So you know how I mentioned that Taurus’ girlfriend (I feel like I should call her his wife) was coming over? And then I haven’t said anything about it here since?
When I don’t post about somebody or something, it doesn’t mean I have nothing to say, or that somebody or something that happened wasn’t/isn’t special or interesting or awesome. It usually means I haven’t had time to do somebody or something justice or something got complicated or more loaded with details and I want to unroll it in a sensible and sensitive manner, or I’m afraid someone will read it and feel bad or left out. Or I just don’t even know what to call somebody. Like Taurus’ woman/wife/girlfriend. So sometimes I never even get around to saying anything at all.
She and he are coming over Thursday night. I don’t think it (whatever “it” is) will be on the spycams. But I think it’s going to be good. And special.
Over the past few years, more than one wife (including my own) has been extremely generous and loving and open to me, and brave and optimistic and doggedly-determined to do all kinds of work to insure their partners have as much love and security and happiness as possible. They are a powerful wonder to me, and a privilege I have never deserved.
Women are such fierce lovers, they bowl me over. It’s as hard for me to talk about how I feel about them as it is hard for me to talk about how I feel about “God”. Because, you know, that’s who they are.
We got out of the house to exercise before we even ate our Thanksgiving dinner, absorbing as much of the limited late-fall sunshine as possible before it went down in the four o’clock hour.
Part of our new workout together involves running through dark tunnels:
It’s a good challenge for me to not be afraid even though my visibility is limited. I can see Delia ahead of me and know that she didn’t run into or trip over anything, so why is my body stiff and my steps reluctant like I’m bracing myself for something bad to happen?
I can see and hear enough to move forward without being so scared, and just enjoy the sound of our footsteps echoing alone down here together, and the change in sound when we slosh through shallow puddles.
Maybe because I actually have led with my nose straight into rusty doors down there when I was practicing being fearless. I didn’t die, though. So I keep on practicing and am grateful when other people lead. When I try to? Somebody usually gets hurt. Yes, this might also be a metaphor for current polyamory challenges and learning and trepidation and fears and unique fun.
Hanging onto sweaty post-run sports bra & panties
Heading out for a shower in the cabin.JOIN to see more naked pictures from where we live!
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Mornings in bed with Delia have become pretty precious. We started this one out cuddling, with her spooning me and playing with my boobs.
It was a beautiful morning, but we kept the blinds closed to fuck, easing into the day gently.
Putting on some music. One of my orgasms happened at the end of the climax / crescendo of Silversun Pickups’ “Lazy Eye”. I need to make more sex playlists.
My cunt smelled like sweaty feet and iron. We both had bad breath. I came so fucking hard. Twice.
Secret cave created by our bodies together.
Happy blurry November morning sex glow.
I’ve been more social than usual over the past week and haven’t had a day/night alone during that time: too long for me to go without solitude, but I still felt glum when Delia left tonight to head back to our Seattle studio. She’s excited to set up her new computer that she needs for editing videos.
My plan for the weekend is to work my brains off without interruptions and probably not talk to anybody. I’m looking forward to it.
Apparently people with my kind of brain do better with immediate rewards or consequences. My reward for posting this blog entry is I get to masturbate to the video Taurus and his girlfriend made on her birthday of her playing with her new vibrator.
“HERE . . . I brought you something, but you MIGHT not want it and that’s okay.”
She handed me a little greyish pouch with some black things sticking out of it. The pouch felt scrumptious, and I realized the little black things sticking out of it were GLOVE FINGERS! And the pouch was just the cuffs of the gloves turned inside out around the tips!!
I pretty much lost my shit in front of everyone, I was so excited . . . perfectly tailored tiny buttery black leather gloves. From when she was in HIGH SCHOOL. In the fifties!! In perfect condition. I put them on and they’re only a tiny bit too big . . . just enough to make delicious wrinkles. I made fists and admired the way my knuckles look stretching out the black leather, making shine pop out on each little knuckle-bump. I put my palm to my face and breathed in, and wanted to push my fingertips into my face and smother myself, just for a little while. Feel the leather on my lips. I held my own hand and felt the heat slowly seeping from one hand into the other through the leather. I loved them so much I had to take them off to concentrate on what anybody was saying, sure I wouldn’t be able to overcome the intense sensual and sexual stimulation from the gloves and be able to actually HEAR anything.
But I did hear. I am learning so much about love. And fear. And who I love and why. And how to love. But maybe not as fast as other people. All I know is some people are very wise and I’m blessed to know them and be loved and comforted and guided by them.
I couldn’t come. Even though I came half a dozen times watching the video of him and his new girlfriend. Even though I was happy and looking forward to seeing him . . . until after another one of those consciousness-changing meetings again and he was here and I put myself and my body and most of my feelings in a dark unmarked detached waiting room. So of course I can’t come all withdrawn and defensive like that (and going through Seroquel withdrawal), but at least I can get fucked hard. And of course he thinks I’m coming, but I have to break it to him when he asks for confirmation: uhmmmmm, NO. “Not when your legs were shaking?” No. “I thought I was doing good.” It *was* good! It felt great on my g-spot!
It is not your dick that failed me. The dick that’s still inside me, making me want to do something I’ve never (or rarely or at least can’t specifically recall) felt compelled to do with anybody which is to eat cum out of my pussy. HIS cum. I’m on my knees backed up against him with my hand cupping my pussy, ready to catch it as we move those parts away from each other just enough for hot cum to pour out of me into my palm. Fluid . . . consistent flowing viscosity, no thick globs ever. It’s a sacrament of loss, pressing my gasping open mouth into my tiny slimy hand, the most connected I’ve felt to him all night long. Eyes closed, tongue lapping at my own hand, breathing in a fucking beautiful flavor that I turn around and kiss all over him. Like sweet wet butter-polished wood burning at body temperature in the back of my mouth and throat. Trying to get the most out of the last little bit of something I will never have my fill of. Into his mouth, smearing it on his chin, allowing myself to love the fuck out of his face again, pressing cum from my hand onto his shoulder and wishing I could see more of it glazing his face. I eat another handful . . . it’s that fucking good to me and writing this feels like a middle-aged gross fetlifey webwhore cliche. But it’s painfully true and I mean it. I never thought I’d honestly be talking about how much I love the taste of someone’s jizz and truly believing blogging about it is romantic. I want to be intoxicated by cum together. On our faces and kiss-eating it from each other’s mouth and shiny cheeks and chin.
Today I was late, but it was perfect timing so I only had to try not to cry in front of people for half an hour. But my nose did leak teary-snot which I did wipe off with my hands so at the end I warned the ladies not to hold them. And the ladies so gently smiled on both sides of me, one firmly gripping my left arm, another resting her hand on my right. And I couldn’t say the words, only feel the warmth of their hands penetrating through my thick black coat and grey dress, knowing that warmth flowed from their hearts, through their outstretched arms connected to all the other ladies and their hearts in the circle.
Sometimes you pray for things even though you don’t believe in God. I prayed her for him, and my prayers were granted. Not by “God”, but by the good in him (and not like I truly MADE something happen/have some special power or some bullshit . . . I just recognized what he really wants and what would make him happy, and chose to concentrate on wanting that instead of wanting things/everything for myself). Because of seeing what’s good and worthy in someone else — because of loving him a lot and wanting the happy things and love (and not bad things) to happen to him and hoping that the best would prevail in his life.
I am not the best. And he can’t do what’s best for me right now, either, but I do think he’s trying HIS best.
I knew it, and I know it, and I’m happy for it. They made and are making the best happen with each other. Now I need to pray for (more of) the best in and for myself. For my wife. For a garden someday. To just get through each day without inflicting pain on myself or others. To do work that feeds us and I can feel proud of at the end of the day. For fearless sleep. For gratitude for every bite. For my love to be believed. For my intense easy loves to make pleasure and beauty and magic thrive. For what’s hard for normal people to understand about me (continue to) be where I find God, and where other people find God in me. For everyone to have at least one sweet dream that comes to life. To be more brave about what and how I share and choosing the simple things I know are most important (even if they’re not what are most important to other people). To keep getting the amounts of love and help I’ve been privileged with so far, and for it to help me make a difference.
Yesterday I started feeling super happy . . . making what I can control about my physical health my current top priority and trying to worry and complain less about everything else, devoting that energy to exercising and taking care of my body IS TOTALLY PAYING OFF! Even though I’m not doing great with the no-negativity part, my body makes me so grateful and happy. It forgives and supports me and I’m excited to keep having opportunities to see what it can do.
I’m super lucky to have the space and time and my hard-working wife‘s support to focus on this small-scale rehabilitation of myself. Having time alone has been key for me to only eat when I want to, thinking only about whether or not I’m hungry, stopping eating when I’m full . . . and reducing my tendency to use food to soothe myself and drown out excess stimuli and stress. Obviously I can’t live my whole/the rest of my life in solitary confinement in order to not overeat (in fact the past few days I’ve witnessed myself swinging back to the other side where I’m not very motivated to eat and feel nauseated by food, but that’s partly because of other stuff like resuming the pill after the week off of it), but for now some of that is okay just to get to a healthy place in my body. My brain is working and feeling way fucking better.
Yesterday and last night I also got a surge of gratitude for all of the relationships I’ve been lucky enough to have in my life, and a strong certain feeling that none of them have been accidents, even when “mistakes” were made that I don’t want to repeat. I’m not saying it’s all a bunch of magic or predestination, but I know my life has been gifted with connected experiences of loving and learning resulting from something bigger than my own individual conscious choices. Maybe the something bigger is each other mixed with coincidence and good timing. Maybe I’m just ridiculously lucky (proof: Delia ).
I’m not saying that all of my friendships and relationships have been perfect dreamy cakewalks, because they haven’t, not for me and certainly not for the people who love(d) me. But I keep learning things and experiencing exceptional things very few people have the privilege and audacity to enjoy.
Some of the most unpleasant parts of the past week involved me gaining perspective to empathize with an ex-boyfriend and understand better some of the things I did that were hurtful. Maybe it’s fucked up and superstitious/religious, but I sometimes am almost relieved (and my faith somewhat restored) when what goes around comes around and I’m taught a fucking lesson. I appreciate understanding people better and being reminded how to be kinder (and more brave and honest with myself), and again feel super fortunate that “the universe” has overall been exceedingly patient and gentle in meting out justice to me. I’ve also been blessed (by my own choices, by luck and by other people’s generosity) that I haven’t had to pay for my mistakes for the rest of my life in any serious way (pregnancy, bankruptcy, life-threatening or debilitating injuries or illnesses, horrible-forever-commitment-chains, etc.).
Recognizing these blessings makes me feel better about getting older and being sort of lost; I’m excited by the possible prospect of how much more I’ll know and understand and be of value in twenty-five years, and I’m reassured that I don’t have to plan, control, force or agonize over everything in my near and distant futures. If I were *only* open to what I could plan for and imagine as good for me, my life would probably be a boring sad tightly-laced sack of shit, regret, misery and hopelessness.
I’M SO FUCKING THANKFUL for my parents at this moment for how loving and fervent and defiantly different they are/were. They are/were not ordinary, and because of that and their constant unconditional love I’m able to keep growing into believing it’s good to be *out* of the ordinary, and to recognize and celebrate that my life as it is right now is fucking EXTRAordinary. With the potential for unbounded joy in excess of all normal people’s expectations or imaginings. I wish for everybody to have the freedom and good fortune to experience this, too!