The Great Experiment

I’m sitting at the airport with my copies of “Dominatrix,” and “Sunstone” out on the table.

……to be fair, I’m also sitting here in my pyjamas with some half eaten pancakes in front of me.

Will I get a client? Dirty looks? Will people just assume I’m Mostly Harmless? LET’S FIND OUT!!


HELP WANTED!: Problems in Poly Paradise

When you’re monogamous and you’re seeing a partner, you tell each other everything, right?

That’s a legitimate question, because obviously I don’t know, because Single Expat Mom.

If Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s this: perfect relationships are based on perfect honesty, and studio apartments in manhattan can be rented out on a journalist’s salary, with income to spare for over-priced shoes. But I digress.

With poly, it’s a bit more of a challenge. Special K is having problems with Pepto Bismol, his girlfriend who loves EVERYTHING to be PINK and FLUFFY and DISNEY, which is fine, I guess. I don’t dislike her for that. I dislike her for that, AND other things.

Like how recently he’s been on edge and mouthy. I sat him down yesterday, in between running to the bathroom because I had to have an endoscopy, so they make you do this colon cleanse which I feel like would be a great weight-loss programme, if it’s wasn’t so hellish. Anyway, I sat him down and asked him why he was so snarky and a bit bitter lately. It turns out that Pepto, who was never poly but would never admit it, has been making his life harder since he met Sonata. It’s all very hard to picture without a diagram, but stay with me, here. Special K has been seeing me and Pepto (who openly admits she never liked me and never wanted him to start seeing me), and now he’s begun seeing Sonata, (whom I plan to sleep with because she’s cute as hell and funny). So, Pepto has ¬†been bitter and angry, and she’s been making Special K bitter and angry, which again, learning from Hollywood, doesn’t seem like the best basis for a marriage.

So, where do I need your help? Exactly here:

Special K didn’t want to tell me any of this, because I suppose he knows how much I dislike Pepto and her effects on him. He wants to try to keep the three dynamics (K+myself, K+Sonata, and K+Pepto) partitioned and agnostic of each other. But….. I don’t think that’s working. Maybe for some people, it does, I don’t know. But I think they’re bleeding into each other. He can’t be sad and depressed with Pepto, and then expect to be a thrill ride with me.

On the flip-side of this crazy poly vinyl, I can’t force him to divulge his drama-llama situation. That’s THEIR business (or is it? idk). Isn’t it my business if it begins to effect me because he’s sad? Even as a Domme, I can’t make these decisions for him as to what happens to their relationship. Should I talk to Sonata about this?

If I hate people so much, why am I in a relationship with so many of them?


Fear and a bit of loathing

I fly to the US on Friday.

There’s a dead rat in the walls of my house. So my youngest is off to the country with my housemate, and my oldest is with my ex. I didn’t realise my oldest would be staying with my ex for this long, so I haven’t said a proper goodbye. To either children.

The thing about anxiety is that it’s not always logic or fact based. Yes, I know flying is safer than driving. Yes, I know the odds of my having a safe trip are statistically higher than the odds of anything happening to me between now and when I return.

I also know that I haven’t said goodbye to either boy. That if anything happens to me, my ex will either sell them to my mother for a decent payoff (best case scenario) or ruin their lives  (worst case).  When you’re a single parent with no viable alternatives, everything rides on you. You have to tell yourself to be calm because stress is bad for you, and the irony of dying from a heart attack as you stress about your health is just too much.

I’m so scared. So scared. I miss my boys and I dont know when I’ll see my oldest again. I don’t feel like I have anyone to talk to who won’t think I’ve gone totally mad. Even as I type this from Special K’s bed. I hate my anxiety. I feel stupid. But I’m going to be terrified until I return, safely.

Mirror Images

Summer, my housemate who cares for my youngest, is also going through a divorce and a survivor of emotional (and in her case, physical) abuse. Granted, her marriage dissolved 6 months before mine, so we’ll often talk and she’ll say something like, “I know how you feel, because that’s how I felt about 6 months ago. Let me give you some thoughts based on what I know, now.” And it’s generally quite helpful. She’s not always on the mark, but who is? I apparently didn’t even know what the hell I was thinking for ten fucking years of my own relationship, so any thoughts from an outside source are worth considering.

Anyway, you know how they say that when women live together, their periods begin to synch? That seems to happen to us quite a bit, but with our romantic lives.

Summer loves Lawrence. But Lawrence is married. That’s… not necessarily a problem for ME, because I’m poly and practice ethical non-monogamy and blah blah blah I sound a bit like a prick when I talk about it. Anyway, in this still-Catholic-country, apparently having sex with someone who isn’t your wife (even when your wife has decided never to have sex again [side note, WTF OMFG ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Who does that to their partner without having a conversarion???]) isn’t kosher. As such, the guilt levels from him can be mathematically quantified as follows:

“Jewish guilt” x “Italian mother whom you never call” = “Irish Catholic: you skipped mass to watch a match”

Suffice it to say, it’s intense. And Lawrence often can’t be here because, well, married.

Special K, as much as I love him, often can’t be here because we both work and he’s seeing two other women. So, both Summer and I have decided that we should see other people. Summer met D, and I’ve been seeing Ninja on and off. Both of us like these men. We enjoy their company and both men are caring and attentive…. and both of us are trying to convince ourselves to give these men more of a chance. Is it their fault if our hearts are preoccupied with thoughts of someone else? They’re caring, attentive, warm.

Maybe poly also means leaving space for other relationships to grow, even when you’d rather just roll up in the one. To push your own boundaries and see where that takes you.

It’s just funny how our lives seem to sometimes move in a synchronicity.

Masturbation, To The Rescue!!

My ex has stopped paying for my son’s school fees and won’t help with his birthday party. My son turns 4 this week and he will have an AMAZING party, all due to me. And while I’m so fucking proud of myself, this isn’t where I thought I would be. So, what’s a girl to do?

I threw a pity party. Complete with balloons….. in my pants.

You know, I do understand prescribing antidepressants to people and telling them to consider yoga, but for my money you don’t get much more value for time than you do when you’re alone with a Hitachi  (assuming you can enjoy that). This should be your FIRST port of call, before drinking or drugs (even legal ones), and I don’t understand why the emotional benefits of spending quality “alone time” aren’t more widely spread.

So, I’ve stolen Special K’s Hitachi and he can pry it from my cold, orgasm-addled hands!!!!
*holds the wand high above her head and parades into her bedroom!*

The Unwanted Guests

Whenever I think about killing myself, which is generally about once I month, I usually picture hanging. I don’t know why. I know exactly where I would place the rope, so it would cut off my air but not hurt as much on my voice box. I read somewhere that your last moments of asphyxia are euphoric, because of the build up of carbon dioxide in your brain.

Once a month or so, depending on my stress, the thoughts come into my head for an evening, taking up space like unwanted house guests. They chatter on, and the best I’ve learned to do is drown them out with movies or books. Tonight, I’m watching Looper, which I have to say is decent enough and the acting keeps my focus. 8/10 stars.

You’re probably right, I could take meds…. but eventually, you come off of them. I can, and will, go to therapy, but I can’t afford that, yet. So, I tolerate my rude guests, walking around, telling me what I loser I am, how I’ve let my kids down, just by existing. I nod my head and shuffle around my kitchen, waiting for them to leave. It would be a lie to say that it doesn’t entirely effect me, but the thought of anything happening to me and my ex getting the kids is motivation to keep it together like you wouldn’t fucking believe!

So, here we go, kids. Ignore the house guests until they take the hint and leave. Putter around and straighten up. Pretend that you don’t imagine a rope around your neck, not because you’re too weak to do it, but because you have to be strong enough to take all the hate that you have, even for yourself, and keep pushing forward. You stay in control, no matter what.

Stay in control. They’ll leave. Eventually.

Momming is Hard and Terrifying and I Should Just Book His Therapy, Now

My oldest is shortly turning four. It’s an AMAZING age. He’s not the douche canoe he was during his terrible two’s when I considered selling him to the first circus that made a reasonable offer. He’s not a baby, who can’t talk or really tell you what’s going on in their minds. He has thoughts and stories and he can make you laugh and he needs hugs and he loves gingerbread men. He’s a Batman fanatic and his favourite colour is blue, except for when it’s green. And despite all of the things I LOVE about being his mother, like the way he says, “I’m still fwee, mommy,” (‘I’m still three, mommy,’) I’m pretty sure I should just book ahead and get him into some solid therapy, now.

Last weekend, we went to his BFF’s birthday party…. and I’m PREEEEEEEEEEEEEETTY sure the mom hates me. Like, the very first thing she said to me was, “you’re late.” DAMN, BITCH. I HAVE A 16 MONTH OLD; YOU’RE LUCKY I’M WEARING PANTS!

Is this what it’s like, now? Not only do you never get away from the petty, selfishness of other people, but your children are forced to endure the slings and arrows of whether or not you’re popular in the mommmy-circle? Seems a bit mad to me! Now and then, I look at women like her, and I think to myself, “you may dislike me for whatever reason, but I’m going to tie down my choice of men later, and make them scream when they come. Can you say the same? No!” And I do an evil little Dominatrix cackle in my head… but the truth is, a part of me lives in fear.

I was NEVER popular in school. True, I had my own little circle of friends and I did ok, but I never scored high points with the girls who had perfect hair and shoes to match their dress. My first boyfriend was a drug dealer. The man who introduced me to BDSM is a weapons dealer (legally!). Frankly, until Special K, I never thought that flowers and date nights would be a “thing” for me. Is my son doomed? Tainted by my inability to fake-laugh and match a purse to my nails?

Maybe I should just start the “therapy fund” now. :/

Mommying is hard.

When Dominance Just Isn’t Enough

When playing with Miss Sonata and my Special K recently, I was triggered back to an incident of assault from my ex husband, and also my first and only Dom. I say it so casually, because I want it to be less and less of a significant incident in my life. It happened. I accept and acknowledge that my consent was knowingly and willfully violated. But it’s over, I’m safe, and I’m with a loving partner, now. It will never happen again.

…but it’s impacted my ability to express loving submission in any meaningful way to anyone, ever since. Being a Switch-now-Domme because that’s all that’s left to me isn’t as fulfilling as I pretend it is. Exploring and expressing 50% of your sexuality is… challenging. And, to be honest, it’s a degree of control that I allow my ex to continue to exert over me. If I allow his abuse to impact on what I can do and with whom, who is really in control? Who is TRULY the Dom/me, here?

The last great battlefield of exiting any abusive relationship, is always the mind (I really wanted to say “mind field! LOL!” and I didn’t and you’re welcome for that). To really purge him from my life, I have to scrub the traces of control he left on my thought processes. But how do you do that when even imagining the sensation of being tied down is enough to make your stomach turn? When the thought of a man exerting control over you makes you want to run? It’s pretty simple, isn’t it?

You turn to a woman.

On Monday, I’m going to take out Miss Sonata on a date. There will very likely be some manner of inappropriate touching (YAY!!), and at some point in the evening, I’m going to sit her down and ask her if she would be willing to work with me on this. Because this isn’t a “quick fix.” One night of sweet lady-loving isn’t going to cure ten years of mental twisting. But if we go slow and communicate, I feel like this would bring me one step closer to pulling my ex out, like a tick that’s dug into my skin.

So, I’m scared and excited, and I’m *almost certain* that those feelings are not at all tied to the food poisoning I had last week, which I do not recommend. At all.