I have two hours to kill, a house to clean but I'm not going to touch it, a grocery list to write but I'm not going to write it, a budget spreadsheet to update but I'm not going to look at it.
Instead, I'm sitting at my table across from D-Rex, listening to Lykke Li. I've been reading Other People's Love Letters and daydreaming. I feel mellow and dreamy, rainy-day delighted and a little bit sleepy.
My daydreams are kaleidoscopic.
I feel like they should really be represented in some kind of colourful and artistic mindmap, but all I have is black type on white space in this text box. I'll do my best.
Lykke Li is the ambiance. Sweet songs with sexy overtones. Mellow and sensual.
D-Rex is across from me, my foot in his lap, wondering if he will reach down to touch my ankle when his game finishes. He is adorable today, his hair sticking up in curls and misbehaving spikes where he constantly runs his hands through it while playing his video games. He's started talking with a girl on OKCupid, and I am daydreaming about seeing him with someone else, catching them holding hands sneakily while she's over here for dinner, sharing a grin with him. Hearing stories about his new love, going out with them and getting to know her. (Or him, D-Rex is as likely to end up with a boyfriend as a girlfriend and that would be great, but in this case it is a "she" that he is getting to know.)
And thinking about D-Rex dating, thoughts shift and I'm thinking about The Cyclist, too, and how I wanted to ask her out on a date last night but did not. Where would I take her on a date? What would I do? I am so uncertain, lacking confidence. What if I am a terrible lover of women? What if I'm not really bi, and have only been fooling myself all these years? (Why am I even questioning this? What am I really afraid of?)
And thinking about The Cyclist and my inability to act on any desire there my thoughts shift again, kaleidoscopic, to thinking about Filmme Fatale and the fact that although she has agreed to go on a date with me, I have not set it up with her. Fail, Muffin. Fail. (I will fix that tonight, maybe. We're going to her stand-up comedy debut!)
And shifting again, to the comedy show and going there with both D-Rex and Mister Pie, I am thinking about what I started at. Polymorphic.
And it's funny, sometimes I don't know where to start a thought. There's no narrative to it, I don't know how to begin. It starts at multiple points simultaneously. It starts with Mister Pie's fingers at dinner last night, the way his slightest touch pulls a response from me. It starts with D-Rex at Underground Con, playing games, making connections of his own, and us apart but closer than we were a year ago when it would have freaked us both out to be so separately social.
It's not that there is no linearity, obviously things happen chronologically, and overlap is easy to account for in a narrative. But my thoughts aren't following those logical lines, and I'm back and forth between ideas and not sure how to articulate it.
So narrow it down to the feeling of gratitude and closeness when D-Rex told me I could stay at Mister Pie's house last night if I wanted. Oh, how I wanted. The way D-Rex kissed me and seemed unreservedly happy to send me off for a night with my boyfriend. The feeling of being-wanted when Mister Pie agreed to drive back and get me, wanted to spend the night with me. That's what poly should be, I think. A surfeit of love and desire.
Narrow it down to the feel of my lover's body, the scratch of his scruff on my skin, the press of his hands on my hips, his breath in my ear.
And this, that I keep coming back to...
"I want to watch you masturbate."
And his hands mirroring mine, his eyes intent on me, naked together and rarely touching but so intimate.
"Yes, come for me."
And orgasm, together. My hands on my body, his hands on his body, but closer than any fucking.
And this, too, his voice this morning narrating our sex, the friction of his thumb on my clit and his cock hard under me. Talking to me like I like to be talked to, getting it exactly right.
(And I wonder, sometimes, how it is possible for someone to get it so right and I feel a little guilty, a little selfish, a little spoiled because I don't know if I get it right like that for him.)
And shifting again, with the wondering, to thinking about learning and exploring and it brings me back to The Cyclist and Filmme Fatale and I am uncertain again. And excited. And I imagine life full of more love and desire and exploration and adventure and uncertainty and thrilling, breathtaking joy than anyone actually deserves or can reasonably expect. And I think, holy fuck, that's my life.
Not perfect, but amazing.
Instead, I'm sitting at my table across from D-Rex, listening to Lykke Li. I've been reading Other People's Love Letters and daydreaming. I feel mellow and dreamy, rainy-day delighted and a little bit sleepy.
My daydreams are kaleidoscopic.
I feel like they should really be represented in some kind of colourful and artistic mindmap, but all I have is black type on white space in this text box. I'll do my best.
Lykke Li is the ambiance. Sweet songs with sexy overtones. Mellow and sensual.
D-Rex is across from me, my foot in his lap, wondering if he will reach down to touch my ankle when his game finishes. He is adorable today, his hair sticking up in curls and misbehaving spikes where he constantly runs his hands through it while playing his video games. He's started talking with a girl on OKCupid, and I am daydreaming about seeing him with someone else, catching them holding hands sneakily while she's over here for dinner, sharing a grin with him. Hearing stories about his new love, going out with them and getting to know her. (Or him, D-Rex is as likely to end up with a boyfriend as a girlfriend and that would be great, but in this case it is a "she" that he is getting to know.)
And thinking about D-Rex dating, thoughts shift and I'm thinking about The Cyclist, too, and how I wanted to ask her out on a date last night but did not. Where would I take her on a date? What would I do? I am so uncertain, lacking confidence. What if I am a terrible lover of women? What if I'm not really bi, and have only been fooling myself all these years? (Why am I even questioning this? What am I really afraid of?)
And thinking about The Cyclist and my inability to act on any desire there my thoughts shift again, kaleidoscopic, to thinking about Filmme Fatale and the fact that although she has agreed to go on a date with me, I have not set it up with her. Fail, Muffin. Fail. (I will fix that tonight, maybe. We're going to her stand-up comedy debut!)
And shifting again, to the comedy show and going there with both D-Rex and Mister Pie, I am thinking about what I started at. Polymorphic.
And it's funny, sometimes I don't know where to start a thought. There's no narrative to it, I don't know how to begin. It starts at multiple points simultaneously. It starts with Mister Pie's fingers at dinner last night, the way his slightest touch pulls a response from me. It starts with D-Rex at Underground Con, playing games, making connections of his own, and us apart but closer than we were a year ago when it would have freaked us both out to be so separately social.
It's not that there is no linearity, obviously things happen chronologically, and overlap is easy to account for in a narrative. But my thoughts aren't following those logical lines, and I'm back and forth between ideas and not sure how to articulate it.
So narrow it down to the feeling of gratitude and closeness when D-Rex told me I could stay at Mister Pie's house last night if I wanted. Oh, how I wanted. The way D-Rex kissed me and seemed unreservedly happy to send me off for a night with my boyfriend. The feeling of being-wanted when Mister Pie agreed to drive back and get me, wanted to spend the night with me. That's what poly should be, I think. A surfeit of love and desire.
Narrow it down to the feel of my lover's body, the scratch of his scruff on my skin, the press of his hands on my hips, his breath in my ear.
And this, that I keep coming back to...
"I want to watch you masturbate."
And his hands mirroring mine, his eyes intent on me, naked together and rarely touching but so intimate.
"Yes, come for me."
And orgasm, together. My hands on my body, his hands on his body, but closer than any fucking.
And this, too, his voice this morning narrating our sex, the friction of his thumb on my clit and his cock hard under me. Talking to me like I like to be talked to, getting it exactly right.
(And I wonder, sometimes, how it is possible for someone to get it so right and I feel a little guilty, a little selfish, a little spoiled because I don't know if I get it right like that for him.)
And shifting again, with the wondering, to thinking about learning and exploring and it brings me back to The Cyclist and Filmme Fatale and I am uncertain again. And excited. And I imagine life full of more love and desire and exploration and adventure and uncertainty and thrilling, breathtaking joy than anyone actually deserves or can reasonably expect. And I think, holy fuck, that's my life.
Not perfect, but amazing.