Apr. 29th, 2020

joreth: (sex)
Just saw one of those sponsored listicle things with a headline about people revealing "shocking" things they overheard while pretending to be asleep.

I am immediately awash in memories of high school, when I was a theater tech geek dating an actor and partying with other theater kids, which meant co-ed sleepovers with minimal parental oversight and very ... well, progressive? teenagers.  At one party in particular, in the wee hours of the morning, my high school sweetheart and I stole away from the drinking and loud improv to find any empty room for sleep and some private time.  We found a parlor or living room of sorts occupied by one of our best friends.

I met them both on the same day, at another party.  They were good friends with each other and I got invited by a friend of a friend.  I developed an instant crush on both of them.  They developed enough of a liking of me that we maintained contact after that party.  I decided that I could not decide which one I liked best, so the one who would ask me out first is the one I would date (I did not know of poly back then, and likely one of them would not have gone for it, although the other might have).

So the guy who would become my high school sweetheart asked me out first and I put away my crush on the other one for many years, until we reconnected after college.  But that's another story.

Back to high school.  Our friend was sleeping on the couch in this parlor but no one else was there.  We entered quietly, whispered to him to see if he was awake but not to wake him if he wasn't.  Satisfied that he was asleep, we made our joined bed on the floor next to the couch.

And then, as teenagers in love without parental supervision tend to do, we got up to shenanigans.  We tried to be as quiet as possible.  We even stopped several times, thinking he had awakened, but got going again when we were sure he hadn't.  And at least once we whispered his name just to make sure he was asleep.

Years later, in the days of the internet but before social media, I wondered whatever happened to our friend. So I did a search, probably on Netscape.  After several days of dial-up searching, I found his name mentioned in an archived copy of his old fraternity's newsletter.  I emailed the then-current frat president, explained who I was and asked for help locating him.  He passed along my contact info, and a short time later, our friend contacted me.

We got to know each other again after our long absence, and we discovered that our adult selves were even better friends than our teen selves were.  So we got to talking regularly.

Our conversations turned intimate, and on one late night call, that night at the party came up.  It turns out, he had been awake for almost the entire time my high school sweetheart and I were having sex.  He wasn't sure exactly when he woke up, but judging by how long we went, it must have been early into it, although after we had gotten started, since it was our sounds that woke him.

Apparently, he had not, up until that time, had any particular interest in voyeurism.  I mean, he was a teenage boy, so he wasn't UNinterested, but it wasn't a capital I-Interest.

However, after revisiting that memory many times after that night, and with our conversation years later, he came to the conclusion that his strong feelings for the both of us (platonic for my sweetheart, not quite platonic for me but resigned to me being his best friend's girlfriend) added to whatever excitement he felt at hearing sex happening nearby, and it turned into a full-blown Thing for him to listen to sex after that night.

I'm not an exhibitionist.  This may be surprising to some of you who know me for my frank discussions and comfort in public sex spaces, but I'm actually extremely inhibited when it comes to other people witnessing my sexual activity.  Except for that night. Remember? I had a crush on him too.  I merely put it aside because I was in a monogamous relationship and I respected both of them and their friendship with each other too much to fuck with it.

And since he similarly respected and cared for his best friend and our relationship, he just accepted that I was unavailable and never let on to me that he had anything other than platonic feelings, nor would he open any doors that might hurt his best friend, or risk insulting or offending me.  So I filed my crush away and didn't act on it, but it never disappeared.

So, with my love and attraction for my high school sweetheart, and my admiration and attraction to our mutual friend, even though I genuinely did not want to disturb him, the thought that he might wake up (and not disapprove) was very appealing.  It's possibly the only time I was not inhibited by the presence of other people during sex.

Except for that whole "don't want to disturb his sleep or make him uncomfortable" thing.  But, I mean, I wasn't personally bothered by the idea of him witnessing and it didn't hamper my enjoyment of the sex knowing that he might.  To find out later that he not only didn't disapprove but was awake and enjoyed the whole thing was ... exciting.

Neither of us knew if my sweetheart would have been amenable to a threesome at that time (or if each other was, for that matter), but neither did either of us want to risk our three-way friendship in that moment to find out.

He was content to merely witness in silence (figuring that he was there first so if we really didn't want him listening in, we should have gone elsewhere - a reasonable assumption, to be fair), while I enjoyed the feeling of not knowing if we were being observed by him or not but hoping we were.

Much later, as we reconnected and learned of the other's perspective in our little high school drama, I now have this wonderful memory of high school sex, sneaky sex, illicit sex, with a former partner whom I still have warm feelings for while a crush and later partner silently observed, planting a seed that would change the entire course of his sexual development and leading to the eventual culmination of our mutual crushes.

That memory, which was always a pleasant one because of my continued good friendship with my high school sweetheart, became one of my top treasured memories after hearing what that event was like from our friend's perspective.  Every time I think of that night, remembering the fun time I was having and later learning about the fun time our friend was having, I'm filled with such a warm and fuzzy sense of nostalgia.

Imagine that - a clickbaity listicle headline actually produced something worthwhile, at least for me.  So I'm going to go fall asleep now to rose-colored memories of one of the few things that didn't suck about high school, and a sweet longing for a departed friend.

Miss you, Sweetheart. I am forever grateful for my time with you and your continued presence in my life.

Miss you, Love. The world is a little dimmer without your presence in it anymore.
joreth: (Default)
Originally written on November 1, 2018

Ah, November 1st, one of two times in the year where I feel body dysphoria.

For all that I dislike about my biology and would like to fix if I could (looking at you, endometriosis, and this whole pesky "fertile by default" thing), I'm actually pretty comfortable in my skin. Just last month, after I gestured towards my nose and made some kind of self-depreciating comment about it, mom said that she asked me as a teen if I wanted to have a nose job, and I told her no, that this is how I am.

I have no memory of that conversation, and today I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self to have the nose job, but whatever. I don't want it bad enough to actually save up money to do it. But I don't dye my hair, or even really style it, I don't have tattoos, I don't even wear makeup except for costumes, and even though I identify more masculine than feminine, I don't feel any weirdness about having a female body. So I was surprised to recognize a feeling of dysphoria a few years ago.

One is when I painted my nails for a Bollywood performance. For some reason, when I paint my nails, I keep getting distracted by them, looking down at my hands and wondering whose hands they are and how they got on the end of my arms.

But the other time was during Halloween.

One year I was scheduled to work a strike, which is all heavy manual labor in dangerous, sweaty conditions, and I had no social plans for that evening. So I wanted some kind of "costume" that could be worn while getting dirty and sweaty, not get in my way, not be in danger of being damaged, and also wasn't "girlie".

At the time, realistic-looking "wound" temporary tattoos had just come out. On a whim, I bought some and went as a "mauling victim" that year. The tattoos were a huge success! I had people coming up to me all day at work, asking if I was OK, only to get close enough to see that the blood was not 3D and I was not injured. I loved those tattoos.

Then it came time to take them off. And I found myself avoiding the removal of the tattoos. I wasn't really sure why at first. I mean, even when I go for masculine attire, I still emphasize a feminine face, and gory wounds are definitely not "feminine". I do have my vanities. And I definitely don't want any real tattoos. I can't stand the thought of permanently marking my body. I'm still upset about the 3 scars that I do have - one of which is so small that only I can even see it, another is on my foot so nobody can see it either, and the third is on my back so even *I* can't see it.

So why was it so hard for me to remove the temporary wound tattoos?

It finally occurred to me that the reason why I kept putting it off was because every time I looked in the mirror, I finally saw "me" for the first time. I didn't want to remove the wound tattoos because that's what I felt I was *supposed* to look like.

Shocked by the thought that crossed my mind, I stared at myself in the mirror for a good 10 minutes, thinking. If this is what I was "supposed" to look like, had I finally found a real tattoo design that I could get? Nope, that wasn't it either. As soon as I considered a permanent tattoo, my brain shied away as it always did, even though the design would be the wound that I was looking at right then that felt so right.

Apparently, it's the ephemeral quality of a real wound that is the "real me". I should have known. I mean, I've been taking pictures of my real wounds for years - both actual injuries I've had and BDSM marks I've acquired. Having a gruesome injury or wound makes me feel like "me", but the wound has to be temporary. It has to "heal", so that I can get another wound somewhere else.

And part of it is the stories that go along with the wounds. I like having a visual reminder of a significant event that I experienced. As my old college producer used to say, "whatever you live through and makes a good story was worth it". The temporary wound tattoos are part of a character that I create, so those have stories too. I come up with a *reason* why I have those particular wounds, and the wounds are all consistent with the character's story.

So, for instance, if I have open slash wounds, I don't also have festering pus wounds or stitched up wounds, because they don't go together. Someone with open slash wounds would be a victim of some kind of violence. Festering pus wounds would be some kind of gory creature, probably not alive.

So even though I didn't personally go through some situation to "earn" those temporary tattoo wounds, like I would have with BDSM markings or work injuries, they still have a "story" to go with them. And then they fade away, just like real wounds, but without that whole "has to suffer pain and possible long-term medical complications" thing.

So now, every year that I work on Halloween Day or otherwise can't wear an actual costume, I put on some kind of wound tattoo and I feel like I am finally "me". And every November 1st, when it comes time to take them off, I face the dysphoria again as I take off my makeup and go back to my mask.

#BrainsAreWeird #KeptTheNonFacialOnesOnTodayAnyway #TheDysphoriaDoesNotHappenWhenIHaveTheFreedomToLetTheTempTattoosWearOffNaturally #JustLikeRealWounds #SeeingHowILookedWithGiantHickiesInHighSchoolShouldHaveBeenMyFirstTipOff #LikeTheLookDoNotLikeThePainThatGoesWithRealWoundsSoMuch
joreth: (being wise)
https://www.quora.com/My-friend-fed-me-a-pot-brownie-knowing-that-I-hate-drugs-and-am-an-athlete-This-was-a-month-ago-and-Im-still-furious-Am-I-overreacting-or-should-I-involve-her-parents-school-officials/answer/Joreth-Innkeeper 

Q. My friend fed me a pot brownie (knowing that I hate drugs and am an athlete).  This was a month ago, and I'm still furious.  Am I overreacting or should I involve her parents/school officials?

A.
Let me tell you a little something about the kind of person who would do this sort of thing.

I react poorly to alcohol.  I do not get a “buzz” or any of the euphoric sensations that other people get.  Instead, my core body temperature actually rises (which is different from simply feeling warm or “flushed” - a core body temperature change is a serious problem, which is why getting a fever is a serious symptom) and I get a burning in my shoulders very similar to a lactic acid burn.  At its best, this is an uncomfortable feeling.

Because of how common alcohol is in our society, people have a really hard time accepting that I do not like to drink.  They see it as “harmless”, which makes people feel entitled to try and push alcohol on me.  With the rising acceptance of marijuana, I am seeing this same trend with pot, which I similarly react poorly to.

So, in my early 20s, I dated a guy who thought of alcohol as completely harmless and didn’t understand how I could react the way I said I did.  He did not believe me, and so took it upon himself to lace some strawberries with alcohol and dip them in chocolate to cover the taste, knowing that chocolate covered strawberries were one of my favorite treats and that chocolate covered strawberries are generally considered one of the more “romantic” foods that a man could offer to a woman.

I noticed the taste right away, because I also strongly dislike the taste of alcohol.  It’s kind of like the thing where some people think that cilantro tastes like soap.  I’m just not wired to enjoy alcohol - it doesn’t react normally with me and I definitely don’t taste it the way other people do.

At the time, I was annoyed that he did not believe me and that he would try to trick me into getting drunk by feeding me laced strawberries.  Alcohol being as culturally accepted as it is, however, I did not recognize the extreme consent violation for what it was.  I mean, even his mother thought it was funny!

He and I did not work out for a variety of reasons that I only later recognized as his refusal to accept my autonomy.  We broke up eventually, but remained on speaking terms.

One day, years later, we were having a phone conversation, and we had gotten into what was becoming our “regular” argument every time we spoke - he insisted that I was The One and why couldn’t I just see that and come back to him, while I insisted that I was quite happy where I was, thank you very much.

But this argument was different.  Somehow we ended up on the subject of what if I had gotten pregnant while we were dating.  He told me the next thing in a way that was not a confession, but managed to come across as threatening.  He admitted that he had been sabotaging the condoms while we were dating, hoping to get me pregnant so that I would have been tied to him forever.

I told him that I had always been pro-choice and I would have had an abortion if I had ever gotten pregnant when I was not planning on having a child at that time.

He got really quiet for a moment, and then when he spoke next, his voice was low and intense.  He very calmly said that if he ever found out that I had aborted “his child”, he would hunt me down and kill me.

This is the mindset of a person who does not believe in bodily autonomy.

His brother, by the way, was at this time serving time in prison for killing his own wife and infant child.  So this was not an idle threat.  And he phrased it in the future tense, meaning that if he ever found out even sometime in the future that I had hidden an abortion from him, even some 30 years later he would still hunt me down and kill me.

Of course he would have no issue with drugging me with alcohol without my consent.  He fundamentally did not believe that I am a person who is entitled to make decisions about my own body.  In his very core, he believes that what he wants for my body trumps my own wants for my body.

Your friend might not actually believe she has the right to murder you if you do something to your body that she doesn’t like.  But she still does not believe that your wants for your body are the only wants that matter.  She still believes she is entitled to do things to your body, not only without your consent, but against your express consent.

This is a dangerous person.  You were fortunate that no lasting harm actually came to you, either in the form of injury under non-consensual drugs in your system or with regards to your athletic endeavors.  You got an empty chamber in that Russian Roulette game.

But she’s the one supplying the gun and the bullets.  You, or someone else, might not be so lucky next time.  And there will be a next time, because she doesn’t see anything dangerous with holding a gun to someone’s head.  It’s just “pot”, right?  What does your right to your own body matter, when her beliefs about your body contradict it?

Maybe nothing extreme or serious happened as a consequence of this one situation.  That’s not the point.  The point is her beliefs.  She does. not. believe. in. your. bodily. autonomy.

This is a very dangerous person to be around.  You are absolutely right to continue to be upset at this.  I won’t tell you that you “should” involve any set of authorities, because only you can decide how invested you want to be in holding her accountable.  But I think she *ought* to be held accountable and she needs a very hard lesson in what autonomy is and why she is not entitled to anyone else’s, before she harms someone else.
joreth: (Default)
Saw a low-key body-shaming #UnicornHunter ad that mentioned trying not to eat cupcakes every day. Realized that eating cupcakes is one of my unspoken Relationship Expectations for my partners, since I bake and I specialize in cupcakes with my own special frosting recipe.

Guess I need to start including "must eat my cupcakes" in the Relationship Duties section of my user-manual. #DealBreaker

#AlsoDoNotTouchMyKnivesWithoutPermission #IfISayAParticularSongMakesAGoodDanceSongThenDropWhatYouAreDoingAndDanceWithMe #ThingsToMakeJorethHappy #FunnyButMyMetamoursAreAwesomeAboutHelpingMeEatMyCupcakes #NoThisIsNotAEuphamism #EvenFranklinLovedMyWeddingCupcakesAndHeDoesNotLikeCupcakes #BakingIsOneOfMyLoveLanguages (#ActsOfServiceDialect)

This deserves it's own post, I think.  I don't have a lot of time right now to really expand on this, but I am working on an expansion of the 5 Love Languages that will help people to determine what their LL is by going backwards - instead of reading the descriptions and trying to see if you fit in it, figuring out *what you are getting* out of a particular activity and matching that with one of the LLs.

Anyway, "baking" is, to me, one of my Love Languages.  It's a dialect of Acts of Service.

Something that seems to confuse a lot of people who haven't really delved into the LL theory is that there may be only 5 LLs, but there are a ton of dialects, just like real languages.  And just like real languages, some of those dialects are easy to see how they derived from the parent language and some are difficult, but they all derive from *something*, and often are influenced by something else.

So, for me, baking for other people is one specific way that I perform an Act of Service to show that I care about people.  But it's also a form of self-care and relaxation, so that makes it difficult to identify that it falls under the Acts of Service LL.

That's the thing with all these "personality type" systems - the systems themselves are simplistic while people are messy and complicated and often behaviours serve multiple purposes or have multiple influences, making it difficult to pin down the *why* of things.  They're handy short-cuts in the communication toolbox, but only if everyone you're communicating with knows what you mean by them.

I still recommend using these tools. Just know their limitations, which most people don't.
joreth: (boxed in)
#ThingsIWantToToon

A large dam is broken and hemorrhaging water.  Entire villages along the banks are flooded, people and animals are being swept away by the flood and the river is full of the dead.

A person with an evil grin is placing bombs along the dam.  Another person is on the ground trying to organize the disaster relief.

There is a long line of people bringing sandbags to try and control and redirect the flood.

Some of the people who handed over a sandbag have also started organizing to go after the saboteur and stop them from blowing more holes in the dam.

There is yet a third group of people in the distance with blueprints and maps and are clearly a long-range rebuilding team who will get to see the fruits of their labor only after the immediate disaster is controlled.

Off to the side, two people stand talking.  One of them says "I'm not going to bring a sandbag. I just don't think it will help anything."

The other one says "the person in charge of all of this isn't perfect.  Look, they're getting paid for their work here, and I heard they even backed into someone's fence with their car once.  Clearly they are just as bad as that guy up there blowing up the dam, so I can't support their efforts to block up the dam or clean up the mess from the flood."

#IfYourVoteDidNotCountWhyAreTheRepublicansSoIntentOnTakingAwayYourVote? #LesserOfTwoEvilsMeansOneIsStillTheGreaterEvil #DamageControl #HarmReduction #MultiFacetedPlan #ShortTermTriageLongTermRecovery #StopTheBleedingFirstThenStabilizeThenHeal
joreth: (boxed in)
I've always wanted to have some best friends, like in Sex And The City. I've never really had, like, a sister, to just hang out with and confide in and do girlie things.  Even as a child, I've longed for a sister to share secrets with and jump rope with and trade clothing with.  I always dreamed that I had a long-lost sister out there somewhere, and one day, we would find each other.

My BF is totally supportive of me finding a good friend.  But he will only allow me to have my sister-from-another-mister if he gets to watch us eat ice cream and paint our nails and he has to go shopping with us. He won't participate in any of our conversations (unless you want him to!), he'll just be there watching us while we bingewatch OITNB and sip margaritas.

He thinks this will be a great experience for me!  He's so in favor of it that he wants to interview all the ladies I meet, to make sure that I'll have the best bestie ever.  And he'll be there to share this with me every step of the way!  When we go to the mall, he'll drive us.  When we meet for drinks, he'll be there buying us the wine.  When we talk on the phone, he'll be listening on the extension.  All to make sure that me and my special lady friend are having the best time possible.

So, any girls wanna hit me up for some mid-week mani-pedis and the occasional Sunday brunch with me and my bf lurking in the corner?  He won't say anything, and you don't have to talk to him, he'll just be there watching us!



It's so fucking frustrating how obviously creepy this is when you take the sex *out* of it, but somehow adding sex and intimacy makes people think it's LESS creepy.

Stop hiring-without-pay women to hang out with you while some dude creeps in the shadows spying on you. It's really fucked up whether there is sex in there or not.

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