee, Ivy moments.
On a more serious note, my prayers go out to the friends, family and Liege of a tumblr I really enjoyed reading, be-pleasing-always. Thank you for allowing us this look into your life and your relationship.

Of all the things she could be left with…

a stinging rear, the cuffs still locked on, a gag still in place, the smear of makeup on her cheek

…her own lingering thoughts that were always the strangest companions.

I realized that I never actually mentioned what happened with that guy from my frat beyond a sentence in some post. Mostly because I was a little conflicted about it, but I feel sort of equipped to share now.

Simply put: it was a really hot but really confusing encounter. And most of the people I have told about it agree with the hot stuff and don’t totally understand why I’m all hung up on random details.

Call me a traditional sap, but the asshole don’t kiss me.

To be fair, it didn’t fit in completely with what we were doing. He came home with me and one of my friends had fallen asleep on my carpet. So we were sort of quietly sitting up on my bed and talking.

It’s been a while, so I forget the context, but I remember telling him that I didn’t know how to place him because I didn’t know what he wanted.

“You know what I want,” he said, “but it’s more fun not giving myself that.”

And he held me down, eased my skirt up, and proceeded to edge me like I never have been before. He was firm but still sensual. The whole time I was desperately attempting to stay quiet and, just as I was teetering right at the edge, he stopped. He grinned, pulled the sheets up, and tucked me in.

“See?” I could see his smirk in the darkness. “It’s a lot more fun when I just tease you.”

And he left. I laid there in shock for a while, frustrated and awed.

On a ton of levels, I find that whole interaction incredibly hot. But I guess there’s still part of me that’s stupidly hung up on insecurities that he must not respect me, even when I know that isn’t true.

Both Craftsmate and Penthouse have accidentally either called me Ivy or almost called me Ivy out loud in person.

You know, rather than my actual name.

Which, uh, isn’t actually Ivy.

Craftsmate did it that first time I hung out with him, after he had flogged me, and we were sort of joking around. I forget what I had said to provoke him, but he was laughing and replied to me, “oh, come on, Ivy.” I gave this really goofy, over-dramatic jaw-drop and he started apologizing. I told him it was all right. Because it was.

Penthouse almost said it in front of The Prodigy and Craftsmate, while he was untying me from the harness he put me in. He had me turn around and said, “and now if you want to get Iv…” He stopped himself, said my name instead, and then continued, “…out of this, you just need to pull here and…”

I wonder, sometimes, if I’m still Ivy in their minds. Like, when they see me, if that is the name that registers before my real name. They both knew me as Ivy and knew my tumblr before they knew my name. And while they’ve been really respectful of my privacy, I just sometimes wonder if I’m still Ivy to them.

It doesn’t really bother me, honestly. I just find it kind of interesting.

straitlacedsecrets:

Mother’s Nature.

A Tangent on Closed-Mindedness

I am interrupting my sexy theme to just jot down some thoughts I have about something that just happened at work. Bear with me, skip if you like.

My boss is incredibly racist, sexist and homophobic. She’s at an age where she should really be retired. As a result, she’s cranky and generally unpleasant. I put serious consideration into quitting, but the children I work with love me, I love them and I couldn’t bear to leave them.

Well, today our ceiling leaked and the superintendent of the building I work in called in a repair man. He was Hispanic, spoke very little English, and this irritated my boss to no end. She kept complaining to me, with no evidence, that the man was lazy and a terrible worker and would not paint over the part of the ceiling he had removed. She had never worked with him in the past and was, honestly, just judging based on his race. When I told her I’d ask him if he would, she just snapped back that he wouldn’t and not to.

But, I speak Spanish and figured it was worth a try. I approached him and asked him about the paint. Lo and behold, the guy said of course he was going to. And if we didn’t have enough paint, he’d go out and try to find a color to match and be back.

When I relayed this information to my boss, she rolled her eyes and told me he wouldn’t and the man was “useless”. When he finished his work, she didn’t thank him. Shocked, I ran outside after him and gave him the thank you he deserved for his work. It was sort of crazy to me how little dignity my boss afforded the guy.

In thinking about this though, I start to think about what I’m going to be like when I’m old. While I’m fine with all sorts of “taboos” and I’m a supporter of cultural sensitivity, diversity and equality, I worry that there’s going to be a point where I’ll be crotchety and bigoted against something. What, I have no idea. But I figure even some of the radicals of yesteryear are prejudiced against something now. And, God, I hope that isn’t me one day.