video update

Indigenous American Genocide Day

As we come upon Indigenous American Genocide Day, I reflect on this holiday I call Thanksgiving and have celebrated for 41 years. 

To me,  a white person,  with enough disposable income to afford dinner with all the trimmings,  this holiday is about family.  It's about colder weather and gathering together with people that I love, eating gluttonous amounts of food. It's about focusing on gratefulness rather than the commercial nightmare that Christmas has become. It's  the one time of year that I eat turkey.

It is my favorite holiday.  I love dinner at 12, laze about watching movies or football,  eat again at 4, take a nap,  eat some pie. Apple is my favorite pie of all time. I don't care if everyone else eats pumpkin pie. 

But what does it say about my values? My priorities? My care and concern for others?

At some point along the journey of my life, I picked up the phrase,  "Don't be sorry,  just don't do it anymore."

Taking your own advice is never easy.  How can I retain a personally meaningful tradition that is divorced from its origins?

As a white person,  I have discarded the "traditions" of my family because they seemed so meaningless. How can I honor the traditions, and lives, of others if I don't even honor my own traditions?

How do I reconcile the two?

Transitioning

Hello. I started writing this blog when my life, as I knew it, fell apart.

 

So much has changed and happened in this past year of my life. The cascade of transitions began when BadBoi broke up with me (September 19, 2014). I met (November 2, 2014) and fell in love (December 13, 2014) with Kyle. I came out as genderfluid (February 19, 2015). I moved to Olympia, WA (April 3, 2015) and started a new job with my company. I was served with divorce papers which indicated that I was only able to see my daughter 54 days a year (Mid May 2015). I started testosterone (T) therapy (July 23, 2014) with 25 mg every two weeks. I attended Gender Odyssey (August 21-23, 2015) for the first time and was amazed to see so many non-binary people in one place.  I stepped up my T dosage for the first time (September 24, 2015) to 25 mg every week to avoid the mood swings I was experiencing in the first phase of my T therapy .  My divorce with a my ideal parenting plan was finalized (October 16, 2015).  Later this month, I will welcome a new kitten into my family and increase my T dosage for a second time, hopefully to 50 mg every week.

 

I have spent a great deal of time and energy focused inward, working to become a person I would want to be friends with. I have been exploring kink and non-monogamy, feeling out my personal boundaries on how I want to navigate these areas in my life.  I find myself coming to a place where I have the energy and inclination to reach out to my community and contribute in meaningful ways.

 

I know that there aren’t that many of you out there who routinely read this blog. Truthfully, there hasn’t been much to read here in the past few months as I have dealt with all the family transitions and hashing out the divorce and trying to finish up the short sale of the house to close out my bankruptcy.

 

I am grateful to all of you. You have read and followed and just knowing that you clicked on my page was enough to feel supported in so many ways.

 

Thank you.

 

 

money

• I recognize that right now I need to be obsessive about money. Obsession uses spoons.
• I hate feeling like I need to be obsessive about money. Hate uses spoons.
• I carefully crafted a plan to cover from now until November 6. Careful crafting uses spoons.
• Even though I have a plan, I feel like my money situation is out of control. Out of control uses spoons.
• I worry because I’ve been driving on a flat-ish tire for the past week because I can’t scrape together 4 quarters. Worry uses spoons.
 
(This is the part where I felt I ran out of spoons.)
 
• Then, I am reminded that I upped my 401(k) contribution, then I have to go and rearrange my carefully crafted plan. Rearranging uses spoons.

 

---

• Having the presence of mind to be obsessive is a blessing. I am grateful for my presence of mind.
• Having the energy to hate things is a blessing. I am grateful for my energy.
• Having the ability to carefully craft a plan of action is a blessing. I am grateful for the ability to carefully craft a plan of action.
• Having the energy to feel like things are out of control is a blessing. I am grateful for my energy.
• Having the energy to worry about a flat-ish tire is a blessing. I am grateful for my energy.
• Having the desire to verify my funds lead to the discovery that my paycheck was less than I thought it was. This led to determination to rearrange the carefully crafted plan, so it would still work. These are blessings. I am grateful for my desire, my curiosity, and my determination.

 

Now, I’m going to the bathroom to cry, because I was able to remind myself how great I am and all the talents I have. I am grateful to know that I have more energy than I ever realized.

 

Growth and Pain and Passion and Pain

Today is September 14th. Five days from now is the first anniversary of Bad Boi's reading of her break up letter in our first and only marriage counseling session.

The divorce is nearly finalized and it has been a long time coming. Today, I signed and notarized the appropriate pages. I sent them to my attorney. I feel like a mess. I'm on the verge of tears, edging there like a slut begging for orgasmic release.

Cynthia Occelli wrote:

"For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction."

While I understand this on an intellectual level, my heart and soul are crying out at the rending apart of this relationship.

While parts of me look forward to the horizon, these parts of me are sitting in a diner, eating my sadness in the form of cheese fries and a French dip sandwich. These parts of me are drinking bottomless cups of coffee, trying to validate my feelings and explain my pain on a cell phone while listening to Dar Williams.

Today, I stay here and honor the seed that I once was.

Dreaming True Dreams

My dream:

I have been dreaming of a humming bird often over the past few weeks. It has the coloring of a Scrub Jay and it also has a crest, like a Stellar's Jay, but the crest is blue, not black. It flies around like a humming bird and is almost tame. In each of the dreams the bird gets progressively closer to me.

Last night, I was walking in my dream and this bird landed on my right shoulder. The weather was blue skies with fluffy clouds and I was happy and excited that the bird landed on my shoulder. I took some selfies because when does a humming bird land on your shoulder?!

Right after that, I ate half the bird and it was tasty.

I posted the dream to FB and my friend, the Seer, responded and explained the following to me.

• Birds are messengers and represent joys, happiness, and spiritual connection
• Humming birds fly in ALL directions.
• Blue is the color of information, spirit opening up, and the throat (therefore speech)
• This all combines to let me know that messages are coming in from all directions and prayers are being answered.
• Walking indicates that I am able to support myself and things are going well
• The right shoulder signifies how I give love.
• Eating and enjoying eating the bird indicates that I am taking in the messages, following my heart and giving back.
• Eating only half the bird, means I'm half-assing it.

Her advice was to go full throttle towards my desires.

Kyle read it and stated it was on point and when I asked him about it, he replied that I am supporting myself and that I am receiving messages from all over. He went on to say that I am connected and and receiving answers and that when I open myself to those answers, amazing good things happen. He prefaced all this by saying that he couldn't speak specifically to what I am not taking in vs what I am accepting.

I asked him to sit and listen to his gut about that particular thing, because he knows me so well. He told me he thinks that I resist answers from people that I struggle with, and while sometimes I do accept those messages/answers, it appears more difficult for me. He went on further, stating it is appears that messages/answers from BadBoi appear to be the hardest to absorb.

Here's what I didn't tell the Seer:

I was horrified after eating the bird, because the it was still living. I decided to cut off the bird's head to "put it out of it's misery" and then I threw the bird and it's head in a swamp.

After reading what Kyle and the Seer had shared with me, some things snapped into focus for me. I do actively resist some information and answers from BadBoi, and others, especially the things I don't want to hear or the things that I hear and then feel like I'm not being seen as a whole, functioning, trustworthy person.

Life with BPD

Today is a day when living with borderline personality disorder has been challenging. At this time in my life I am sitting with divorce papers in my in my bag. I want to be divorced from Bad Boi. I have also attributed meaning to the divorce and that meaning is that I am unsuccessful with long-term relationships. I wonder what is wrong with me that I can't maintain a long term loving relationship with another human being. I know that's a bunch of shit. I maintain loving relationships with family members, with good friends, and functional relationships with colleagues and peers.

Dealing with a divorce is exhausting in general. I'm distracted. I am constantly concerned about when the paperwork will get to me and when will I get the paperwork back to my attorney and who's going to notarize my separation contract because I only have 20 bucks between all of my accounts and the cash in my pocket and it feels debilitating like I just wanna stay in bed and not do any of it.

Now say that run-on sentence over and over and over again in your head as fast as you possibly can. You will have a glimpse of what it's like inside my BPD brain just around that one particular topic.

And you might also know that it is similar for smaller things like chat windows that don't share the whole chat or computer programs at work that don't run fast enough or making coffee or trying to get ready in the morning or any of those other daily life type things...

The THOUGHT PROCESS OF ALL OF MY LIFE is like that spinning hamster wheel.

I have to take time to stop, get off of the hamster wheel in my brain, step back, and breathe. I have to do these things or my emotional responses are completely out of line with reality.

This takes energy and so how I cope with that is by trying to manage the expectations that I have around things. So if I ask you about an agreement that we have, it's not that I think that you're inconsiderate. I don't think that you're a bad person. I don't think that you're cruel. I don't think that you're mean.

When I ask to change our agreements, it's to protect myself and try and slow down that hamster wheel in my brain and stop my emotional response from spinning out of control. Constantly running on that wheel is exhausting and my emotions often come out sideways with BPD and even more so when I'm exhausted.

Feeling all the FEELS

Tonight is a heavy processing night. On my kitchen table are the final documents that I need to sign and have notarized in order to end my marriage. It's been almost a year since Bad Boi broke up with me. It looks like the divorce will actually be final right around that year mark, give or take a couple of days.

When  Bad Boi and I got married we wrote our own vows and I used the following quote to start my vows.

"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet I mean what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage you're promising to care about everything, the good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things, all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness."

As glad As I am to sever the legal relationship that I share with her, the choices that I am currently making about how to live my life are drastically different than what I thought my life would look like.

My now current plan is to live alone for the rest of my life. There are so many positives to this, even though I'm crying right now. I can have my space the way I want it and I can buy the things that I like and I can be as minimalist as I want to be.

I have the sweet love of Kyle and have a wonderful friendship with Mrs. Kyle. I am so blessed to have them as a part of my family. And this whole emotional roller coaster that I'm on right now is not helped by the fact that tomorrow is their 22nd anniversary. Right now I'm feeling a lot of envy for that kind of relationship, a relationship where you can rely on somebody to be there for DECADES.

I thought I would have that in my life. Though I've said before; you only have yourself to rely on at the end of the day. This feels painfully true for me.

I can be deliriously in love with Kyle, and I cannot envision a life where I will ever be able to rely on someone to be there like that for me. Because nearly a year after I spent 6 weeks in my bed, trying not to kill myself, I am still emotionally debilitated by the idea that I'm only going to have myself to rely on for the rest of my life.

Loving Gratitude

Kyle, you never cease to amaze me. When I think of what we do and who we are and how intense we are, I nearly fall over with the beauty of us and the resilience of us.

When I think of how you submit to me, when I think of how you trust me to push you far enough, but not too far, and you ask me to share pleasure with you in a way that you don't generally share with others; all I can think is how handsome you are and how strong you are and how proud I am of you.

I love you more and more and more, every single day. I get tears in my eyes thinking about how you share your vulnerability with me. I feel blessed to know that you share so much with me, you are all in with me,  that I see so much of you. I don't have words for how much I love you and if you could hear my voice right now, you would hear it wobble with passion and notice the catch as I speak.

Our love is a gift. It fills me up and overflows onto everything around us.

Thank you.
Thank you for being you.
Thank you for loving with your whole heart.
Thank you for taking down your walls at a time when most people would be reinforcing them.

I love you

Rope Thoughts.

When I was tying you in my rope, I had a vision of you in the body you were creating for yourself. I wanted to expose your sensitive nipples, so I could play with (torture?) them. As I tied you, I felt powerful and strong. I felt creative and sexy. I felt blessed because you gave your body over to me so that I could recreate you in the bound image floating in my mind's eye. 

Looking at it in retrospect, I see issues with rope tension. The rope tension affects the function of the piece. I see issues with the flow of the lines, which affects the form of the piece. I desire more practice, working with the rope, feeling the fiber, understanding the energy that flows through me when I tie, and engaging in the energy with my rope partner.

At this stage, I think the function of the tie is primary; the form of the lines is secondary. Over time, with more practice, the function and form will blend to make beautiful art. I desire the beautification of this mitzvah as a way to elevate it, to make it more holy.

Engaging in these intimacies with you is always holy, and yet, I want to level up. I want continually sanctify our love and our loving, blooming in the radiance of the world.

Thank you for letting me experiment with you, love.

Thank you for the gift of yourself.

Kyle in my rope.

Haiku of Desire

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Gender Odyssey 2015, Pt 3

I'm home now. I'm easing my reentry to the land of muggles by taking today off work. I'm slowly sorting through the details of how I am feeling after living in Translandia for the past four days. The thought at the front of my brain? I AM NOT ALONE*.




I spent most of my time in workshops designed for non-binary folks. I met and connected with folks who were walking down the middle of the road or completely off the road in their own unique ways and my heart became fuller and fuller all throughout the weekend.




As the dust settles, I am reminded of the wonderful people with which I connected. As I reflect on the connections forged, I imagine that some will be ephemeral and some will be eternal and every variation of the places between  and surrounding those two small points in space-time.




I am reminded of the infinite ways in which we exist and the infinite ways we relate to others. And all the ways are equally important. I may never see some of these folks again and yet they have touched my life in very tangible ways, assisting with my growth as a human in genderfluid form.




I am also planning ways in which I might contribute to Gender Odyssey 2016 and how I can grow and connect  with my local trans* population. Knowing that I am not alone provided such wonderful relief; I want to share that relief around with others.


















*I understand that living in Olympia, Was, I do not experience the isolation of folks living elsewhere. Trans* folks of all stripes live here. I am mostly familiar with transmasculine people.

Gender Odyssey 2015 Pt 2

It's our second night in the hotel. We have made it through our first full day of Gender Odyssey 2015.

I'm not alone. Even though I use she/her/hers, I still identify as genderfluid. Many of my people use they/them/theirs. I saw so many of us today.

WE ARE BEAUTIFUL!

I'm caught up in the be you/do you crush conundrum. We aren't all friends yet. We may never be. And yet, I have the feeling that I have found my family.

Feelings going into Gender Odyssey 2015

I Hate Reciprocal Sex!

Reciprocal sex is overrated and has no place in adult sexuality.

Read it again. I really wrote that.

You might disagree with my statement, so let's start with some definitions.

Reciprocity
: a situation or relationship in which two people or groups agree to do something similar for each other, to allow each other to have the same rights, etc. : a reciprocal arrangement or relationship ¹

Equality
: the quality or state of being equal ²

Equal
: the same in number, amount, degree, rank, or quality
: having the same mathematical value
: not changing : the same for each person³

I want to have sex. More so, I want to partake in the myriad sexual activities that individuals and groups devise with their desires. I want to strap on and fuck your holes with my cock. I want to feel a mouth on my click, sucking and biting. I want to feel my fingers fuck your ass, all warm and tight. I want to open my cunt for your cock, your fingers, your tongue, your fist. I want to use my teeth and claws to bruise and hurt you.

Please notice that none of these sexual activities are the same for each person. I want to get what I want and I want you and the others to get what you want. "I'll suck your click if you suck mine" doesn't really work for me and I'm not certain how it works for anyone. I don't want reciprocal sex; I want equitable sex.

Equitable
: just or fair : dealing fairly and equally with everyone⁴ 

Some people conflate reciprocal sex with active sex. I like being the recipient of  penetrative sex. I prefer to be actively receptive. There are others out there who are passively receptive, and they are awesome! If you aren't engaging in the type of sexual activity you enjoy, then talk with your partner. Being direct and upfront about your preferences is the best way to ensure that you will engage in sex that ROCKS YOUR WORLD.

This whole post was started by a conversation I had with an acquaintance who was complaining about "pillow princesses" and how they never told this person ahead of time that they didn't like reciprocal sex and also by a blog written by my friend The Knife, who identifies as stone butch.

"So what does Stone mean to me? It means that I don't take my boxer briefs off, and I don't get touched anywhere that's covered by my boxer briefs. I don't orgasm with other people. For the record, many years ago, I did try all the things that everyone else seems to like, and I hated them. My sexual boundaries are open for discussion, but they're non-negotiable. It doesn't matter who you are, or how much I love you. I don't do that. Sex for me is not an unequal trade. Rather, it's an exchange of currencies. What I give to you, and what I take from you are different, but they are of equal worth."

When I read over this, I am offended on her behalf because she has to justify her boundaries. I find this absolutely repugnant. Also, I find this passage highly inspiring. It reminds is that there is more than one kind of sexual exchange, and that is okay!

So get out there, stop expecting reciprocal sex and start asking for what you want and what you desire. Take hold of the reins of your sex life and ride off into your sunset.

1. "Reciprocal." Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 22 July 2015. <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/reciprocal>.
2. "Equal." Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 22 July 2015. <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/equal>.
3. "Equality." Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 22 July 2015. <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/equality>.
4. "Equitable." Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 22 July 2015. <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/equitable>.

First Video

I overcame my fear to make this video.

Fight or Flight Can Happen With Emotions, Too.

Not everyone knows that your body can react with the fight or flight adrenaline rush from emotions. I know this. It has happened to me several times in my life. The most recent time was today, right before lunch.

 

There are plenty of sacred things with my lover. Most sacred is not to box each other in, to share our bodies and minds as freely as our joys and our interests. It leaves room for a delightful blossoming, a growing garden filled with fruit and flowers. It is a garden that feeds our bodies and our souls.

 

We are also human, so it also leaves us open to envy and jealousy and pain at misunderstandings. I think the benefits and joys outweigh the possible hurt. It’s why I continue on with my polyamorous life choice.  It doesn’t mean that hurt doesn’t happen, because it does. It did today.

 

Kyle and I were chatting, as we do during the day, about people we are connecting with and what we are talking about with those people. He was chatting with a newly exploring kinky person about daddy/boy play (no, I don’t capitalize) and as he told me about this, I felt a prick of jealousy. This is nothing new, I’m new to poly and I’m still working out my jealousy/envy coping skills. When he went on to describe how he doesn’t enter this dynamic without spanking, I felt the full blown adrenaline rush of fight or flight. One of the things I held sacred, our daddy/girl dynamic, was scattered to the winds, I felt a covenant was broken.

 

I’ll start off by saying, I almost always FIGHT when I feel that adrenaline hit. Physical altercations, verbal eviscerations…pretty much anything that I can do to hurt the other person.

 

I always regret this decision. You can’t undo physical harm. You can’t unsay hateful words said in anger. I told him I was pinched, our code word for hurt/jealous/envious.

 

Sitting at my desk, I needed to do something. I had chosen not to fight. There was nothing to run from. The only thing left was to run towards my pain with a lunch time walk. The downside to running towards your pain is that you feel it. You take your walk, you breathe deeply, and you get to the sad and hurt of the pain and you sit with it.  It sucks. And you breathe deeply and you continue to feel the hurt. And you read the apologies and you feel the hurt.  Getting the picture? You just feel the hurt. There is no way around it, so you walk with it. You tell it you understand. You tell it that I can’t stay with you forever, just until it gets back on its feet and walks itself right out of your life.

 

And I give myself a pat on the back for choosing a different path. I acknowledge myself and the new choice I made. A new choice that I made in love, for myself and for my lover.

 

Kyle, you and your integrity inspire me to reach new heights and strike out on new paths. Thank you, and I love you.

More, Please...

The arrivals gate at the airport isn't the same. I remember being able to wait at the gate. I liked the immediacy of contact, only waiting for a single flight to deplane before seeing my people. Now, I wait at the far end of the security checkpoint to avoid the crowds of people waiting for their loved ones.

There is a certain swagger of your body that I see long before I see your face. I zeroed in on that motion trying to catch a glimpse of the face; there is no doubt, it's you. I have found you in a sea of people and I drink in the sight of you and your sexy bowed legs.

It has been so long and yet it is only a blip in my memory. I feel that I should be running to you, and yet I am rooted to that spot; I cannot move.  You approach, our eyes locked, our lips meeting. I melt like chocolate into your strong chest.  Your arms wrap around my shoulders as my arms circle your waist. It reads like a romantic reunion, sweet and kind. No one know can tell what I really want from you.


As we pull apart,  your hands drop to my hips, grasping firmly enough to leave marks. The sigh escapes from my mouth as my nipples tingle and tighten, my cunt throbbing. It has been too long since someone put forceful hands on me. It lights a fire inside me like nothing else. It is a hunger that I've tried to bury for the last 15 years, and with this one action, it returns. My hunger gnaws at me from the inside out.  I whisper my desire into your ear, barely hiding my desperation. "Please, I want you to fuck me. I need you fill my cunt with your fist and my ass with your hard cock."

You push me into the wall, spreading my legs with your knee. I feel the hard length of your cock firm against my thigh. With the skirt that I am wearing, it would be easy for you to slip your cock inside me and fuck me right there, in front of all those people coming through security. Instead, you slip a discrete finger in to my throbbing pussy, getting my juices all over it and then use that lubed finger to play with my clit. My hips rock and buck ever so slightly; I am trying to be inconspicuous in my desire. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks; so do you. I can tell by the way you ramp up the intensity of your touch. I am moaning, trying to keep quiet but I keep seeing furtive glances in our direction. I feel so exposed. I'm just about to ask you to stop when you remove your hand from between my legs and lick your finger clean.


Relief and frustration wash over me in a unified wave. I grab your hand and drag you to my car. I am glad that you only have that carry-on bag...I can't stand around and wait for luggage tonight.

The drive to my house seems to take forever and before we are even on the freeway, I grab your hand and shove it between my legs. I am so wet, I have completely soaked my panties. you rub for just a second on the outside of them before your fingers pull them aside and slide into my cunt. you start with one, but I give you that look that begs for more. You are frustratingly gentle with me as you slide your second finger inside me, probing my depths with delicate skill. You stop when I almost drive us off the Glen Jackson Bridge into the river. I give you a side glance and smile as I right our course.

Normally, I follow the rules. It's kinda my thing. Tonight my lead foot is on the gas and I'm blowing through all the lights just to make sure we get to my place that much faster. We tumble out of the car and the garage door isn't even down when you bend me over the hood of my car and slide your thick cock into my dripping pussy while you press my hips into the car with your hands. Starting off with slow, measured thrusts, you delight in the dance my hips do as they beg you to fuck me harder. I push back against you, shoving my cunt onto your cock and you start to realize what a slut I am. It truly snaps into focus for you when I slide my pussy off your cock, adjust just a bit, and take the entire length of you up my ass with one forceful push of my hips against you.

At this point, I have you pressed up against the wall and I am slamming my ass onto your hard dick and you are rubbing my clit in all the right ways. You can tell I am going to cum because I start to slow down and I am rubbing my clit with you. My ass grinds you into the wall and with one final thrust, I scream out my orgasm.

You don't let it stop with that, you push me back into the car and fuck me harder and harder until you come, collapsing on top of me.


Your cock is very thick and my bits are bruised from the pounding we've been giving each other; I think my ass might be bleeding just a little. I slowly push my self up off the car, disengage from you and turn around. Your face is flushed with the exertion and I am sure mine is as well. My eyes go soft, I am so glad that you are here. I lean forward and enjoy a leisurely kiss, our tongues dancing slowly. When I pull away, we smooth our rumpled clothing and I invite you into my home. You stare at my ass as I step up to the door in front of you. I want your hands on me, but I will wait until you are rested and I am so tortured that I cannot help myself.

I offer you a chair and a beer, grab your bag and bring it into the house.  I kneel and untie your shoes. I take your socks off, roll up your pant legs and place your tired feet into the foot tub filled with steaming water and  Epsom salts. While your feet soak, I finish preparing a light supper and place it in front of you and kneel at your side. I love the fact that you play with my hair while you eat. When you are finished, I clear your plate and come back to dry your feet and massage them, applying a light peppermint lotion to help sooth them. When I look up, I see the mischievous look in your eyes and I know that our rest is over now.


You stand up and grab my hands, placing them on your belt buckle. I know what comes next. With excruciatingly slow movements, I unfasten you belt, pulling it free from your pants. I hand it to you, in case you might want to use it for something later. I unfasten your button and zipper with my teeth and reach for your sides,  pulling your pants off your hips and dropping them to the floor. Grasping my hair, you guide your cock into my mouth. It is bigger than I am accustomed to, but I do my best to make you proud of me. In short order, you yank me to my feet and turn me around, looping the belt around my neck. You push me forward and I stumble, my upper body crashing onto the top of the table, the cold surface keenly felt through the sheer material of my top. I feel your hands roughly tear at my panties, pulling them down just enough so they don't get in the way of your dick as you slide it into my ass. When you are buried to the hilt, you lean over and with a menacing whisper, you tell me to keep still.

I stand as still as I can. My brain is elsewhere and all I notice is the searing feeling of you sliding in and out of my ass. I don't even notice that my breath is ragged and restricted by the belt. With one hand on my hip and the other firmly gripping the belt around my neck you begin to ride me, your need spurring you to fuck me harder and deeper. My ass is on fire now and I know that I am a twisted slut when I feel my juices drip down my leg. I was made for this kind of rough treatment. I could call it abuse, but I like it too much for it to ever be truly abusive. The burning in my ass intensifies as you ride me and all of the sudden i realize I cannot draw a breath. I begin to panic, which excites you in a way I have not experienced before. I can feel myself drifting away to unconsciousness when you rip my ass open with one final thrust.


It is the barest whisper, but you still catch it as it passes my lips...
                               "apple"


Instantly, you loosen the belt around my neck and gently slide out of my ass. I know that my instincts weren't wrong to choose you for this because I feel your hands on me, stroking me, grounding me, calming me. This has been an intense ride. It is the first time I have been with you; it is the first time I've allowed anyone to be intimate with me in 6 months; it's the first time that I have let anyone use me like this, ever. I feel broken and whole.

We move to the bedroom. Undressing slowly, I feel your hands on my back to steady me. A gentle fire is stoked in that moment; you have found my secret spot. I reach out to you, gently pulling our bodies together as my head rests against your chest. We breathe together for a few moments and I raise my head, a quiet pleading in my tearful eyes. "More, please."

Genderfluid Medical Transition Begins...Finally

I decided to transition in February. I found a doctor, set up an appointment, and finished all the labs. And then life happened. I got a new job in Olympia. I put medical transition off.

 

Once I moved, I found a provider, set up an appointment, and did all the labs AGAIN. I was hoping to get my scrip on the 13^th. And at the appointment, I found out that I DID need a letter from my therapist.  FUCK.

 

I told my therapist and we spent my whole session on the 16^th going over my dysphoria, permanent effects of T, temporary effects of T, the possible impact on my mental health and my strategies for coping. Then it took a WHOLE WEEK to get the letter.  I got that letter yesterday and took it to the provider’s office and traded it in for my scrip.

 

I took the scrip to the pharmacy. Because the dosing directions were off, the pharmacist didn’t want to give me the scrip before he got it sorted out with my provider. I walked away…and just before I left the store, I walked back. I looked him straight in the eye and told him I didn’t want to leave without my scrip. I told him that I had been waiting a long time for this and I just wanted to get started. I had tears in my eyes. We decided on a compromise. He didn’t give me the whole scrip and I took a 1 mL bottle home with me. I asked for syringes and the pharmacy assistant that rang me asked what length and gauge. I told her just the syringes, because I already have the needles.  Her eyes got big as she tried to figure out why I might have them and she went to get the syringes for me.

 

Kyle calls it man juice. I told him that doesn’t work for me so he came up with magic juice. I like that just fine. :D

 

Kyle talked me through my first shot. On the first poke, I struck a nerve and my quad wiggled around all funny, like a quad sized fish on a hook. I did a second poke and it went much better. I got it all in and now I wait to see what happens.

 

One thing I have noticed is that my brain is remarkably quiet. I’m not sure if it’s a physical response or emotional response to starting T.  It might not be related at all. I’m not sure.

More on Genderfluid Transition.

I didn’t  recognize that I am trans* for most of my life. I always viewed the idea of trans* in a binary format. Then I met Kyle. He was open with me about his gender identity, answering questions with kindness. He directed me to websites and blogs and all sorts of resources. As I became more proficient with search terms, I learned more. As I learned more, I realized that I am genderfluid. I also realized that I wanted to pursue medical transition to the middle of the road.  At least I call it the middle of the road.

 

I told a few people. I was met with confusion and disbelief. I stopped telling people. This path, while true for me, isn’t easy. I mostly don’t miss who I thought I was. I find that I am more comfortable with my handsome person in dresses look. I’m more comfortable in my person in dude clothing with make-up on look.  You might think that doing that should have been easy. The actions are easy enough to accomplish. The confidence, power, and comfort in doing those actions is not always easy to accomplish.

 

When you find your path, and you follow it, everything becomes easier. At least it has in my experience. I made the decision to pursue testosterone therapy to obtain a deeper voice and facial/body hair, which brings me more to the middle of the road on the gender spectrum. I made the decision to pursue testosterone therapy to obtain growth of my click (clit-dick), which brings me more to the adult development stages of my human body.

 

Obtaining testosterone has been more difficult that I originally thought it would be.  I needed all the tests again. I do need a letter from my therapist, which I didn’t think I would need.  The purpose of the letter is different than I thought when it was first brought to my attention. It more addresses my mental ability to grant informed consent. I spent a whole therapy session on answering the questions posed by my therapist so he could write the letter.

 

One topic that came up, which I wasn’t expecting, was the description of my dysphoria. Knowing your path is not the same thing as dismantling your ideas about why that path is where it is. When he asked, I didn’t start to answer for a full minute.  I needed time to check in, think about it, find the things that I associate with dysphoric feelings.  Three main areas came up: Body/facial hair, voice, and my click.

 

One other thing came up today. Menstruation. I remember the betrayal I felt. How could my body betray me like that? I thought that those feeling were normal, that all girls felt that way. The women in my life had so many names for it. They called it the curse, Aunt Flo, the crimson tide… As time wore on, I came to accept it as the price I had to pay to have children. Looking back, I think I might have misinterpreted the feelings of others regarding their periods. Let’s face it, I didn’t really know what was normal for girls. I knew what was normal for me. My two closest friends were excited to get their periods. I felt like a freak because I never wanted it.

 

Out of four things that I experience dysphoria around, menstruation is the worst and I am grateful that it doesn't happen every day.  It might be for the best that I never carried a child to term. Maybe I would have lost it, watching my body grow a human. I’ll never know for sure, and the more I think on it, the less it bothers me.

 

I should get my letter this week. Once I do get it, I’ll get my scrip for T.  Once I get my scrip for T, I’ll shoot myself up in the thigh and see what happens.

 

Thank you, Kyle, for being my biggest cheerleader.

 

Thank YOU random reader,  for reading the story of my life. Thank YOU for being a witness to my life.

How I Feel After I Hurt You.

My lover, today we shared our lunch hour like we so often do. Last night was very intense and being able to snuggle with you and chat about in the light of day means so much to me after a night like last night.

 

Once I felt sure of my footing, I decided to hurt you. You acquiesced to my biting teeth.  You submitted to my slap happy hands. You withstood the onslaught of my fists. My diligent fingers finding all those tender spots for poking and pinching. And at the end, you made yourself cum by rubbing your cock on my thigh, looking me in the eye because that is what I demanded of you.

 

I cannot tell you the all the emotions that swirl through my head when you subject yourself to my will. I cannot tell you how proud I am of your strength, the strength that shines even if you are not prepared for my level of intensity. I cannot tell you how I fall more deeply in love with you, the softness I feel in my chest opening me up wide to your soul. I cannot tell you how the tears form in my eyes, aching with the simple beauty of you.

 

Kyle, thank you. Thank you so much for everything you share with me and all that you give to me. I am truly blessed.

 

So Many Changes (Part 2)

I've been in Oly for 10 weeks now.

 

A brief synopsis:

• I started a new job.
• I began spending more time with Butchtastic Kyle, deepening our relationship.
• I've made friends with Mrs. Kyle.
• I've met my need for physical loving. (Lusty delightful, dirty, filthy sex is on my hierarchy of needs, right above food and housing.)
• I've kept to my motto, even though I got a surprise divorce summons in early May. (See previous post on adulting)
• BadBoi and I have started our new parenting arrangement, which will last until the Small Spawn starts school.

Even though I've only been here for 10 weeks, I feel like this is my home. I felt that way from my first visit, but it's really settling in now. I enjoy my job. I love my apartment. I started a Meetup Group for Queers.


My divorce should be final on 07.03.15. My bankruptcy should be discharged on 07.13.15. My Testosterone therapy will be starting in late July. And blogging! I'm excited to be back. I'm excited to talk about all the kinky, sexy things that I love talking about.


I have a recent BSQ experience to talk about, too. Double topped by Butchtastic Kyle and Neighbor Femme! Swoon!




THANK YOU  FOR STICKING WITH ME THROUGH THIS DROUGHT!

So Many Changes, Part 1 (aka my atty is going to kick my butt for posting)

I've been in Olympia for nearly 7 weeks. In that time I have completed a graduate level education in adulting. I have done more adulting in the past 7 weeks than I have done in the rest of my life. Or maybe it just feels that way.


You may remember that in September 2014, BadBoi broke up with me. After all, that is when I started this blog. We tried to be a family; the broken shards of our relationship contained in the home we shared together. We wanted the best for our small spawn.


It was disheartening. I felt that it was a disaster at the time. There was no space to breathe. I was trying to make wide spread changes in my life. While my motto* seems simple, in practice it was more difficult to live by than I originally anticipated. I didn't feel there was space to practice my new way of being in the world without stepping on toes.  As time wore on, I felt more and more caged in. I know it was my own doing, and that didn't make it any easier. The  cage felt smaller and smaller and I felt trapped in a house that was no longer a home with a person who was no longer my spouse working a job that supported the family that was no longer mine. I was only there to take care of my spawn, trying to maintain some semblance of stability in her young life. We thought it best for her wellbeing.


Wellbeing is an interesting concept. It doesn't just encompass the here and now. It is a much bigger picture, it encompasses the whole being on multiple levels and in multiple layers. Should I stay and step on the wreckage of life as I had known it? What would be the cost to my heart? What would be the cost to my soul? What would be the cost to my child?


My perspective is colored by my lived experiences. I survived a divorce when I was only 2 years older than my child. My mother and father have been divorced for the past 36 years. My mother passed away nearly 7 years ago. And even now, so long after, I am still unraveling, cleaning, and clearing the debris of that trauma from my life. I cannot protect my child from everything. I CAN take the best care of me possible and thus, be able to take care of her, too.


When I decided I wanted to move, I checked in with BadBoi before I even put in the application for my Oly job. I didn't want to blindside her with my plans. I knew that my plans were not in alignment with our original vision. I also knew that the original vision we shared was not working for me. I don't think it was working for BadBoi, either. If it isn't working for us, it sure as hell can't work for our child. Making the decision to move was the second hardest thing I have ever done. The hardest thing I ever did was the day I actually moved my belongings to my new city. I left behind a house that was no longer a home, a person who was no longer my spouse, and a job that supported the family that was no longer mine.

Hiatus

I miss this place to pour out my feelings, the revelations, the defeats,  and the wins. I'm hopeful that the time is coming soon when I can post without the threat of adverse repercussions on my divorce.

Leveling Up: Patterns

Patterns. They are those little things that you keep reliving over and over and over again.

They're the same little things you sit and wonder about over the course of your life, thinking "Why the fuck am I doing this...AGAIN?"

They are those little things that EVERY long term person you've dated asks, "Why do you KEEP doing this?"

For me there are several patterns that keep coming up.

1. Why do you always need to have the last word?

2. Why do you always need to be right?

3. Why are you talking to me like that? You're not my mom!

And one recent morning, as my soon-to-be-ex wife is having a meltdown over something she has absolutely no control over, I become my most mommy of moms. When it's all over, I realize that I don't want to be the voice of reason right at that moment. Instead, I decided to take a different tack. I decided to rant and vent and shame her for worrying over what I consider to be nothing.

When I think about the root causes of my mom behavior and my shaming behavior, the things that pop into my mind are things like my belief that somebody is behaving in a childish manner; my perception that someone's response to an incident is not what my response would be; and my reactive thought, "For serious? Are you doing it AGAIN?"

It would seem that my trigger for acting like a mom is my disapproval of how someone is processing whatever it is they are going through.

Early in the morning, when I haven't had my coffee and I'm just unconsciously reacting, my first response is to blame that person for my reaction to the trigger. The trigger being that I am percieving they are acting like an idiot.

I have to remember that I am 41 years old. I am more than old enough to see and recognize that my behavior is my own damn fault. My behavior is my own damn fault. I own my behavior.

As I was sitting in my car, talking to a machine that puts my words into a an electronic document with approximately 75% accuracy, I felt a wee bit silly. I feel ashamed that I have not done a better job to be conscious in my interactions with my soon-to-be-ex wife. I don't have to choose to be the disapproving mom. I can recognize that there are certain behaviors or my perception of certain behaviors that trip my trigger, and I don't need to respond to that trigger. Or I can choose to remove myself from the situation. Or I can verbally acknowledge "Hey, I'm experiencing something. I'm having a reaction regarding your behavior. My normal response is XYZ. I understand that's an appropriate response. Please give me a moment to adjust my attitude."

I could respond in a thousand different ways. Recognizing this, I wonder why am I not choosing a different response. When I respond like a disapproving mother, it does not serve  me.

Living with Borderline Personality Disorder

I missed my video call with my daughter last night. I felt awful. I miss her, and I also lose track of time. I sent her a video text after bedtime inside, and apologized for missing my video call. BadBoi texted this morning to ask what happened, I replied honestly. I had a parenting fail. I asked that she help me with reminders, if it is getting late and she hasn’t heard from me.

She declined. She listed out her own responsibilities regarding our child and told me she wouldn’t take responsibility for the ONE thing that I had to do; video call around bed time.

My face reddened as I suffered instant onset of a tension headache. I was overwhelmed by shame and my first response was to strike out in anger. I couldn’t do it, though. BadBoi was right. I sent a brief text to let her know that I wasn’t reading any further texts for a bit, while I got my shame spiral and resulting emotional shit storm under control.

I was struggling. I could see that she was right, and I felt the emotions swirling inside me. This is one of the things I deal with as I live with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD); emotional instability. My moods can change on a dime. I also have difficulty controlling my anger, even when it isn’t warranted.

I took time to sit out and find out where my anger was coming from and why I responded that way. I didn’t want to direct that anger at BadBoi. I was able to calm down and read through her texts with no further adverse reaction.

THIS IS AN IMPORTANT STEP FOR ME. It reminds me that The Knife is right; I do manage my BPD relatively well. It is also a reminder that I need to keep working at being present in my life, paying attention to my emotional responses. I do this to live the life that is fulfilling for me. I do this to be the best mom I can be. I do this to remind myself that I’m ok. I’m doing the best I can and I keep striving to be the best me I can be.

All this gives me hope that someday I will have enough practice at managing this that the impact of BPD on my life, and others, will be minimal.

Woodpeckers and Princesses, Dayenu

“Okay, buster. Okay okay okay okay okay okay.”

That was the hook.

It caught in my maw; my lip, my mouth, my mind, and my soul expertly hooked by the repetition of that one word.

Okay.

My lover presented this book to me with the following inscription:

“One of my favorite

books for one of

my favorite people.

Happy Birthday

Red

Love, Kyle”

I was joyful that he wanted to share this with me, profoundly grateful that he would give me this glimpse inside of him. I was also dubious.

I don’t read much fiction. I hadn’t read any fiction written by Tom Robbins. The odd twist of his word play seemed silly, if not downright ridiculous at times.

Dayenu. It would have been enough that my love gave this book to me; I would have read it.

Dayenu. It would have been enough to have the subtle hint drift across my FB feed…a quote regarding love from this novel; I would have read it.

Dayenu. It would have been enough to have the subtle flirtation from a friend regarding her fetish for redheads, as she confided this is one of her favorite novels as well; I would have read it.

Dayenu. It is enough; the book is in my hands. I open the cover and I read. I find this quote.

So much of my recent past comes to the fore: the unruly way my world exploded, my floundering about for answers, the arrival of my gentleman rogue/outlaw hero, and my path to my own rescue. I can only rely on myself.

Dayenu. My life is enough.

Poem: Touching You

Touching you

Kissing the back of your neck

Ruffling your hair

My arms around your waist

Breathing you in

I step around to face you

I gaze into your eyes

Run my fingers down your cheek and under your chin

Slip my right hand to your lower back, pulling you into me

My left hand cupping your face

My lips longing for yours

They meet with warmth and softness and electricity

Igniting our passion

My Gender Identity Doesn't Need Your Validation

Genderfluid. I like to type it all as one word. I feel that my gender is shifty, centering on the middle of the road between masculine and feminine. I made the decision to obtain testosterone therapy because it will result in the physical changes I am seeking.  I’m seeking more noticeable facial hair, a deeper voice, and a larger click. I want my physical body to match up with my gender identity. I will still wear make-up and dresses on occasion. I don’t want to be a man or even mostly masculine; I’m not going to have a mastectomy. I want to be as close to the middle as I can make myself. There will be other things that come along with the use of T, and I decided that I want my changes more than I don’t want things like changed fat distribution, increased muscle mass, and possible hair loss.

I’ve been getting feedback from friends and family regarding my choice to seek Testosterone therapy to bring my physical body more in alignment with my gender. They are concerned that they have never known anyone to just come out as genderfluid in their 40s. All the narratives they are familiar with seem to start with, “I knew back when I was a kid that I was trans*.” They don’t understand. They think this is sudden. They feel that this goes against the person they knew before. I was so feminine. How could I just flip a switch and cut off all my hair and then start wearing “masculine” clothing like that is who I have been all along?

The common narrative is just COMMON. It isn’t the ONLY narrative. There are as many ways to be trans* as there are trans* people.  I didn’t feel a need to shift at 40. I could fit in the box that I had made for myself. It was roomy and comfortable. Six months ago, my world turned upside down and I decided that I didn’t want to be in a box, no matter how comfortable. Living my experience as it comes to me and being as fully me as I can be is important.

I DON’T KNOW AND DON’T CARE IF I WAS BORN THIS WAY.

I DECIDED AT 41 THAT GENDERFLUID IS AN IDENTITY THAT FITS ME.

YES, I DECIDED.

Read that once more.

CHOOSING MY GENDER IDENTITY DOESN’T INVALIDATE MY GENDER IDENTITY.

Being genderfluid is not a disease. There is no need to search for the cause that has this identity as the result. There is no reason to pathologize my choice.

This is who I am and I accept myself and all my identities.

Big Love

Love is dynamic, like a swirling fog. It is not static. We experience it differently with every person we love. We describe it differently depending on our current moment, what thoughts are currently in the front of our brains.

I enjoy that Kyle is a writer. I enjoy how he describes his love for me in all the different ways. I love that while he might focus on one thing one day, he will focus on something different another day.

I am revisiting what love is. When I told my step-father my feelings for Kyle, he started to cry. He said that is how he felt about my mother. (Yes, I will write about my feelings for Kyle at a different time that is not now.) He told me that is True Love and that I should do the work necessary to hold it in an open hand, because it is precious.

----------Original Message----------
From: Kyle
Date: Feb 18, 2015 6:48 PM
Subject: how I love you
To: Red
Cc:

Red

I love you. I love you to the ends of the Universe and back. I love you to before the Big Bang and until the end of time and matter.

I love you like I love my freckles...

*hint: it's a lot.

I love you for your patience, for your love, for your enthusiasm, for your sweetness, for your strength.

I love your skin and your bones and your muscles and your hair and your teeth and your wetness and your hardness.

I love you fully - mind, soul, body, spirit.

All of you, baby, that's what I love.

My Love Woos Me So Well

Love Note to You
A special treat!

I Feel STRONG!

There are so many changes happening in my world right now. I've written about some of them here, here, and here.

One other change is coming. I am reimagining, reinventing, and rededicating my life. I am working to strike out for a new city, new work for pay, and a new way of living my life.

Change is a funny thing. Sometimes in comes in fits and starts. Sometimes it winds around, apparently willy nilly. Sometimes changes are faster than we expect and more wide reaching that we can imagine.

Watch the first 20 seconds of this video...

The original change in my life was like that ball dropping in the center of the circle. It started a catastrophic chain reaction of change in my life. Those changes are BIG. Those changes are far reaching. Those changes come as a big surprise to those who have known me over the last 10 years. They are not surprising to me.

I sent off a email to a friend checking in with me. I told her I feel strong. And that feeling is filed with resonance, like the WORD. I DO feel strong. I feel more solid. I'm on my path. I know where I'm going. I feel the universe supporting me in LOVE.

I am confident about these changes. I feel the call for change in my soul. I am on the correct path for me, and ultimately for my family. Here and now, I know my destination. I travel there with a courageous heart.

Gender Fluid Transition

February 6, 2015.

I want to remember it. It was such a big day for me.

I had scheduled my initial consult with therapist for that day! I had been needing to find a replacement therapist for my anxiety and depression. I struck out with the first recommended therapist, so I asked her for a recommendation.  I was looking for someone who was kink +, poly +, sex +, and familiar with gender identity issues, in addition to helping me with my anxiety and depression.

In looking for, contacting, and scheduling with my new therapist, I had made a decision. I was following through on my desire to explore testosterone therapy to fulfill my desire to match my body with my gender identity. I feel very in the middle of the spectrum, and I want my body to reflect that more than it currently does.

I didn’t expect that I would be so excited about this prospect. Now that I have acknowledged that I am headed in that direction, I feel lighter and almost airy.

I am curious about the changes I will undergo; I know everyone is different. I understand that I am likely to develop more body hair, a deeper voice, a bigger clit/cock. I wonder what will MY changes look like? I am looking forward to my path to the middle. Who knows? I might even accept “they” as my personal pronoun.

I also think that walking with my gender will help alleviate some of my depression and anxiety, making it even easier to recover.

***last minute addition: on February 16, 2015 I sent a message to my PCP asking about testosterone therapy. The Vancouver Clinic does not provide this type of care.

February 18, 2015,  I reached out to a friend and got the name of a doctor. I contacted the doctor but she isn't accepting new patients. She pointed me to a list from Basic Rights Oregon. I looked up the doctors on my insurance website and found a match. AND that match is taking new patients! I have an initial appointment in less than a month!***

What is your experience with non-binary transition? Please share in the comments.

Thank you, Mario

Seeds and Caterpillars

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.”

― Cynthia Occelli

When BadBoy broke up with me, I felt like was in midst of the complete destruction of my life. All my future hopes and dreams were dashed. I felt betrayed, why did we even get married? Why did I waste my time on this relationship? Why did we have a child together?

Also, I was stuck. I was in a job that no longer challenged me. I became apathetic and depressed. I was unsure how to proceed. I had been watching BadBoy make all kinds of positive changes in her life for nearly two years. I felt envy. I felt lost. I felt misunderstood and unloved.

It has been 5 months since that day that I thought my life was ending. It has taken nearly that long to realize that I am in the midst of a life transformation. I’ve been talking about feeling like a butterfly ready to burst from its cocoon for over a year, like I was right on the verge of it. The truth is the day that BadBoy broke up with me was the day my cocoon started splitting open. It was the day the seed was destroyed and I started to develop and travel further along my path.

As my seed sends out roots and shoots, I begin to see new options. I feel like the blinders are off. I see the infinity of CHOICE facing me. I can work where I like. I can live where I like. It's my life and as long as I make my decisions in love, I can build my life the way I want it. No one else can see the blueprint in my head. I am responsible to live my life, true to myself.

In this moment, I feel fully emerged from the cocoon and my wings are spreading, filling out, getting flight worthy. It is a really exciting (and terrifying) time to be me.

I sometimes experience difficulty sharing my journey with people who are aware of or witnessed my caterpillar life. I don't always feel confident that I can shake free of the shame associated with my caterpillar life. Today I claim it. I claim my shameful parts and love them. I know I will do better tomorrow. I grow in love and kindness every day.

Trust, pt 2

From: Kyle
Sent: Thursday, February 05, 2015 3:45 PM
To: Red
Subject: RE: trust

Baby, Red, I love you so much.  Thank you for sharing this with me. 

I came into this relationship feeling pretty raw and hurt.  The trust I had in a lover and a brother-friend had been shattered and I wasn't sure about trusting anyone new after that.  At least not too soon.  But you, you defy all of those ideas with your consistent trustworthiness.  At first I didn't know that it would be so good with you but there was something that started growing right away that said 'you can trust her'.  And really that started before the break up with the lover. You reached out to me and I could feel your authenticity and your genuine good wishes for me.  One of the first clear signs that I could trust you was the way you held your lines.  You wouldn't let me talk trash about the lover, not even minor trash.  You told me what the line was and you meant it and you held it.  What that told me was you were a person of your word, you had integrity and strong morality about friendship and loyalty.  And that impressed me and made an impression on me.  Because it told me that you weren't just words, you would back them up. 

And since then, more and more and more.  You consistently show me your trustworthiness.  Every day is better with you, love

Kyle

Trust

From: Red
To: Kyle
Subject: trust
Date: Thu, 5 Feb 2015 23:35:53 +0000

I know I don’t talk about how I trust you.  I wonder if you would like to read it as it is typed from my fingers.

This life I lead is interesting. I generally trust first. I trust that people are basically good. I trust that I am safe. I trust that the sun will rise tomorrow. I trust that the people I meet will like me, or if they don’t, they won’t be pissy about it.

Of course, there are layers of trust. When I burn my hand, I take some away. If the breach is severe enough, I cut people off.

You are different. Each day, each interaction, each moment, you show that you are trustworthy. My trust in you grows just as my love grows.

I just wanted you to know.

Red

A Love Poem

Electricity.

It doesn’t move if there is no connection.

When your skin connects with mine, the switch is thrown; the connection is made. The electricity flows and races through us. It amps up our play. It lights up our synapses. I cannot speak for you, but I feel like a generator. My energy level is high, waiting for that connection to put things in motion. When you throw the switch, I feel my molecules respond.

You are a singular individual; capable of transporting and transmuting the energy I generate without burning out. You are top of the line, the newest technology. We are partners in this power. I cannot be fully operational without your beautiful circuit.

I love you, Kyle.