anonymoussharing

[anonymoussharing]

James

I’m pretty sure he was married. He denied it, over and over and over. I asked him sly questions, and I asked him outright questions, and he denied it. But his behavior and some of the things he said indicated that he was married.

We met at work. We had talked a bit, and I would make a point to be around where I could bump into him. One day he asked me for my work email address, which, no, I never use it, and I certainly don’t want the company to be privy to our communication, so I just gave him my phone number. I figured he would just text, just like everyone else. Fucker actually called me a couple hours later. AWKWARD. I giggled, and he kept asking me why I giggled..dude, you’re not following the rules!

Eventually it came around to him wanting to fuck me. He talked about going to asian pop, and some things that we could do out, together, but absolutely nothing ever came of it. He talked about getting me drunk on plum wine at asian pop, but dude, you actually have to meet me there, you have to be there with me, in order for that to happen. I wouldn’t have drunk it anyway. I don’t like the taste of alcohol, I don’t like how alcohol makes me feel, and I’m certainly not going to get drunk, either with you or without you. But that fact that he never invited me, we never actually met up except at work or my house, negated him pouring plum wine down my throat.

He had such a nice cock. He’s a very good lover. When he actually showed up, anyway. I extended the invitation over and over, I’ll leave the door unlocked, just come in and get a piece and head out. He showed up probably less than ten times.

He asked a couple of times how I didn’t catch feels, fucking him. I told him I do catch feels, but it’s not exclusive feels, it’s not possession. It kinda blew his mind. I was always honest about the fact that I was seeing other people, and told him how I was totally ok with him seeing other people. He would just shake his head, not understanding how I could avoid the stereotypical jealousy and possessiveness. 

I was hurt every time he told me that he’d taken a trip down to Tampa, to eat at a certain place or get a certain ingredient he liked to cook with. Not hurt hurt, obviously, not enough to badger him into bringing me, but I did suggest I’d like to road trip with him, and he’d say sure that sounds like fun!

The more I type, the more I’m convinced he was married lol.

He always had a ready excuse of daddy duty. If I asked him what he was doing, he had one of his kids, or had to go to the ex’s house, never had time to pop over on a random sunday and spend a few hours. But the stories never added up. Talked about leaving his 6yo alone while he was at work. I highly doubt she was alone, her mother would never approve of that. Pretty sure mom was there, or around, and keeping tabs on all of James’ time.

The last time I talked to him was over text. He hadn’t been to work for a few days, and I heard a rumor that someone on second shift had covid. I texted him, and he sent a picture of himself in a hospital bed, confirming it was him that had covid. We talked the next day, where he told me he was going to be released, and that’s the last I heard from him. I sent him a “hope everything’s well, have a good life” text a while later, never got a response.

I never knew who else he was friending at work. I never confirmed he was married, but all the signs were there. He was a pretty negative energy person, taking each little bad thing that happened in a day and turning it into a big deal, saying “fuck my life” a lot. You wonder how I’m not catching feels?? Maybe because you’re a negative arrogant fuck?

Anyway, it’s been months now. He found me attractive enough to flirt with, he liked to fuck me, he always made me feel attractive. He was a good fuck. But man, what a terrible person. 

[anonymoussharing]

Inspired

A stranger wrote a profile about himself, and I thought it sounded pretty good. I’m going to copy his formatting. Sort of.

I am Monster. The suffix to Monster changes with the media platform, but this will suffice for now.

I am a 53 y/o Aquarian. I identify as a cisgender woman. I’m interested in men. I think women are beautiful, but I don’t have any sexual attraction to them. Age doesn’t matter to me, it’s all about the connection we have.

I’ve been practicing the ethical non monogamous lifestyle for decades, but only in the past few years did I acquire the vocabulary to identify it and communicate it to others. It started out as one nights stands in my 20′s, continued as swinging through my 30′s and 40′s with my ex-partner, and now as solo poly moving into my 50′s and menopause years. I’ve learned a lot about the lifestyle through books and discussions and practice, and I love love love talking about it.

I gravitate towards wearing pinks and purples and fuschias, with a sprinkling of greens, because I think it compliments the auburn color I dye my hair with these days. I don’t have a lot of white hair, but I like to experiment with color, and will continue to do so until I have a skunk stripe at my roots, at which time I will transition to my natural color, via a pixie cut that will then be grown out. I will play with hair color for as long as I can apply a brush and afford the pigments.

Mexican food, the freshest I can find, and New England style Chinese food are at the top of my favorites list. But I’ll eat most anything, even Southern style Chinese food. Not all that fond of spicy foods, since most of them just try to be hot rather than flavorful. Turning my tongue into pain central isn’t my idea of a good time.

I don’t have any kids. I don’t care if you do, but to be honest, I’d rather the time we spent together was just between the two of us...or however many adults we include in our fun. I’ve been involved in threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes..and more. Turn out the lights and guess who’s body part that is! Where’s the lube? Where’s the toys? Let the buzzing begin!!

My cats keep me the best company, and I identify with their lifestyle of sleeping and being inquisitive more than I do 9-to-5. They have a calm energy that suits me better than other animals, sometimes including humans. But they don’t have great conversation skills, so I do look for human companionship for that. 

I lived in Maine and New Hampshire most of my adult life, and moved to Ocala going on nine years ago. I much prefer the heat and rain over the snow and cold. My rallying cry is, “You don’t have to shovel rain!!”. Most days I feel like my bones are still defrosting from a lifetime spent in the cold, but then I have a hot flash and maybe regret the decision until it passes. They don’t happen often enough to change my mind about staying here, though.

I don’t do any drugs save ibuprofen, I don’t smoke anything, and I don’t drink enough to mention. I can be persuaded to sip on Irish Cream or Limoncello, but it will take me an hour to get through it, and I’ll chase it with lemon lime soda for the remainder of the night. I’d much prefer to drown my sorrows in something ooey gooey chocolate, and be able to drive home safely. You’re free to do your thing, but my tolerance for you getting sloppy is very very low. 

I am involved with several groups related to Polyamory and kink, and invite consenting adults to join me and my friends. We are welcoming and accepting, and love to see the community grow!

[anonymoussharing]

Trans

Probably not politically correct. Deal.

I met you back when you called yourself John. Your voice, and your apathy, and your face, are the same. You’re calling yourself by a different name now, and you’re wearing girl clothes. I support you in your quest to be on the outside what you feel on the inside. But I will struggle to change your pronouns in my head. When I hear the voice, my brain says “he”. When I see the scruff on the face, my brain says “he”. I try to correct myself before the words come out of my mouth, but...I hear the voice, and my mouth says “he”.

You, I just met. You’re tall, taller than most women. You have very lovely long hair, medium brown with blonde highlights, very pretty. You have boobs, you’re wearing casual girl clothes, you’re not trying to be really feminine and pink. Your name is a girl name. The woman you came to the party with calls you her wife. But your voice. Oh lordy, you have a male voice. My brain calls you “he”. Since I met you as a girl, and you present as a girl, the pendulum swings more toward “she”...until you speak.

After a lifetime, I need to retrain my brain to say “you” rather than “he” or “she”. I think that will be easier than connecting the girl to the masculine voice. IDK.

I support people appearing on the outside what they feel on the inside. Look, we are all suppressed in some way, that’s just life, and people needing to categorize everything they see. If I can identify it, I can relate to it. Or not. But I need to categorize it. We all do things to try to make our lives less complicated. I would love to slut in public, talk about sex and relationships and alternate lifestyles all the time, to everyone. I can’t do that. But you put on a bra and stuff the cups until your hormones kick in and give you little starter boobs, and complicate your life, invite judgement, invite questions. I support you, but I’m not going to be the shield you stand behind when life starts flinging arrows at you. Be your own shield, since this the battleground you’ve chosen. I will defend myself, and you will defend yourself.

I do believe in all the sexualites. Bi, trans, gay, you be you. But you will fight your own fight. I’ve got my hands full with my own bullshit.

[anonymoussharing]

Clean

I helped a friend clean today. It wasn’t scrubbing and washing cleaning, it was just moving stuff around. I couldn’t believe some of the things we moved around.

Maybe I’m just a snob? I keep most of my laundry...laundered. I have two baskets, and they are never full. I’m guessing there’s some mental glitch that goes along with having piles of dirty clothes laying around, because Eric did it too. He thought it was hilarious to go buy new clothes because all his were dirty. Going without underwear because he didn’t have any clean ones.

There were sheets and towels balled up and tossed into corners. I was afraid to touch some of them, because I know the animals have peed on things. I saw wet spots on a sheet. No wonder the house smells like pee.

The barking. Is it just my ears that hurt when dogs bark?

So many things piled up on surfaces. No room to place a drink. A table next to where I sat down was completely covered in prescription bottles; light, easily knocked over bottles, which I did, with an elbow. No one witnessed, so I left them where they landed. They would do the same, and she’ll whine later that she can’t find them.

Yes, I’ve got surfaces that are full, but not every one. I don’t have literal trash on the floor. I’ve vacuumed within the past couple weeks. My animals don’t pee and poop everywhere. My house doesn’t smell of pee.

Then I went to another friend’s house. Another house that smells very strongly of pee???? The sliding glass door sticks at the bottom. You know what fixes that? Wax. She’s a witch, she’s got candle stubs all over the place. FFS. I can’t spend time inside the house, it’s just too strong.

I really like my house. I think about having to move things around to replace the flooring, and...it wouldn’t be half the pain that her house is. My house is pretty, lit up at night with all my little lights. I don’t care for the house in the daylight, because it shows all the defects that were built into the house, but at night, it’s pretty.

So why aren’t I having parties? My house is much more presentable. I guess because I want to keep it presentable!

[anonymoussharing]

Can’t post anywhere else

So much has happened. I know I won’t be able to get it all in here. So tangled, with no help untangling it. Just internet reading and guesswork. The ideal would be that I would have a doctor by my side, answering questions and guiding my choices, but that’s not happening.

Let’s begin.

I had an infection on my calf, and my feet hurt. Difficult to make it to the bathroom in the night, hurt so bad. Doc appt, with the urgent care doc. She gets down on the floor, pokes and prods, finds what she calls a bite. This infection is the size of my hand, red, hard, hot, caused by a bite of some sort? Ok, because I can’t argue with it, without information I don’t have. Solution is antibiotics, and a referral to an infectious disease specialist, who later tells me that if I gotten there sooner, he would have given me IV antibiotics. More serious than I was led to believe, perhaps? I can’t even tell anymore.

Also, unhappy pussy. Did a standard std test, negative. Doc suggests Trichomoniasis test, based on what she sees...hey, that’s positive. Great, I’ve picked up a parasite. From whom, I haven’t a clue. My prime suspect claimed that he tested negative (a few weeks after me notifying him)(I mean, I’m glad he doesn’t have it but that means I have no idea where I got it).

Over the course of three or four weeks (hey, details are fuzzy) I was on 4 antibiotics. Constant nausea. Living on pills, oatmeal, and honey nut cheerios. Terrible metallic taste.

The night I tried beef ramen, and it didn’t make me nauseous and tasted amazing was orgasmic. I think I heard angels. I’m still chasing that high, making it over and over, eating waaaaay too much pasta, but now it just tastes greasy and salty.

Getting up in the night to pee. Shoving a washcloth between my legs because my feet hurt so much that I can’t concentrate on holding my pee between the bed and the toilet. Loudly vocalizing, leaning on everything, hanging onto the walls. Staying on the toilet because getting up, and back to the bed, hurts so much. Gulp some advil, back to bed, hoping it’ll be better when I wake up. I’m very happy it’s not that bad anymore. Very happy I live alone, didn’t wake anyone up but the cats.

Metronidazole. Avoid if at all possible. Nausea and mouth tasted like keys. Nothing tasted good.

Doxycycline for UTI, yeah, I had that too. Probably from the trich.

Bactrim and Cephalexin. Two batches of the Cephalexin. To combat the infection in my leg, I assume. I don’t know anymore. I just kept taking whatever they prescribed. The one good thing is that none of them cost very much, I think combined it cost me less that $35, along with fluconazole for a yeast infection I’m not sure I ever got.

The good news is, after all the meds, and two months later, no more infections. my calf is back to normal, from what I can tell. I got tested for trich again, because kitty still not happy, but that was negative too. No infections, no STD’s. OK, good.

What I’m left with is...foot pain. Oh yeah, plus ankle, knee, baby finger, and back.

Here’s my guess, based on my reading...Psoriatic arthritis. I’ve had psoriasis my whole life, I’m guessing the shock to my system kickstarted the next step in my psoriasis journey. The symptoms match. Ibuprofen helps. But ibuprofen can destroy my stomach, so I don’t stay tanked up on painkillers, which means I’m uncomfortable and not walking steadily about half the day. Sometimes my back screams in the morning, sometimes it’s fine. Two toes on each foot, not the same ones, swollen, don’t bend. I don’t feel like I can walk normally most of the time. I move slowly. I feel vulnerable. Can’t run away from traffic or unsafe feelings.

Oh! and I don’t have that job anymore. Bunch of prudes. Poor training. Misleading job description. So I’m job hunting (actually I’m not. I’m staying up late and sleeping til noon. I’m taking a fucking vacation) I don’t feel as though interviewing with all these physical restrictions is a good idea. I can’t stand, I can’t walk, I don’t want to do customer service (I figured out that’s not something I want to do). I want to sit at a desk and make things.

I pushed away all my satellites. Celibate for two months, not even masturbation. I discovered along the way that my cup gets filled by superficial sexual encounters, and without them, fuck, I’m kinda lonely. I don’t have non-sexual friends. I can’t turn my sexual friends into non-sexual friends, without feeling the pressure to change my mind and fuck. Ryan is very sweet, but desperate, and hanging out with him isn’t fulfilling enough without the sex.

I have the urge to run away for a while. I won’t, of course, because of my cats and my stuff, and my bed, and the loveseat that I spend most of my time on.

[anonymoussharing]

spreadsheet

I’ve been joking forever that I’m going to make a spreadsheet of all my guys. I started it tonight. It’s gonna take a long while to figure it and fill it in. But I’ve been getting a lot of guys jumping at me, and I don’t want anyone to fall off and be offending (heaven fucking forbid) so I’ll try a spreadsheet. It might not actually be the best format for the information I have about these guys but whatever.

Casey made a reappearance today. Previously.. I think we met on Fet, moved it over to KIK, had many conversation and he sent me many many pics and video of his dick, and I say dick in this case, because he’s got big dick energy but he’s got 6 inches if he’s lucky, I think more like 5? and honestly that’s just not gonna cut it these days? He’s still cheating on his wife. He’s really cute, well groomed, smells wonderful because the wife burns candles and that’s what he smells like. From what he says, he has a good relationship with his wife including sex but he likes the chase. Also says he likes to be edged. I suggested meeting in random parking lots and edging him and he said yes please lol. He seems to remember that we liked to kiss....I’m not remembering that at all, so it may be that he enjoyed it more that I did? He’s the one that left my house after my mouthing his cock a little bit and him stopping me, warning me that he was about to cum, and after him previously warning me that he has big loads, I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to swallow all that and we were on the couch, I didn’t want to make a mess of my couch, so we stopped...anyway, he left and was messaging with me as he drove away, telling me how awesome I am and then BAM, he changed the name on the Kik page to Fu L and didn’t speak to me again until today. It’s been over a year, it was before covid, well before. So I’m not sure where this is going but at least I know it wasn’t my fault he disappeared.

Eric is almost recovered from covid, but still being incredibly irresponsible. He was awake when I left, supposedly did some “work” work, and then messaged to tell me he’d hit a wall and was going to nap about 3:30. Oh, great, just about the time I’m going home, THEN he decides to sleep and hide out. Sweet. He made mess of the counters, left frozen food out instead of putting it away, and claimed he had to recover from pooping when I saw him at 4. It’s 7:30 and he’s still asleep. Great.

James absolutely came through on Sunday, brought his lovely cock over, filled me twice. Goddamn he’s a jerk but he fucks so well.

I texted him DAMN YOUR COCK FEELS GOOD and he responded with, “It’s yours, all yours.” Is that your idea of romantic? or something? Stan suggested that I put him in a chastity cage, which would definitely bring him around more often lol. The only time he’d be free would be when he was with me? Excellent, and what a way to prove that you’re mine, all mine. Can you just imagine this arrogant macho Rican jerk wearing a chastity cage? Not on your life! But a hilarious image nonetheless.

Christian added his contribution too (twice), so that was nice. He is very hopeful to come back next weekend and do it again.

Christian mentioned something that Vic had said a while back. Vic had his fingers in me while I vibed my clit, and after I came, his hand was still inside, and he said, half joking, “Can I have my hand back?” apparently a bit of suction keeping him there. Christian said that when his cock reaches bottom, there’s some suction and it feels amazing when he’s pulling out...so I’m thinking I still got a tight pussy, despite age and big cocks. I know when I clench, I make James jump, which makes me laugh. After he cums and he’s still inside and sensitive (and deep) I clench and he jumps. I can’t do it if he’s soft and sliding out because I’ll push him out and that’s no fun.

So yeah, good birthday, with my boys.

Not my boyfriend. Didn’t do a single thing for me. Yeah, he’s sick, and he did dishes....but yeah, nothing. Bye.

[anonymoussharing]

I’m sorry

He lives life as an apologist.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“I’m sorry I overslept.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a screwup.”

“I’m sorry I made such a mess.”

If you’re always fucking up, and you’re always sorry, why don’t you change? Do you really want to live your life apologizing?

I’ve told you before, apologizing does not wipe the slate clean. Apologizing doesn’t take away the butthurt and disappointment. And when you repeat the behaviour over and over, no one ever believes that you are able to be on time, because you aren’t. Ever. It’s not a joke. It’s not funny. It’s not “Eric time” as opposed to regular time. It’s disrespectful and lazy and not grown up.

Grow up. Get many alarm clocks. Arrive on time. Be careful. Clean up after yourself. 

Stop apologizing.

[anonymoussharing]

Save yourself

I know your life is empty And you hate to face this world alone So you're searching for an angel Someone who can make you whole

I cannot save you I can't even save myself So just save yourself

I know that you've been damaged Your soul has suffered such abuse But I am not your savior I am just as fucked as you (I am just as fucked as you)

I cannot save you I can't even save myself So just save yourself

Please don't take pity on me Please don't take pity on me Please don't take pity on me Please don't take pity on me

My life has been a nightmare My soul is fractured to the bone If I must be lonely I think I'd rather be alone (I think I'd rather be alone) You cannot save me You can't even save yourself I cannot save you I can't even save myself Save yourself So just save yourself

Stabbing Westward, from 1998.

Huh. That was the year I started with Henry. Seems to have some significance? The line that truly stabs to my heart...If I must be lonely, I think I’d rather be alone...I can’t tell you the number of times during that relationship that I felt lonely, even with him in the same room. Feeling like he had a box around him that I couldn’t penetrate.

And the same is happening with this relationship too. He might be looking directly into my eyes, but he doesn’t see me. I can see my words entering his brain, but he doesn’t hear them or respond to them. He’s staring at the rectangle or off into the distance. I swear his eyes are focused on two different things, and neither of them are me. I can see the swirling thoughts on his face, and none of those thoughts are related to me and the conversation I’m trying to have with him.

I think I’d rather be alone. Because I’m still lonely. TBH, I know I’d rather be alone, there’s no quantifier of “I think”. I KNOW I’d rather be alone.

To be fair, I like being alone, and I’ve developed a million coping strategies for being lonely, so much so that I’m hardly ever lonely. Unless you count really wanting to have a conversation with someone, “lonely”, then sure, I’m lonely. I remember those late night conversations with my friends when I was in my 20′s and wanting to have that kind of connection again. Actually a dialogue, thoughts back and forth, organically feeding off each other, until suddenly it’s four or six hours later and the serotonin levels are through the roof.

Now it seems like the conversations I have are monologues, from either the other guy, or from me. Most of them are a litany of complaints. No serotonin to be found, just the airing of grievances. Which honestly isn’t much fun. Or there is barely any conversation at all, just fucking.

Can you believe I almost feel jealous about the conversations I overhear James and DM having, because he talks to her more than he’s ever talked to me? I know, it’s apples and oranges, and they both have kids, and frankly, I don’t want to be the one he complains about his kids to, and I get to get his cock in me, and have those weird intimate conversations about “catching feels” and whether either one of us could change their life for the other, but what I’m craving is that basic everyday casual talk that slowly over time gives me details about him that rounds out who he is in my brain. Things that either confirm or alter the impression of him that I have right now, which, between you and me, isn’t very good, honestly. Look, we know he’s a jerk, right? We’re just trying to figure out how big of a jerk he is. He’s a jerk with a big cock. I’ve learned a lot.

I’m going to write, at some point, the differences in the way a man carries himself depending on the size of his cock. Big dick, big ego. Average dick, insecurities. Little dick, shrinking violet. Need to percolate that one.

[anonymoussharing]

NY minute

In a New York minute Everything can change In a New York minute Things can get pretty strange In a New York minute Everything can change In a New York minute... ...You find somebody to love in this world You better hang on tooth and nail The wolf is always at the door

I never really paid too much attention to this song until Don Henley (I assume) redid it to include sound clips from the WTC disaster. It went from a song about the possibility of shit changing fast to a song about shit changing fast. The remade version is chilling and emotional and hard to listen to, with the sound bites from people who were interviewed during the crashes, fires, and collapses of the WTC and Pentagon.

But the song itself is what I’ll talk about here.

Sometimes the possibility of things changing quickly is awesome, but I find that it barely ever happens. Mostly I find that seeming eons go by with barely anything happening, so much so that I long for a disaster just to break up the monotony. And you can also have some sort of epiphany that changes your outlook forever. The guy you think just doesn’t have time to spare, is really just trying to manipulate you into changing your life for him, without proving that he’s worth changing for. 

You find somebody to love in this world You better hang on tooth and nail The wolf is always at the door

This to me indicates that you need to work really hard to keep love in your life. I say it shouldn’t be that difficult, if it’s natural and easy, it’s worth it, but if every other minute is a struggle, i say you’re better off without it. If love is that easily stolen away from you, it never belonged to you to begin with. I never want to beg or coerce or even ask someone to stay. If staying is easy, then stay. If there’s doubt and strife, who the fuck needs that stress in their life?

Then there’s the poly aspect of that statement. You could find many somebodies to love, and need to circle the wagons time and time again to keep that love, because poly isn’t the norm and poly is wrong and poly is dangerous. Then poly isn’t for you. Check in with your partners, make sure they’re still up for the challenges, but let them go if it’s too hard.

In a New York minute Everything can change

I’m on the highway every day. A moment’s distraction can be horrible at those speeds. I hope the people around me are paying attention.

[anonymoussharing]

Crow and Butterfly

I painted your room at Midnight, so I'd know Yesterday was over I put all your books on the top shelf, Even the one with the four leaf clover Man, I'm getting older I took all your pictures off the wall And wrapped them in a news paper blanket I haven't slept in what seems like a century, And now I can barely breathe

I first heard this song when I was still with Henry, and I was struck by the mere actions of this man. Henry was lazy. I couldn’t even imagine him painting a room, certainly not of his own volition, and wrapping pictures up carefully with newspaper was something that seemed really far beyond his reach.

As I listened to the song, and the man singing it did all these things, actually moving and doing and accomplishing tasks, I compared the man singing the song to the man in my house, and they were like two different species. Yes, ok, one is fiction, per se, and really only painting an image in a song, but the thought of a man, any man, performing these tasks, without a woman nagging and hassling and instructing and teaching and prodding, just blew my mind.

Because that’s the type of man I had at my house. I had to ask him to do something no less than five times before he actually did it. He never took it upon himself to wash the dishes or vacuum the carpet, basic household chores. It was all beneath him, and he expected the house to just care for itself without any interference from him. But I know that’s not the way it works, I know that the dishes need to be done and the vacuuming done and wow that’s a really big cobweb in that corner and the wall behind the trash can needs to be cleaned or painted....It was all just noise that he didn’t hear. I heard all the noise. I tried to get him to hear it. He just couldn’t.

[anonymoussharing]

Is it over?

I kinda want it to be? But I do like his cock. I just don’t like him all that much.

So many empty promises.

So this is what I think was going on. He was expecting me to mono up in order to get the dinner dates and the weekend hotel stays and the flea marketing, the general spending time together things that couples do. He expected me to be his and his alone, his version of what a couple should be.

I, however, refuse to give up my poly ways unless I’m shown absolute magical devotion and love and awesome sex. I have not doubt that one day I’ll meet a guy who rings all the bells and checks all the boxes, but until that day happens, I’m keeping all the guys, and their cocks. When one of them steps up and proves himself to be mono partner worthy, I will do that.

So since he withheld the dinner dates and weekend hotel getaways, he doesn’t get me. He thought I should change for him, and I won’t change for someone who doesn’t prove himself worthy. He won’t give me the things unless I change for him. Nope. Ain’t the way it works baby!!

I am all for compromise. I will meet you in the middle, if you prove yourself to be worthy of taking the hike to the middle. You, babe, are not that.

I am going to take the anger and expectations and throw them away. I’ll keep offering my pussy, why not, I’ve got nothing to lose and perhaps a lovely fuck to gain, but I’m never going to let him make me unhappy again.

And I think he already knows this, since I haven’t texted with him in three days. Letting it go. Whoosh.

[anonymoussharing]

No more itching, please

I’ve always been prone to yeast infections. Decades ago I thought they were brought on by a latex condom allergy. Maybe they were caused by a spermicide. Maybe it’s introduced bacteria into the delicate ecosystem. At this point, and after all the reading, I still don’t fucking know.

Recently, I’ve had a lot more bareback sex than ever in my life. I’m pretty sure I’m not fertile anymore, based on the skipping on my periods, and for fucks sure, I’m 51. It would be miraculous (and really fucking aggravating) if I were to get pregnant now. Thirty odd years of safe safe safe, I’m rolling the dice now, fuck it. Anyway, I’m getting more cum injected into my pussy than anytime in my life. And kitty was burny for about three straight weeks. Monistat yucky, Mexican Diflucan running low...I need a different solution.

Did reading.

The vagina is actually a very acidic environment. You can read the numbers for yourself, but I knew I had to raise the acidity. Sperm is alkaline, so that explains the lowered acidity, which allows the yeast to take over. I think.

Guess what? They sell boric acid suppositories. I also read that probiotics help too. Long story short.

Mixed OrganicGlide lube (which contains probiotics supposedly) with LOLA lube, and opened a 600mg boric acid suppository contents into it, and for the hell of it, thinned it out with a little eyedrops, which has more boric acid but honestly I don’t think there’s enough in there to matter.

Last weekend was a great test. Friday, I fucked Eric, and then fucked Jon an hour later. I used maybe a teaspoon, between lube on Eric’s cock, and I think I added a bit deep with an applicator after fucking Jon? I’m not sure. Sunday I smeared it on Christian’s cock before he fucked me, and then I think used some more after James Sunday night, and I put some in Tuesday because I might have been feeling some tingles but I might have been imagining things. Fucked Eric Thursday. I think all in all I used about a tablespoon, and probably about 1000 mg of boric acid (I still have some left over).

No burny, no smell, no itchy. I don’t know if it’s working or if it’s just coincidence, so I’m not going to call it a success yet, but right now, it’s a success. 

 This weekend I haven’t had any sex, so no further testing this weekend. I will update when I have lots of sex again!

[anonymoussharing]

Here’s the thing

Would you ever go back to monogamy? they ask. My immediate answer: hell no! I like the variety, I like the freedom, etc etc. But, would I give up the variety and freedom for just one guy who filled all my needs? Oh, yes.

But that’s a big pair of pants to fill. So to speak.

Utterly reliable. Just the right amount of emotional. 8 incher. Very little body odor. Very little body hair (if I’m listing Mr Perfect) Has his shit together. Has a job that supports him comfortably, doesn’t eat his life, and that he enjoys. Has a nice mix of favorite restaurants and meals he’s perfected. Focuses on efficiency when cooking so the kitchen isn’t a disaster when he’s done. Is aware of his surroundings and me. Is able to break off from his chosen brain candy in an instant to pay attention to THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH.

Here’s the thing. I have a dozen men who want to fuck me, spend time with me. One who would want to be exclusive if I would allow it. One that curls up in my lap and sighs like a contented dog. None that are reliable, even the guy living in my house. The guy who texts me all week wanting to fuck me hard and deep, loves that I can take all of him, claims to be “catching feelings”...but doesn’t contact me all weekend, when we have the time to date and fuck. How I can believe a word he says? ACTIONS, PEOPLE. No words. Actions.

I’ve said it before, I will say it a thousand times, I will say it until I am dead and buried. Apologies do not wipe the slate clean. Words mean nothing without action. If I found a man who never had to apologize, and backed up his words with actions, I would do everything in my power to keep him, even monogamy.

IF I FIND A MAN WHO NEVER HAS TO APOLOGIZE, AND BACKS UP HIS WORDS WITH ACTIONS, I WILL DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO KEEP HIM, EVEN MONOGAMY.

I think I need to make a bumper sticker or t-shirt. Or a tattoo. Skywriting?

[anonymoussharing]

clearing the table

Stood up. Again. Twice in one day. Once from a guy who knows the whole story, listened well, said he wasn’t the type, was willing to drive the distance for sex. Nope. Not a great loss. Lives too far away, had a fat six incher, and honestly, had some worrying redness on his cock in the video he sent me of him him jacking off. 

I actually really like the idea of having a potential send me a video of them jacking off, because it gives me a look at his cock and I can see if he’s got sores or something. I don’t particularly care to watch a man play with himself, it still seems very little boy who can’t keep his hands off himself. A man, in my opinion, doesn’t have to play with himself, doesn’t have to arch around and scratch his ass, doesn’t have to fondle his junk all day long. I understand the occasional discreet adjustment, but keep your hands where I can see them buddyboi.

And the other, well, this is time number four that he’s left me hanging. There won’t be a #5. I know he got an earful from the jealous one. He says he wants to learn more about my lifestyle. He says all the right things, just like they all do. But never follows through. So I guess it’s just a game to him, I’m just some dumb chick who believes his bullshit. Done.

Now. What to do about Eric. I’m really sick of “working on it” of being wrong or broken. I’m sick of him taking the blame, I’m sick of his puppy energy, I’m sick of his knee jerk reactions. I’m sick of his manic depression. His high highs and his low lows. Now that he’s employed (but not actually working) he’s got so many plans for the future, and so many ways to spend his paycheck. I’m sick of talking about it (”it” being anything, really) christ dude just let it lie.

I don’t appreciate him enough, but I also don’t love him enough to appreciate him. Tonight when I’m still mad about the assholes that don’t fucking show up, he takes it upon himself to pleasure me, after I relent and let him. I got a nice squirt orgasm out of it, and he got the pleasure of doing it, I guess? I asked if he wanted to fuck me after but he said no...but would take some head, but would wait til I was recovered. And when I got up to clean up, went to play videogames. Whatever dude whatever.

What I really want is to move. New job, new apartment. My cats, my clothes, my sewing and beads, that’s all. New town, fresh start, new men, new scene. How many fresh starts can you have in a lifetime?

[anonymoussharing]

flakey flake flaked

Again, he talks about renting a room, talks about how delicious I look, talks about how much he wants to eat my pussy. Said that it’s hard to see me without touching me.

Again, we’ll meet at 6, this time downtown for some music. I text at 4:45, so are you going to meet me? No response. I dress, go downtown, drive around in circles for a while. No band setting up. No response.

No response. Nothing. I get burritos and go home.

Flakey flake flake. Again. Done. Goodbye.

[anonymoussharing]

6pm

6 o’clock didn’t make any sense at the time. That’s really late in the day to fit in all the things that he supposedly wanted to do. Dinner, talking, flirting, probably fucking. He isn’t aware of my 9 o’clock bedtime. But then, oh, he’s got his daughter, who was supposed to be picked up by her mother at a certain time. Ok, now it makes sense.

But of course, the pickup didn’t happen on time, and he cancels again.

He knows what’s at stake, we can’t see each other during the week, and the conversations we want to have really need to be done in person, not over text. He needs to see my passion for the subject, and I need to see that he understands that there are rules to follow.

He thinks he’s being cute and cagey when he says that he’s dominant in the bedroom, and then won’t explain what that means. That’s not the way this works. I cannot and will not trust someone who wants me to “wait and see”. Fuck that. If he’s going to be that way about it, then he’s going to wait until Eric is home so I have backup.

I even gave him examples of what is acceptable and unacceptable, and he told me, “oh no, nothing like that.” OK, so then, WHAT?

But he cancelled anyway. And the momentum isn’t going to last, just like all the others. I will be very surprised if moss doesn’t grow here.

And to think of it, he’s got a daughter (I don’t know how old) and an ex wife who isn’t reliable about picking her up. So any plans we make will probably be cancelled or postponed anyway. I don’t need that shit.

Ad what the fuck does mami mean?

[anonymoussharing]

Don’t bother prepping

I don’t know if I’m ready to write about this. I’m very very angry. And bewildered. I just don’t get it.

So many men, so many broken promises, so many cancelled plans.

I purposely “forget” about the transgressions because I hate holding on to disappointment. I want to move on and get on with my life, with enthusiasm and joy. But they’re making it so fucking hard.

I feel like one of those sledgehammer games at the county fair. You pick up the sledgehammer and slam it into the base as hard as you can to try to send the puck into the bell. I am the bell, in this analogy. All the men that chat with me, talk to me, ask me out, make plans with me, they’re the puck. And I don’t know who’s got that fucking sledgehammer, but they’d better start putting their backs into it.

SLAM!!! CONNECTION!!!! The puck shoots up, but just before impact, loses momentum and falls away. Every fucking time.

I was going to list them, dig deep into my memory and talk a bit about each one, the attraction and the butterflies and the sweet promises, but I’m not going to torture myself like that.

Instead I’m going to tell you the things that I was looking forward to with, really, any of the potential relationships, the things that were promised, the conversations we were going to have.

He showed me a picture of his nine inch cock. I’ve never had a nine inch cock. I’m a little apprehensive about a nine inch cock but willing to take on the challenge. He also suggested that we’d have dates and dinners and regular visits, sex three or four times a week. It all sounds wonderful. But that was a month ago. Life happened to him. No more momentum. And now I can’t tell if he’s blowing me off, keeping me reeled in for the fun of it, or truly is regretful that life has gotten in the way.

He says he’s had a crush on me for months. Just a few days ago got up the nerve to ask for my number. Is very interested in my polyam lifestyle, wants to know more. Three hours before, cancels due to ongoing pain.

Wants to get together with me before he leaves the state, can’t manage to find the time. Messages me to tell me he misses me. Great. Too bad you’re five states away.

Thinks my ass is yummy. Super sexy kisses, sweet precum, talk all positive and exciting, then, nothing. Just nothing.

Uncountable others. Plans broken. No shows. Ghosted. Just disappear.

I feel like I’m in a boat with two dozen fishing lines dangling off the side. I can see the fish, nibbling on the bait of my hooks, and sometimes, one catches hold, and I reel him in, I make the effort to be sweet and accommodating, letting him know that I’m not the marrying kind, he doesn’t need to commit to me, he can just talk and fuck and be my friend, but somehow, for some reason unknown to me, just before he gets in the boat, he slips the hook. Every time.

It’s difficult to not spiral down the hole of, what if it’s me and not them. The common denominator is me, after all. It’s hard to imagine that all those guys are flakes, unreliable, lazy, unmotivated. Almost unfathomable.

So in keeping with the boat analogy, I’m going to leave the lines out, but the fish gotta jump in the boat themselves. I’m not going to try to reel them in. I’m not making the effort and getting my expectations up only to have them slip off the hook. I’m done. And if that means I only have Eric in my life, well, them’s the breaks. He should be enough, creative enough, loving enough, hopefully adult enough to keep me comfortable. It won’t be the heights I’m looking for, the nine inches 4 times a week and dinners out with somebody different every other night, but it’ll be enough. Until I drive him away to find his own life.