O Self

Bones and Flesh and Pressure Points, Sex.

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The photography is by someone called Pauline Darly

An almost half year dry spell marked my Divorce’s conclusion. For a variety of reasons I waited a long time to try all those basic aspects of the flesh. It was not without encouragement to the contrary, as friends and even Strong tried to coax me to find someone or something to fill the ah… breach. I got lectured on zipless, no strings fucks, coaxed to try dating again, etc… But the flesh recoiled at the thought. There’s particular ways it needs to be touched and more to the point, I need there to be respect and the time it takes to vet another human being for that sort of thing is extensive.

And yet, Saying sex and pain are, for me inseparable concepts, both makes me sound like I’m talking about chronic vaginismus and does not capture the nuances of how I experience it. I’m talking hands on sadomasochism.

So, sex. It’s about touch, really, light touches, hard touches, scrapes of nails, stinging slaps, pressure, joints straining and for me, the sort of push that digs to the bone. To have and be touched is a wonderful thing. And I’m enraptured by smell and texture, that clean sex musk, the veins beneath the skin and the softness of the skin that wraps a cock.

And for me, pain. To hurt and be hurt. I adore the way that after your body has been primed, the weight of the last hurt drags into even the lightest caress, so that your whole body sensitizes and touch becomes more than how it was before there was pain. And there’s the noises, the facial expressions, the changes of posture are all extremely erotic to me. Pain is such a raw thing to have, creating a suffusion through the flesh from where ever it has been triggered.

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Cupcakes and Streamers

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Not my cake, I had cupcakes I turned 27 at the end of last week. My living room is still festooned with bunting and balloons, rainbow dollar store streamers put up with tape, hanging in frothy swathes. Leftover high end cupcakes sit in tupperware, frozen because that much sugar in the half dozen in one go would stun a horse.

I got a very pleasant visit for my birthday (I shall speak more on that later) and integral part of assembling the day together. As a result I have more or less dropped off the map, which is pleasant, though I utterly fucked ordering the munch for this month. Still, it’s nice when everything comes together perfectly.

As far as how it happened, that was a matter of delegation and getting exactly what you want. On that note, I got asked by someone random “(what a) Domme would like to have for Her birthday from Her subs, slaves, friend, boyfriend etc…” I wanted a made-to-order birthday.

Given the choice of various gifts, this one pretty much fits exactly what I want. And at the end of the day that’s pretty similar to what I think I would have wanted as a vanilla person.

Cargo Cult Career

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I’m working straight through the weekend and I feel, overwhelmingly like I’m engaging in some form of cargo cult more than doing anything meaningful. I really, really want a Career with a capital C. Right now I’m underpaid, over worked and messing about with what the trappings I think a career should look like.

I have suits, but nowhere to wear a power suit to. I am doing all sorts of exciting things, designing a sales and marketing campaign, learning Google analytics in my spare time, working evenings and weekends… and I feel like I’m being driven by the idea of what a Good Job is supposed to look like and no idea if this is basically some sort of corporate shamanism where I align the bones and sigils in the hope of uncovering some sort of buzz word laden, money attracting magic.

Let’s face it, despite all the Christian Greys and fur coat having wealthy Venuses, the average dom doesn’t have a high power/high class lifestyle attached. I have no clue what class I am- I grew up on welfare and various government assistant programs due to regular financial insolvency in my family. At first that was the understandable consequence of being the kid of a single mother, but the rest seems to be inexplicable bad luck and quite a bit of mismanagement. On the other hand I’m relatively privileged  I got through shit thus far with a BA and no student debt.

To be honest I want a Career because of a deep seated financial insecurity caused by growing up at the mercy of other people’s employment prospects. I don’t buy into the idea of being an uber Dom with impeccable self control and yet… I want control and security in a wa that borders on pathalogical. I’m honestly really happy to have money, any money. I’m extremely materialistic, not in the sense of acquiring all the latest tech toys but thinking in terms of life being something that’s bought piece by piece.

This month, for example, I upgraded my bedding to something stupendously comfortable. I found an inexpensive bed spread to cover my beat up couch. Just thinking about this *stuff* makes me feel happier. It’s not a popular opinion, because I think you’re supposed to take this sort of thing for granted or be above it. And yet…

This leads me to second guess my romantic desire for dominance. In an ideal scenario, I want some sort of Career with a house husband or otherwise to me the earner, have money and be valued for making money. I also want to be the decider in my relationship beyond the bedroom and that makes me uncomfortable- am I doing it for them or for me, and is it fair to leverage this based on cash? Do I want that because it’s realistic for me, or because I distrust other people? This probably is just Worrying About Being Dominant and Being Guilty.

So not only am I worrying, careerwise, that I won’t be able to hack a system posited on fundamental inequalities that I’m not even sure I should support, but I have to wonder if the sort of inequalities I’m fetishizing are the very ones I’d rather shatter in reality. Never mind, I support amnesty international and have water boarded two people.  There’s room for me to become an evil suit… if I can just figure it out.

Sex And Housekeeping

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Images taken from here: The Perfect Housewife

At work, I’m doing two and a half people’s jobs, thanks to the quitting of the person one step above me on the ladder. The green of spring had really gotten going, which meant that copious amounts of tree cum are ending up my nose. There’s been shit tests aplenty, as part of my new job, from playing the game of “should I fire this person”? (No, you bloody well should not, I need them to do reports…) to whip around deadlines and new projects where people have no fucking clue what they’re doing. At a potent deadline around the 14th…

The demands of my high stress job really engender in me the urge to go home and really… take up control and really force someone into that submissive space for my benefit. It’s not a kick the dog thing, it’s a craving that has only gotten stronger with age to get into that comfortable, lofty little cloud that is power over someone else.

The other overwhelming impulse I get is to over buy food. You would not, going by the usual state in my kitchen, think that I was all that domestic by nature. I’ve mentioned in the past that nurturing is a really big part of my kinks, and it really extends to a certain sort of domestic fussiness that permeates my life. I’ve noticed that the one thing I’ll do as far as stress shopping is buying more food than I really need. Not eating it, but acquiring it like I was readying myself for winter.

So it’s been a few weeks of furious horniness and dominance cravings combined with over buying eats. And over buying, and over buying… While my house gets really cluttered because the other thing that happens with stress is not wanting to do basic tidying.

State of the Dis-Union

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destr_torsion_padlock1I took care of some tax paperwork that needed doing, and followed up with the Ex so he knew that as far as cofiling for 2012, the ball’s in his court again. Next month I’m turning 27. Perhaps for that reason I’m filled with a particular impatience, as if nothing is coming at the speed it should.

And yet, I took a pretty big leap in January, to correct something that was demonstrably not a large sign of maturity in my life up until that point. I broke off an almost six year relationship, expecting to abandon everything that didn’t fit into a taxi.  With my Ex, I’ve been particularly careful talking about it- his privacy deserves respect and nothing is worse than tirades about a person who cannot defend themselves.

Breaking up didn’t make me a happier person per-say, because I’ve always been particularly good at living inside my head, and from that point, manufacturing my own contentment. I think, to apply a lesson from that situation, the problem was not basic sexual incompatibility, because I was quite capable of finding him attractive.  It wasn’t ideological issues, though we didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff, because I again, tend to have that space in my head that generally lets people I’m close to be people. It was a fundamental lack of respect that was eventually starting to go both ways that was making it bad for both of us.

Again, I think I’m on pretty dubious grounds as far as telling the whole wide web, though I’ve also talked intimately of my sexuality in other posts so… I’ll try to stick to talking about me and not him.

A lot of people seem to think that being a D-type makes you magically able to pilot relationships  to the point that a few lonely-and-delusional sub types will chime in about how you just need to put glue in the lock of the chastity cage and everything will come up roses, and yet I think this sort of problem is something that could happen to anyone, kinky or not.

Things I took into the relationship, that were pretty important, is being a survivor of child abuse, and being part of the addict-and-enabler song and dance. A lot of people have gone through what I did (there’s no apparent correlation between being kinky and childhood abuse survival) and it grinds a pattern into you that is so familiar and reliable that I can meet someone from the same weird world and just about close my eyes and run my fingers, blind, through the maze they’ve got embossed on their psyche. What does that have to do with my Ex? Learned helplessness is a bitch.

In the oddest way, kink did kill our relationship. Not basic sexual incompatibility  but some older person on fetlife advising me that as I aged I would understand all those “[Sigh!]… whatever!” things women are supposed to give in response to their male partners. I find the idea horrifying. And, one of the prices of staying with the ex would have been fundamental acceptance that I would never be listened to, in any particular capacity- I’d rather be a crazy cat lady than resigned.

But independence is pretty amazing. I like having my own apartment. It needs work, but even the relative lack of resources that came as a trade off of not being in a shared household… does not seriously impact my quality of life. I have noticed that I am being treated like I am more attractive, which generally tends to go with being on the lighter end of my weight fluctuations and is a definite thing. People are shallow. Then again, I’m not living as much inside my head as it was, so that’s a positive trade off.

I engage in lots of little projects, as is my habit. Honestly, it keeps me occupied. Each month brings some small improvement. Not bad for someone who was sleeping on a pile of laundry mid January! This week’s extravagance will hopefully be updating my bedding, at least to get a nice duvet cover that doesn’t have the general texture of sandpaper.

And on the flip side, I’m enjoying the challenges of my job. Hilariously, my boss wants me to temper my “direct” communication style, which means code switching to utterly fake corporate cheerleader in all external emails. This is not challenging for me, but if I actually believes in True Dominance (TM) I’d claim it was my nature shining through.

Instead, insincere exclamation points.

This is generic stock art. No idea where it started out.

Me and My Webcam

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Something…something…performative space… something… self objectification?

So I have been livestreaming daily life activities. Mundane stuff like me doing the dishes or yack-yack-yacking to people about safe anal sex.  Despite my reticence to put up static images, I actually enjoy interacting in this way.

It’s not precisely exhibitionism  because even though I’m under a barrage of sexual attention, it’s stimulating the upstairs not the downstairs, if you get my drift. It’s also rather interesting because I feel like I’m nudging up against the thorny issue of asking for attention.

I want positive attention. I mean, seriously, I wouldn’t be blogging and writing and talking to people if I didn’t adore hearing “Pearl, you’re the coooo0ooolest!” This isn’t even just a gender thing. Sure what I do is gendered, but guys who get attention deal with odd stuff too. But asking for attention has a certain degree of… I don’t know, social hazard?

Celebrity, even wimpy 10 person celebrity, is fun. I get a similar degree of fun being the person who organizes munches. As a nerd, I tend to be the GM in rpgs, or I admit a certain perverse desire to play characters that are different. Not different as in Mary Sue-esque “Oh my family was murdered!!!”  but characters with a reason to interact with people. Often i try to create underpowered character or other people’s villains.

Thing about getting attention is that it’s kinda like the double standard around beauty. You’re not supposed to put exceptional effort to get there because it’s supposed to be an anointed blessing from the gods. On the other hand it is supposed to be a good thing to be attractive, but being able to say “actually I’m kinda hot!” is a social faux pas.

You’re allowed to acknowledge your own cleverness. People polled generally see themselves as being slightly more intelligent than average, regardless of where they land on an IQ spectrum, as well as being a bit nicer than average. But if you say you’re more attractive than average… ouch! Prepare for a world of hurt. People are just as quick to assign people 4/10, would not bang scores as the are to croon at people calling themselves unattractive that they’re the contrary.

My hotness, incidentally seems to be one part context and one part related to the vagaries of how bloated I am and what my adult acne is doing. I can effect it in small part by what I wear and the application of makeup combined with the removal of eyebrows, but other than that…

Mostly I’m trading on nubile-ness, ultra pale skin and personality. Camming seems to have a positive effect on my perception of my looks even if I’m deeply distrusting about the actual nature of what people are perceiving. When I had an OKcupid account I got filed in the top 25%, but I still can’t trust it- I was generally considered “not hot” in other circles.

But give me a room to work and I start feeling more attractive. So there’s a definite push-pull going on there. There’s also a control issue. Which I will try to expand on.

Helen Mirren, of all people, talked about it pretty well

“I’m still trying to wriggle out from under that label. […] Being a sexual object is mortifying and irritating, yet it’s giving you power–an awful power that you’ve done nothing to deserve, a powerless power. I think some young women fall in love with that power, and it’s really objectifying.”

What she’s talking about is how when you put yourself out there to be desired, you’re simultaneously suffused with the ability to draw people in, but it encourages possessiveness on the part of the beholder. I don’t just mean the guys who project submission fantasies onto me, it’s that the attention other people give you is never really in your control.

My approach to camming generally comes with the caveats that I want to be able to limit it. It’s exhibitionism without vulnerability. But even beyond the persistent guy asking me to look at his penis… (and there’s always one without a fetish context) there’s the issue of always watching the crowd as much as they watch you.  As soon as you make yourself visible you need to be more conscious. On the other hand… I over thinka and…

My sex toys, months later.

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(Gmail is eating some of my responses to your email, so I’m throwing an FYI up on a post about sex toys, that if you didn’t get a reply, blame google)

It’s pink. Violently pink. I’m looking at a neat little row of anal plugs in small sizes, with about the colour tones I would expect out of a Barbie accessory. As you might guess, about a week ago Pinkcherry.ca delivered for me after a few little hiccups, once my fault and once inexplicable (but probably my fault). And by the way, they refunded my money *instantly* when the package failed to deliver in the first mail attempt.

Of course I tried them out!

The Tantus silk large isn’t actually that big, but it’s big enough. I have a personal preference for non-phallic, or rather non-realistic dildos. I don’t want to go shoving jaunty rubber dolphins or artful roses into my cunt, but especially for a strapon I’m particularly inclined towards things that aren’t obviously a vein-y male cock.

The ideal toy for me is smooth (not the soft rubber) silicone, thick-ish, with a flared base and a slightly pointed head.  Basically cock shaped without being an actual cock.

Some of this is actually because replicas do the uncanny valley thing for me. By this I mean that they are just real looking enough to be unsettling without having the arresting om-nom-nom of a real man’s penis. Between my legs, I’ve never wanted to do the gender fuck think or do futanari- I might call it my cock but it’s just a tool.

This actually hard in the sizing I want. There’s a certain size range where suddenly the manufacturers decided you want veins and circumcision scars and vestigial balls. Unfortunately for me I’m in that awkward zone. I don’t like monster sized, but something in the realm of human possibility is more my cup of tea.

But my relationship with toys still involves a hell of a lot of blushing. Like, as I mentioned, fisting someone else is practically humdrum but anything involving me is something I don’t talk about. Because… butts! In me, and stuffs!

In practice, everything does what it’s supposed to. The slightly bulbous head of the Tantus large is a little awkward unless I’m really, really turned on (and then vaginas are pretty elastic). Personally, for anything penetrative I’m a fan of the masturbate and nudge method of getting the equipment to open up. A slight taper at the head gets the process started.

Which is about as bleakly clinical as you can get about describing it, and I suppose I can do better.

My fingers always gravitate to my clit, a tiny nub that never leaves its hood, so sensitive that even a little bit of direct stimulation causes me to buck and shove the offending party away. Not because I don’t want to surrender, because if I persist, with fingers or vibes, it petulantly shuts down.

So the hood, and the modest pink inner lips are the real target of my attention. Words like pouting, fat labia apply, with the thicket of hair shaved from my mons but still covering the outer labia.

The clitoris, of course, according to medical knowledge earned from people fucking with ultrasounds, is a curious butterflied structure of which the protruding nub is just the iceberg tip of the more complicated system. Arousal is something I feel, as a warm tingle from cunt-crest to the inside of my thighs.  As I get more turned on, the coil climbs my spine and down to my knees, infusing my entire body with sensitivity. My breasts swell, though aside from the very tips, my nipples stay rose pink.

I really like being fucked while I bring myself off. My clit brings me orgasms I doubt I’ll ever get from a partner, and it’s a fickle little bitch that needs to be petted in just the right way. But when lust is stokes up what was uncomfortable suddenly feels like a delightful idea.  That’s when very rapid, very hard penetration suddenly goes from “meh, ow” to “omygodyes”.

It’s a good tip for anal beginners too, and my trick for getting up other people’s asses. No mater how much you stimulate the orifice, it generally won’t open up until the person is nicely aroused.

Hint- to get into a dude ass, start with a handjob.

Pinkcherry.com

Me, the Masochist AND Dominant ALSO Ego

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I recently filled out the University of Nova Scotia’s sex research survey, apparently trying to cross correlate personality  with self identified sexual orientation in BDSM.

So my identification is something that’s sometimes a bit awkward for me. I’m not “Undecided”. I know I’m a dominant. But even beyond the sensual/sensitive/strict variations, I also have other stuff in there.

I am, among many things, a masochist, and not just a pure sensation based masochist. I have of course encountered this often enough that I can’t claim to be a special snowflake. However I can observe how it effects and effected me and what this sort of experience demonstrates about how we construct the concept of sexual dominance but also submission.

Dominants, by common stereotype, are not supposed to be in a weak, subjugated position. We’re not supposed to be confused, incompetent or insecure. And not emotional either, though we can be rhapsodic about our “pet” a bit, or possessive. It’s hyper performance masculinity for the masses.

Occasionally dominants chirp up that they feel a little bit like they’re not allowed to be incompetent- Bitchy Jones and Dumb Domme both touch on it pretty well. A lot of pixel text passes through BDSM forums fighting the idea that dominants can’t fall in love (wah?!) and so forth. Everyone’s fighting the looming spector of the true dom.

Me, my masochism was a red herring that diverted me for quite some time. Of course we make room for so called ‘sensation bottoms’ but trying to explain that I enjoy more than physical sensations but I don’t actually submit really makes me feel like I’ve traipsed into that special zone of hell where you need to split hairs and refine terms so exactly you’re defining things on the molecular level.

Then again, you have to do that anyway when you define what kind of dominant you are. I’m nobody’s Mommy, Sissy Trainer or Goddess. I have to do that already. And yet…

I like, as an overarching thing, to have authority. It feels very good in the “me” place. The principle that someone or something is Mine really appeals to me. i’m a nasty little sadist who would love to hear you in that abject, broken down place. I just go a tingle from writing that last sentence, it’s such a big thing for me. And yet I like to caretake in a way that borders on acts of fussy service (of course I made your gruel into a happy face, prisoner!) and there is an aspect of me that really enjoys sexual victimization.

Yeah, yeah, all strong women secretly want to be raped and taken by an aggressive man, etc… etc… No. I don’t want to be owned. It’s not about submission. In practice, being on the receiving end does not take me to that good, cozy place that domination does.  As a victim, sure I’m physically aroused, the orgasms are good, I’m crying and pleading and so forth. But part of that is the ability to pull away from the victimizer. I’m actually pretty loathe to experiment because I don’t want actual vulnerability. Ew, gross. I pretty much have a rule that if you don’t sub to me, it isn’t going to happen. And don’t get me started on me and aftercare.

I’m a person who needs to be hugged and held after something intense, or I feel like a truck backed over me the next day. Constitutionally speaking, though my pain thresh hold  is high, I think I take strong emotions really hard. I’m even a little loopy after intense topping! But there is very few instances where I will trust someone to give me that real need.

So there’s that piece of awkward. Especially since there is a background tendency, that bastard “True” to think about subjugation on a rank scale. Like people still tell others how positive it is to “start as a submissive” as if being a dominant was something you worked up to. Or that you would be a more skilled dominant, which from a sensation experience might be correct, but honestly, from a *doing* perspective, if you’re actually into technical skill the sooner you can get started the better.

I’m a lot less open about the broad spectrum of my sexual desire because I feel like it creates more headaches than it sooths. Kink profiles mainly only make oblique references to it because I am made extremely uncomfortable by aggressive come-ons, much less the sort that people perceived as sub women get. I mean outright rape threats meant as come-ons will make me stabby.

So far my policy is simply that if you don’t sub to me, you don’t get to even consider negotiating with me. And I really don’t appreciate how often some random would be mentor has offered to help me “explore” this side. Granted the last guy went off on a rant about how I was rejecting him because he was black, so there’s other reasons why that sort of explicit come on creeps me out.

So I’m a dominant sadomasochist. If I own you, I own you. If I like and trust you, I can be a victim too, but don’t get too attached because the dom thing is going to bob back to the surface.

 

Freedom and Caution

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So I hosted my usual 18-35 munch (ohhhh, you’re that Pearl!) and it went swimmingly. And because I have the words “freshly broken up” stamped on my forehead, and because I am flirty and approachable, the tentative interest is starting to manifest.

Funny thing about that, at the moment I could be banging half the city of Montreal. Or having kinky BDSM with them, assuming consent in both cases. There’s a play party this weekend, and my dance card has been given a few longing looks from people who’d like to give it a punch. Or to be exact, would like me to give them a punch. And yet, I find myself up against the issue of being a theoretical slut.

Okay, my sexual history puts me firmly into the “slut” category, by even a fairly liberal culture’s standards. But, finding myself with the complete freedom to do as I want, something doesn’t quite feel like it would be a good idea. Some of it is the nature of my separation  being a bit over a month shook of a really long tenured relationship. Of course, reportedly the other side of the Divorce had a date lined up for that weekend with a “Lawyer” according to helpful friend gossip. But he’s always landed on his feet. I give him six months, tops, to a pretty good new girlfriend or a series of entertainments.

And there’s Strong, doing his quiet presence in the background. Not that he is a barrier to anything, but life, upon embarking on my Divorce got at once more simple and immensely more complicated. Suffice to say, temptation, and also the leftover sense that how the Divorce went down means that life should not be rushed. And one of the things I have to face up to is the fact that I’m a lot better at being flirty than I am at playing musical cocks (or vaginas).

And I don’t think I can have a zipless, body based fuck. Some of it is that I am hard to bring off, and so complicated sexually that I might as well stay home and masturbate. Some of it is that despite the reputation I produce I am shy.  As a combination, despite being  a female dominant  and thus treated like scarce joy, the urge to paint the town pink, much less red, is not there.

Some of it is being worried people will get too attached. some of it is worrying that you will deal with people throwing a hissy when I want things entirely on my terms- I’m going around telling a lot of people “I am flirting and touchy, but if I want to have sex with you I will explicitly say so in as many words.”

Weird, I don’t feel like being promiscuous with sex, or playing with as many people as possible, when I’ve had the most freedom ever. It’s going ot be interesting to see how the party goes down tonight.

I’m Doing This For Me, For You

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Subs often talk about how their D/s dynamic is posited on making them better people. The negatives in their life, from house cleaning to working on their mental health, become positives when it’s to serve, please or obey a dominant. It’s not something you usually get at a dom and yet, there’s something motivating about owning someone.

I did not expect to take the “gift of submission” seriously, until someone I really respected decided to submit for me. I won’t go into particulars about Strong…

But he does just that, he makes me feel stronger and more responsible. It’s a weird feeling, but something clicked- “Oh my god, I have to get my shit together.”

And I started working on a lot of stuff that needed fixing about myself. I think I carry a lot of shame about not meeting up to my own standards and with strong, it is easier to ignore the distractions because of the internal voice that counters them with “Fuck it, you have Strong, you don’t have time for this shit.”

It’s not a panacea, and my attitude to these things is pretty distrustful. I don’t think I’m an inherently trusting person at the best of times, and I tend to see strong emotions as particularly suspect. I can’t tell, of course, how much of that is familial habit and how much is a fair take away from experience. It’s always been natural for me to have both a primary emotion and a degree of detachment buffered by secondary emotions, so there’s the raw LovesLovesLoves! torrent ripping its way through my head, and there’s the analytic part of me, taking measurements like some sort of lakes and rivers worker taking water samples from a flood.

So there’s the compulsion to be a better person. I can’t say how long it will last or if it is healthy, but while I might have scoffed at the saccharine “Dom’s Responsibilities” , and still scoff at the facebook forward style lists that make it to the Kinky & Popular section of fetlife, I decided to go with it.

D/s also does weird things to your perspective, because it asks things of you that are otherwise not supposed to be part of your relationship repertoire. For example while caretaking is a great part of any relationship, you’re not supposed to think it terms of over riding other people in healthy vanilla. It’s also a funny sort of game, because if you can have a healthy relationship with someone they need a degree of self sufficiency and mental tidiness as a single person. Being completely dysfunctional, no matter how well intended, is going to scupper your D/s

I’ve got a friend who is a bit older than me, a sub, who I guess I’ll call him the Professor. Nice guy, very emotional in that sort of hedonistic pleasure seeking sort of way. He recently re-hooked up with his old flame, a woman from when he was younger. She discovered she was a dom and they’re attempting to launch a life now.

As a background, generally speaking Professor likes a particularly zany woman, the kind that seems, from his reporting, to be somewhere between manic pixie dream girl and hot mess. Lots of intense, passionate flings and one night stands. Anyhoo I generally assumed this was more of the same.

Now I’m, at my core, a judgmental and cynical bitch, but this is one of those cases where I looked at the actual instructions Blume was giving Professor, who is, himself, a bit of a hot mess. Basically she was having him do the shit that’s good for him.

Oh. Right. Quick reminder these people are still okay as separate individuals, but have found a way to connect. And she was over riding him and it was working out well. Judgmental bitch voice -Silenced!-

But for me, Strong has the weird effect of making me want to be more competent, capable and otherwise able. I feel like I suddenly have to develop a lot more focus on my life. It’s absurd, because he’s perfectly capable of surviving without me, but I feel like suddenly I am needed in a profound way and I must be better at things. All the things.