seeing the doctor while non-monogamous

​Oof. Today, during my regular STI testing, I finally told my doctor that I was non-monogamous. It went a whole lot better than I feared it would. I was especially nervous about it because I wasn’t seeing my primary care physician (who is liberal and amazing and i love her but she’s impossible to schedule because everyone else loves her, too), but was an unknown doctor that was available at the time.

They already had it on file that I am currently sexually active and have male and female partners. The nurse was taking my blood pressure when I made some comment about being at higher risk because I have multiple partners. She was immediately like, “oh, I need to update your file” and keep repeating it to herself until she was able to get to it.

I got so many more and so much more thorough questions than I’ve got in the past. Things about how many partners, what birth control methods I use, do I use barrier methods, have any of my partners had any STIs….

The medical student congratulated me about talking openly and honestly with my partners about sexual health. The doctor gave me a mini lecture about making sure to always, always use condoms and referenced cheaters (sigh). Altogether not bad. And now I get to feel more confident that my medical professionals have a better sense of my risk levels.

I also recognize, though, that I’m pretty lucky in terms of where I live and what medical system I use.

Kinda irked me, though, that I didn’t get the same thorough history when I was labeled (literally) as monogamous. I mean, let’s be honest: most of the non-monogamous people I know are way more aware about sexual health than many monogamous people are. So to assume that monogamous people are being careful and thinking about these things is a disservice to monogamous people. For many, this is their only opportunity to get medical advice about sexual health.

Go be honest with your doctors, people!!

spank bank material

A memory:


Sinking into a plush, giant bean bag chair.

“Can I join you?”

I smile up at the ginger-bearded man and say yes.

“May I grope you?”

“Oh, yes.

His arms wrapped around me, hands on me. I turn somewhat to face him. Our faces, our mouths are so close. Tension.

“Can I kiss you?” My turn to push a boundary back.  Continue reading

trying that gay club scene

I totally pushed my comfort boundaries tonight and went to a queer meetup/club night at the local gay bar. Guys…I fucking loved it. Even though I felt super awk and was totally that introvert that hugged the wall…I fucking loved looking across the crowd and seeing —- Nothing. But. Queer.

It was ahhhmahhzing.

I miss that feeling. I miss being in a crowd that assumes you’re some kind of odd. And it was so fucking lovely to be in amongst it again.

Not that I did well in it. Yeah, let’s not pretend that happened. But hey, I did talk to 4 queer strangers that I approached directly. And if you count the ones that approached me – that goes up to 6 or 7. Dude, bar scenes are weird. What is up with that shit? Nobody knows in advance what your deal is – then you get to scare away the super pretty girl with the bird name that you’re super into just because your deal is not her deal.

But the common experience of trying to flag down the bartender helps bridge those gaps and helps you feel connected. As does the common experience of wanting a cigarette. Or just being the queer girls who are dancing against the wall. And through these random connections, you may just meet someone who is a colleague in your big organization. Or someone who went to your alma mater. Or someone who reports to one of your very close friends. These things all happened tonight.

I’m pretty okay with tonight. 🙂

super gay

You guys, what if I’m actually way gayer than I ever thought I was? What if the reason I’ve not been wanting to date the guys in my life is because, well, I don’t want to date guys?

This is blowing my mind this morning. I thought I had myself figured out when I was 16, when I knew I was definitely bisexual. Since then, I have always described myself as being more on the hetero end of the scale.

However, for the past few years, I’ve been coming up with various excuses and reasons why I find myself reluctant to go on these dates. I thought perhaps I just needed recovery time from My Very Good Year. So I tried to stop having sex and dating for a while. I thought maybe I just wasn’t sexually attracted to less aggressive guys who wanted me to be the top. So then I gradually eased away from those relationships or at least tried to make it clear that sex wasn’t part of the picture in those relationships. I wondered if perhaps, I wasn’t really poly. So I just focused on dating Rooster and no one else for a few months. I told myself that I was “just picky” even when I couldn’t come up with valid reasons for why I didn’t want to date this or that guy anymore. I thought it was just the winter blues so let me just stop dating, again, and it’ll be all okay in the spring. Continue reading

Nudie Weekend

I went to a nudist resort this weekend. It was amaaaazeballs!!

The idea has been in my head in some way or another since I went on a date with Nudist Swinger. Plus, you know, I’ve been going to these kink parties periodically (like, once every 2-4 months), and increasingly, I like just being naked at them. Screw putting on leather boots and corsets and collars – let’s hear it for being absolutely simple and vulnerable and pure (well…never pure 😛 ).

Boss Bitch and Sweet Boy picked me up Friday morning, and we drove out into the country side away from the nearest signs of civilization. I had packed towels, sweats for when I got tired of being naked/it got cold, a couple of wraps and sweaters, and (so importantly) a jar of coconut oil to crisp up my skin and get rid of those tan lines. Plus, Cards Against Humanity, a box of wine, some condoms and my Kindle to cover the recreation side of things. On the drive over, I was both a touch anxious and very calm – surprisingly calm; for the most part, the idea of spending a weekend in the nude felt right.

We pulled into the resort, slowly creeping through the long lines of wooden privacy fencing, and the first person we saw was this tall, scrawny, very tan (everyone was so very tan) man, dressed in tighty whities. As soon as I saw him, I went “eep!!” and my stomach sunk a little. Holy shit, this was for real. Continue reading

First Date Bossing

Oof, I feel like I was just kind of steamrolled. Had a super lovely first date with a dude. So much chemistry – I knew beforehand that there would be. It was fun and silly and super serious and deep and chatty. We hung out for a couple of hours drinking beer in the sunshine at a beer garden. And then, I wanted to go home and do some work so we said our goodbyes. There was a tense, awkward moment while we both stared at each other’s lips and started to move in – and then somehow the kiss got derailed, and his nose smudged my glasses.

All the (quick) way home, I kicked myself about that, and then texted him about the almost kiss. He responded with an invitation to come back and do it better. I said I was home already and thinking about inviting him over, but of course it wouldn’t stop with just kissing if he came over…which I was totally game for.

I love when they are unexpectedly bossy. He devoured my pussy, pulled my hair, whispered some dirty things in my ear, and checked in frequently about what I liked.

He was having trouble staying hard, so I found myself on my hands and knees, ass wantonly up in the air, as he fucked me wild with my two-inch wide dildo. A few spankings, a bit of hair pulling, and I came hard, shuddering.

I miss being bossed around like that. I miss someone ordering me about, taking control of my pleasure and my body and pushing me to my limits. Last night I went to one of the better kink parties in the area, and other than some very consensual, light-hearted touching from Sweet Boy and a very non-consensual boob grab from some stranger I was walking by (FUCK YOU, strange asshole – fuck you for thinking you can put your hands on my body without my permission and for tainting the evening for me and making me nervous walking back to my car through placid suburbia), nobody hurt me or ordered me about. I watched one of the most beautiful flogging scenes as a tiny, cruel domme in black latex made her girl whimper and beg and cry out, and I wanted so hard to be that girl on the St. Andrew’s Cross, with a cruel domme of my own.

We’ll see if anything comes of this. He and his wife are new to the consensual non-monogamy scene so they’re still figuring out what they want and who they are. I’m reluctant to make too much space in my life for another guy. But perhaps something can work out.



Something that has been bothering me for some time is my lack of desire to date anyone. Was it the winter blues, am I just not poly anymore, or…some third nebulous option. I’m starting to get an idea of what was going on, and I think it’s a mix of things.

First and foremost, with things continuing with Rooster, I was primarily absorbed with exploring the newness of having a relationship that actually works. Because it’s so novel for me to be in a relationship that continues to function and is so easy, I was finding all my attention was on this relationship. Other things just weren’t appealing, because I’m so used to charged initial chemistry and newness and strangeness and novelty. Having things not be new and novel was new and novel. I wasn’t feeling much urgency or draw towards other people because of this. So I was feeling monogamish for a while – I didn’t want to actually do monogamy and all the associated ritual and expectation, but I wasn’t interested in dating anyone else.


I had a sort-of-date last night that helped crystallize something else that is going on. Red and I hung out, did the dinner and drinks thing, just relaxed and chatted. I was pretty ambivalent going into the evening whether this was a date or not. I did the usual pre-sex shaving, but I also wore comfy panties. As the night progressed, though, Red slipped slowly into my “no” bucket.

Continue reading