Today I had a very tough reopening of an old wound. A boyfriend who had just graduated above FD the week prior, decided that he was in a non sexual place. He is having an issue, and I gave him good advice that I got from others in the same situation on how to mitigate the problem. However, that wasn’t the whole issue. He told me that the sex between us was good but not as good as he had hoped.
He’s a young guy, and I’m the person with whom he’s had the most actual sex in his life…and he’s basically telling me that he doesn’t really want to do it anymore. He thinks I’ll believe that he just needs to think, but I’ve been down this road before. He is a fetishist, and actual sex with an actual vagina or mouth or anything else attached to another body, does not feel as good to him as imagined sex with his fetish material and his hand.
…but this shouldn’t change our relationship. I’m supposed to treat him as if we’re having sex even though we aren’t.
So here we are again. Much like the narcissist, he keeps telling me that I’m a nice person and how safe and comfortable and close he feels to me. No doubt he feels that Shai and my platonic relationship (the foundation of which was laid over 7 good years of laying strong pipe) is some sort of precedent that has meaning for his options with me. He thought apparently that I was willing to have a close physical relationship that just didn’t include sexual intercourse. He seemed a bit surprised when I informed him that this was not going to happen.
I was very calm and very clear about the fact that he was under no pressure since if he did not want the assignment, it would be given to another. I have plenty of love in my life already, and the only thing I needed from him is friendly dick. The extra was nice and could be fuel for a nice friendship someday, but I am not interested in another platonic husband.
In the two years following Shai and my transition, I oscillated between wanting to kill him and wanting to kill myself. I grieved, and had at one time firmly decided that I was going to visit Egypt where I could have my genitals except for the pee parts removed. I was going to remove my sex organs, internal and external, because I knew that I would never be touched that way by someone who loved me ever again.
…but then a good friend convinced me that there was another way: friendly dick. Go out, get this need met by someone who is not harmful and perhaps in a similar situation, and then go home. It worked. It took me a few years to get it right, but I got it: Red Lightning. For five years off and on, great sex with someone with whom I have amazing chemistry.
Then unfortunately I let someone convince me that maybe not all western men in my league are broken. Mistake. Broken. I’m out at the point that I have to convince a man I’ve had sex with already, to have sex with me again. I warned him close to the beginning when he asked me what I wanted, and again when I reminded him what I wanted so he wouldn’t be scared when he was getting close to me…
Looking back, I should have dumped him when he panicked about this, but I let myself feel the wrong kind of compassion. Compassion should have led me to let him go and never let him return and tell him the truth that if he can’t handle his feelings or own them, he is not grown up enough for me. Compassion should have led me to accept that maybe he is a sheep, herdbeast, normie, chad-abie or whatever the young independent thinkers are calling them these days, and let him go look for that fake Disney princess who hates sex and doesn’t care if he grows a callus on his shaft. No, I allowed myself to get the compassion to soothe his fears instead of saying, “Yes, you should be afraid. Get out.”
The free thinking men of my generation are already married to one of us, got themselves a herdbeast and bred until they produced at least one child with a shot at greatness, or is Gay, or asexual due to physical disability. So since I already won the lottery, all I need from the herd is a friendly dick…someone who will take the pussy and not want to harm me.
That may be too much to ask though. Today I listened to a guy tell me that my stuff was meh because it doesn’t have fingers and his peers did not pat him on the back and say, “Good boy!” (because they don’t know what I look like, and might be jealous or Gay. I’m not everybody’s cup of tea, but I know I’m not fugly, and I have no wrinkles to speak of.) So I’m downgraded for statistical low value to the herd.
So I have learned from this. 1. Nature Rules. First of all, if a guy doesn’t think the best thing about sex is pussy, we are incompatible. No need to negotiate anything or try to convince anyone that they need to try anything. Don’t think pussy is wonderful? Bye.
Second thing, “Don’t tell things they don’t ask.” I am going to stop telling guys the nature of my relationship with Shai. We have an open marriage. Nobody (who doesn’t take the time to read my blog) should know we’re not banging. I’m going to imply that we are, but I just need more…because I did indeed ride that until the wheels fell off, and still kiss that and cuddle with that. I just don’t want anyone getting the impression that their value to me is more than sexual until their value to me is far enough above sexual that it can be said we are family. Seven years laying good pipe and they can earn a platonic union too someday. Until then…dicks out.
Third, I let the nice warm cuddly feelings let me forget the difference between a man and a pet and prey. Someone who has their own mind may choose to conform, but they don’t have any actual positive feelings attached to conforming except that they are winning a sort of game. The sex they have isn’t going to feel better or worse dependent on whether or not their choice of partner is socially convenient. In fact, breaking the boundaries feels like freedom. It’ll make even not so physically great sex more emotionally satisfying.
In fact, for the time I thought maybe, just maybe, I won the lottery again, I was perfectly happy with this underconfident youngling who didn’t know a woman’s body that well.
Now, I just feel like I need a long bath and some vodka.
See, I forgot the rule after don’t play with the food. I forgot, “Don’t forget your place in the eyes of the herd.”
Okay, so in the eyes of the herd, because I don’t stress over the stuff they usually stress over, I don’t have the kind of wrinklage and whatnot a woman my age normally has from worrying about the wrong thing. Notice, that usually stops at a certain age because eventually almost everybody’s brain develops to not giving a fuck level. It’s part of the beauty in old age.
Anyway, those who are old when we are young should be aware of what we look like to them. For me, that means that even though to them I look maybe 32ish, once my age is known, I am an old woman…a granny. I am also fat and therefore expected to be an overindulger of sweets and undisciplined. Without makeup I look like the sweet caring granny figure, and if my sexuality comes to bear at all, I must be desperate and pathetic. I am expected to always set my needs aside to make others feel comfortable. I am not expected to have any need of my own, and if I express any, it is shocking, and I must be put in my place.
My place…I should thank this cattle for reminding me how cattle sees a predator when the don’t know what a predator is and think everybody are cattle. I should remember to keep rule number 5: Keep a safe distance because if they ever find out what you really are, they will panic and run away. If we are to walk among them, we must do so softly and carefully.
Not all westerners are broken like this, but the ones who are fully entrenched are. They hate sex. They do everything they can to take the sex out of sexuality and twist it into some kind of thing in which physical closeness is either not required or downright hated. They tell people that the revolutionary thing nowadays is to not be attached to one’s genitals and that they are irrelevant to sexuality, but this is a lie on the face. Almost everybody is running from their genitals. An androgyne can’t even be an androgyne without people asking them why they didn’t have their genitals adjusted to their gender identity. If it was true that they aren’t the same thing then it wouldn’t matter how they are shaped. Right?
So men don’t want to do the male role in sex and penetrate, and women don’t want to do the female role and be penetrated. These things have been devalued like being a housewife became “just a” housewife. The independent thinker smells this bullshit and loves his penis a little more because society hates it. Even critical thinking people who are otherwise conformists can get there, and there’s a whole movement of men out there who are not apologizing for their maleness and deciding not to masturbate too much because they understand this takes something from them.
So I shouldn’t have gotten so excited about the guy being smart. I shouldn’t have held him. I shouldn’t have talked to him about anything except are we going to fuck. I shouldn’t have let him sleep in my bed more than a few minutes to recover enough to gtfo safely. I shouldn’t have done a whole lot of things that I did because I got confused by his apparent intelligence. Maybe at some point in his life he had a friend who wasn’t cattle and learned to talk to us. I don’t know…but at the point when I’m being told that I am not producing sufficient sensation because it isn’t socially reinforced, I gotta go…I gotta run far, far away from this emotionally…and it’s my own damn fault.
Thank you for the sex education. At my age, there still remain lessons to learn. Ashe!