My local closest friend is a hot trans lady. We are very close–best friends. We met last summer, and I see her almost every day. She’s close to my spouse also. I want to have sex with her–this hot trans lady. She is not planning on fucking me. My whole body says a huge YES.
I try to family up with people–it’s a thing. Often a friend and I get close and closer, then to a point where we are good friends with deep intimacy between us. And it’s like– ok, are we going to partner now? At the spot where many would use alcohol or other drugs to get
“I realized I made a mistake, when I wrote that craigslist ad about what I was looking for,” she said. “When I wanted someone to come to the farm. I didn’t really need help with the farm work. What I actually wanted was a sister wife.” We were standing in her yard, between her farmhouse
I felt ashamed that no one wants to date me. I made an advert on Lex and felt sad when no one responded, other than spammers. Why the shame, I’m not sure. Rejection is embarrassing–I do have playground trauma, being perpetually chosen last for the baseball team. Or old old danger from thousands of years
“If I was hugging him while he was wearing a suit, and I was getting off on that, what would that mean?” I asked my spouse. We were talking about money, power, and sex. “I would think you were getting off on safety,” my spouse said. “The suit is a way to be safe.” “Yeah,
Is it possible that a family has something rotten at its core? My family has something like a horror movie woven into the cloth. I don’t want to use the word “evil.” More like diseased. But that sounds like an ableist metaphor. Is this rotten-ness real, and if so, what do I do about it?
“I like being nice to you, because then you keep wanting to have sex with me,” I said to my spouse, smiling. We were lying in bed mostly naked, sweetly cuddling at the end of the day. “And you’re always being nice to me, maybe because you like to have sex with me,” I added.
My dad’s suicide has been fucking me in the head lately. I’ve been thinking about death way too much. His death–my eventual death. My mom’s death. My spouse’s eventual death. I’m terrified. It makes me panic in the night, which interferes with my sleep, so then I panic more. I hate all that. grief spiral
I used to think of your room as a beautiful, almost magical place that smells so nice, and has those crystals by the door. Just passing by, I was blissed. The place where you rest, where you get vulnerable. Before you left for a trip, you would bring up that your room is available to
This morning I realized that it hurt so much because we touched each other’s shame places. Rejection is hard. But it hurt more than it needed to. What are your shame places? Some people feel terrible for previous bad behavior. Some are shamed by culture for body type disability poverty race and ethnicity gender queerness