Hello Coco : A diary

Tag: writing

  • The Product of a High Libido and Nowhere to Go

    She grabbed the rope tied in two bunny ears and looped the first one around her left wrist as he picked up the strings of the second and looped them around her right, tightening her hands behind her back gently.

    Turning her around he smiled sweetly, the dimples poking out from both sides of his cheeks. He began brushing soft kisses along her collarbone and trailing them up to her neck, letting a small gust of breath tickle her ear. The shivers up her spine were followed by a burning heat. A little fire deep inside of her ignited as she closed her eyes.

    A light sensation brushed the peeks of her nipples, his finger swiping them slowly through her black cashmere top that delicately hung off both of her shoulders. Just one tug and she would be exposed to him and from the throbbing that began to pulsate, she wanted him to rip it off altogether. He didn’t though. Instead he pulled down from the center of the collar slowly until both breasts popped out from on top, the warm summer wind from the open window stimulating them into a full juicy plump.

    Opening her eyes she gazed down just as his tongue began to swirl on top of her, flicking and sucking. The wetness of her in full bloom and a small whimper releasing uncontrollably, begging to be satiated. His smile returned at the sound, pleased with himself and pleased with her for obeying.

    Without much though she began to collapse her knees to the floor, arms still bound neatly behind her propping her breasts forward as she lifted her chin to him expectantly. Releasing his cock from behind the zipper he stroked it without taking his eyes off hers and then hungrily offered it to her. Her pillowy lips pursed around his tip, letting saliva coat them until she wrapped all the way around slowly. Enjoying the feel of his thick cock taking up space inside her finally, she moved him inside her sensually. Her eyelashes tilted upward to catch a peak of his entrancement just before his eyes rolled back while she took him in deeper and a guttural moan escaped her.

    His hips began curving inward, helping himself into her mouth gently and in rhythm with her sighs of satisfaction. She was enjoying this more than him. Using only her mouth; the rawness of the ropes pulled at her wrists created a euphoric cosmo of pleasure and pain. She wanted more.

    As if knowing exactly what she was thinking, he removed himself and lifted her up from her knees and onto the couch where he bent her over his lap. Rubbing her ass softly, the room erupted in one swift slap – a spanking that would leave the most rewarding mark. Rubbing again softly he spanked again, then again, and then one final time before tucking his large fingers into her slowly, drowning them in her cum.

    Slowly moving in and out of her, he could feel the walls of her orgasm tighten around him just before speed took over his motions. Pushing his finger right into the tiny spot of pleasure she so desired, he fucked her. Hard. A flood of ecstasy erupted from inside her, spinning him out into lust for what it would feel like to feel himself inside of her fully.

    Delicately, he lifted her so that he was behind; shrouding her in his muscle as he tucked his arm under her head for a pillow and grasping her hips with his other hand. She begged. Begged him to move inside her. The feeling of his cock sliding up and forward, pressing perfectly in formation to her, left them both unhinged in primal need to just fuck. Without any sense of self, he pounded inside of her while her back arched taking him in fully and without any hesitations to his length.

    She released and then he did, the ropes loosened and their sweat dried sweetly, letting them fall asleep completely comfortable as the wind brought in warm juniper and dogwood from just outside their window.

  • “Short-Term Relationship”: How it has fucked me good and bad.

    If you haven’t seen my prior posts then the skinny is that I just ended a 6-year long relationship with a woman (I am a woman) in December and began casually hooking up with men in February to explore my sexuality again. I have now slept with 5 guys in a 2-month span.

    Over the course of all this time, I have learned quite a lot about my body (Hello, having to worry about STDs and pregnancy all over again) and what it’s like to experience men in my 30’s after my last run-in being when I was 23.

    I have been exploring the then and now comparisons and how age plays a part, my sexual needs from men compared to women, and most of all how to communicate with this entire other species after having it easy for 6 years with a woman who knew the ins and outs of my whole life and could relate to me on so many different levels men just can’t.

    Starting this journey, I looked up hook-up culture on TikTok to see what the girlies were up to and how they were approaching it. I was shocked to see that all the girls were swearing against it and harshly. Some of the comments on each were forgiving where women were saying “friends with benefits can be great and healthy and yada yada”, but the actual content was all against.

    I was shocked because I assumed that there would be tons of women out there posting about their fulfilling hook-ups, situationships and friends with benefits that I could really benefit listening to stories, but no – it was quite the opposite.

    I remember messaging my best friend telling her that I feel like hook-ups can be super healthy (I was in the midst of guy number 4 – see below- and in a sexual daze before I realized who he was outside of bed). I was telling her, “These girls are all against, but if there isn’t a risk for catching feelings why can’t sex be a healthy thing amongst friends who are on the same page?”

    As I started to move through guy number 3,4,5 – it all started to make more sense to me.

    Out of these 5 men:

    • 3 provided me with really great sexual experiences.
    • 3 were defensive regularly
    • 2 walked me to my car/home after hanging out.
    • 1 came prepared with his own condom.
    • All 5 need to go to therapy before considering long-term relationships.
    • & all 5 made me cry at least once.

    I’m writing because guy #5, the only one left up until tonight, was the last straw. It took me five guys to start to ask myself – ‘is hook-up culture for me?’

    The first guy, I had hooked up with a few times and it was easily the best sex I had ever had. Everything was great, that is until he no showed one night even after texting me up to the last 30-mintues telling me he was on his way (after being hours late already) and updating me on how far he was out. He decided to take a spontaneous detour to get stoned at his friend’s house and fell asleep. I had cleaned my entire apartment, put on makeup, and waited for way too long for this man until I realized he wasn’t coming. When I told him I was upset, he gave a weak apology followed with an excuse.

    The second guy would breadcrumb me (just learned that terminology – thanks Tik Tok) and then ghost me when I would ask ‘what time?’ to his ‘let’s hang out today’ texts. When he did end up showing up, we had the best time – I really loved being around him, but when I called him out on his lack of time management and poor communication (gently asking him to respect my time) he snapped at me so loudly and harsh that at that point I knew I couldn’t see him again.

    The third guy fucked me really well, asked me to do something a little advanced the following day over text and when I confided that I would need to take it a little slower he said that it was now ‘too complicated’ and bid me farewell.

    The fourth guy was my most consistent because it was *chefs kiss* and he played into all my fantasies…but the first time we spent real time together outside of my apartment he picked me up in his truck and when I hopped in he said, “Oh god, I’m going to have to check my suspension – you just moved the whole truck jumping in.” He proceeded to nit-pick me the entire night until I snapped at him to shut up or he wouldn’t get laid (I was really horny-don’t judge me for staying lol). He then turned inward, got defensive and pouty saying, “this is just my personality, but I guess you can’t handle it”.

    Then the fifth guy. In bed I would ask for different positions that made me feel good – he would do them for *literally* 5 seconds before he would change back into a position he enjoyed more. The time before, I told him I was about to cum and then he came two seconds later, walked away to grab a towel before plopping down on my bed and telling me how tired he was. I called him out on all of this and instead of acknowledging or apologizing he said, “I thought you came (referring to both nights). I didn’t realize you’ve been having such an unpleasant time.” Words I didn’t use, but ones he felt appropriate to deflect on what I was actually saying – genuine communication around what I need.

    I did in turn explain to him what the cues are for a woman’s orgasm as a little nugget of passively condescending advice that I genuinely think he needed to hear from someone – because how the fuck could he have thought I came either one of those times.

    My pussy swiped left so hard – bye bye.

    In summation, my feelings had become deprioritized for their comfortability.

    So tonight, after getting into my car (he did not walk me there and a homeless man jumped out of a bush and scared the shit out of me – so cherry on top), I cried so hard I had a panic attack. I then proceeded to scream in intervals on the way home.

    Scream for the rage I had built up over the course of these two months feeling like I had signed up to be used by these men all because I put “short-term relationship” on my dating profile.

    Regardless, I think I’ve experienced enough sex and am ready to put my feelings in a jar for someone who can take care of them the right way.

    …

    I feel sad.

    I feel a twinge in my gut for all the confrontation I had during the ‘break-ups’, for lack of better words, that I aimed to be cordial, but took turns into uncomfortable territory.

    I feel uncertain because some of these boys were really good at gaslighting my feelings and making me feel as if I was in the wrong.

    I feel scared that perhaps this is just what the dating world is like, regardless of my relationship request status.

    I feel sad.

    I feel sad.

    I feel sad.

  • Why Saying Goodbye Matters: A Personal Journey

    I think we all get the make-up of a goodbye.

    It starts off with an awkward silent acknowledgement of what’s supposed to happen next. Usually that happens as you both look at each other, arms awkwardly to your sides waiting for the other person to initiate unless it gets weird and you take the action, deciding whether or not this goodbye is warranted a hug or not.

    You do the thing and you part ways, unless you’re from the Midwest of course then you will be talking all before, during and after the hug – casually lingering with one foot in front of the next on your way out.

    Either way, it’s a closure from one point to the next. Concluding your time with someone either temporarily or permanently.

    I think we all do goodbyes because obviously it would be weird if we didn’t, right? Transitioning from one frame of presence to another where you are alone or moving on to another’s presence. Other than the social norms though, the purpose you would think is because maybe us humans need a solid transition – a mini closure.

    Of course, there are the ‘Irish goodbyes’ but those usually happen at parties, and are socially acceptable since you aren’t leaving a 1:1 hangout, like a casual ‘swing by’ situation that has a natural, silent swing out.

    I only figured out as I got older that ‘Irish goodbyes’ were only socially approved as something to happen in certain settings.

    As a kid in a military family the ‘Irish’ goodbye just felt like the classic kind.

    People came in and out of your life regularly, and it was taught that goodbyes were in most cases unnecessary, or something special you awarded people very close to you, otherwise you didn’t get attached enough to need more closure than that.

    At least that is what my dad thought, taking me away from friendships I built over a 6-year span and asking me to transition to a new home in under 2 weeks. “Make it quick” he said as I scrambled out of the car to give everyone a big hug and tell them that I’d miss them.

    I still resent my dad for that.

    It ended up impacting a lot of friendships and relationships as I had gotten older and had more autonomy over my environments. I would break up with boys on a whim and with little closure to them or myself – acting on emotions and feelings I didn’t even understand. I would burn bridges with friends, uncomfortable with the guilt of saying goodbye and having the conversation around it.

    I became classified to some as a ‘cold hearted bitch’.

    It didn’t help that my immediate family, whom I spent most of my chidhood with considering we were moving so much, were emotionally detached from themselves and each other.

    The second to last move before dad retired, I started to have panic attacks. My first one being in Algebra class after I had just found out my grandma was dying of cancer and we were picking up our whole life and moving in 2 weeks, without more than a few days’ notice.

    I’d cry at the dinner table, getting worked up because I didn’t feel heard when I told her I was anxious and depressed. Out of frustration I would scream and run to my room slamming the door behind me – asking for trouble. My mom opened the door, leaned against the frame and grinned at me as if what I was feeling was a child acting out. Amusing.

    I learned that year that my feelings didn’t matter to my parents, so why share them when I’d be faced with disappointment and invalidation.

    When my favorite teacher died of cancer I went to the service and then came home, went to my room quietly and cried. My mom came in, saw me and then left without a single word.

    When a student at my high school died in a car crash on his way to school, the entire class was silent and distraught. I came home and cried because I felt so awful at what had happened, only for mom to say, ‘why, you didn’t know him?’.

    My dad was never home to really get it but I always knew he was similar to mom. Had the same ideas around emotional vulnerability. That is until his doctor accidentally prescribed him a cocktail of medication that gave him immense anxiety. He struggled for months, until he realized what it was.

    My mom came to me at one point and said, “watching what your father went through- I get it now.”

    Because the feelings of your children are not real unless an adult you know feels them first to make them valid. I felt in that moment that I wished my dad experienced that anxiety episode much sooner in life so that I didn’t feel like I missed out on having support. I would even wish anxiety and depression upon her resentfully so that she could truly feel it and give me the apology I deserved.

    Growing up through my 20s and going to lots of therapy, I took on the work of finding validation internally. I slip up a lot though still. I was in a 6 year relationship with someone who stopped hearing me, invalidating every fucking feeling I had against them with a debate. I let that relationship go for way too long because perhaps the trauma from my past felt slightly comforting – swallowing my feelings whole to prevent hurt, even though I didn’t need to do that.

    I would become fearful that if I expressed a feeling, she would shoot me down and be condescending just like my mother.

    The patters of our traumas are really difficult to get out of. So, as painful as it was and how much I didn’t want to do it – I said goodbye.

    The goodbye was long, drawn out and uncomfortable as fuck. I let it all be my fault just to get it over with. She would question why and I would just say it was me because it was easier – I promised myself it would be the last time I do that for another person. That since we were living together and knee-deep in our lives together, that me succumbing to the full blame would be easiest. I was protecting myself from defending my feelings like I knew would happen.

    Since that relationship I have been casually dating a lot of different people and practicing a lot of goodbyes. Some not so good, and some really healthy. Being honest, feeling my instincts and letting myself be an entire person.

    I don’t think I’ll ever get to truly say goodbye to my past and the soul-sinking feelings of having my feelings crushed between another person’s hands…

    The betrayal and feeling of loneliness that can come so easily from another person you so depend on.

    It’s been 7 years since I moved away from home and got the distance I needed to mend those relationships and have vulnerable conversations with both my parents – ones that have felt so rewarding and fulfilling, like they are trying to grow too.

    I move back in a year – saying goodbye to Colorado. They asked me to move back sooner and I laughed out loud at them because of course they would expect that to be easy.

    The people who never could understand why goodbye was something people did. The people who didn’t believe anyone or anyplace was ever worth one.

    I told them that I plan on taking my time leaving here. Getting the full closure of this place, my home, and parting ways with a whole chapter of myself. Giving my friends a solid, whole-hearted goodbye. Taking one last walk around the park near my apartment, going to all my favorite spots one more time, embracing a Colorado summer and winter one more time.

    They went silent on the other end of the phone – unclear of what to say. I felt the twinge of sadness from not being understood, from them not putting the fucking puzzle together. I can’t help but feel like one day they will just get it.

    I think that’s what happens when it’s your parents though. You want so badly for them to get you, understand what they did wrong and apologize for it, to feel for you and with you because you love them regardless. I know they love me too, but it’s not enough and it doesn’t feel like whole love.

    Whole love for me feels like synchronous understanding of one another, who they are, and doing what they need to feel that love.

    I do not feel like they seek to understand me and seek to give me the type of love I need and ask for. And that hurts.

    I’ll never be able to say goodbye to them, but I know in my heart of hearts I have to say goodbye to the expectations I’ve always hoped they’d meet.

    A type of goodbye no one could have ever prepared me for.

  • The Biological & Gender Shock of Re-Introducing Sex with Men after 7 Years.

    If you’ve been reading my stuff, you know already that I have been sleeping with a lot of guys lately. For quick context, I just recently got out of a six year relationship with a woman where for most of the time there was a severe lack of sexual intimacy.

    Getting out of that relationship, I wanted to experience men again and being 30-years old now with a new perspective, 10 years of therapy, and liberated by all the wonderful changes I’ve already experienced – I’ve been going a little wild. There have been many guys, good & bad & neutral, and plenty of journal entries highlighting all my favorite moments for my future self to look back and be proud of.

    With all my new…experiences, I’ve compiled some observations.

    Sleeping with men after 7 years of being strictly with women has been an entire gender shock for me. I’ve had to look at sex from a difference, more serious, lens in terms of biology and risk mitigation. Then of course there’s personality differential between the sexes and navigating communication and emotional connection differently.

    I’m going to preface this entire post by saying that these notes are based solely on my own personal experiences over the course of the last 2 months with various sexual and non-sexual partners.

    The solo mustaches and fish pics are SO real. Just wow. More just an observation here.

    No condoms.

    First off, just the topic of protection is foreign to me considering I’ve been with a woman for 6 years and we were not concerned for STDs or pregnancy, but I was absolutely gob-smacked at how a lot of men do not carry condoms with them or even have them at home. It’s as if they are in the same boat – coming out of a gay revelation into exploring heterosexuality.

    I’m starting to put it together that condoms are stigmatized more than when I was 23 and last had sex with a guy.

    The words “Feeling Protector” has come up too many times to feel comfortable.

      I’m curious if it’s because abortions have become more normalized (even though the legalities haven’t) that men don’t have the same fears they did back then at accidentally conceiving. It also makes me think that they think abortions are a quick, easy thing for women’s bodies to go through – or if they care at all about the bodily trauma.

      I recently tried ‘the [infamous] pill’ and that was awful for a full month just getting used to elevated levels of Estrogen and Progesterone in my body on top of the spotting for a week and knocking my period completely off it’s cycle.

      When that failed I decided to get an IUD, which fucking hurt and now I’m spotting all over again and it’s been over a week of cramping.

      Having sex with men has opened up my eyes that it’s really up to us women to figure it the fuck out.

      Talking about feelings is like pulling teeth. I bet you all can imagine that in a woman-loving-woman relationship we talk about our feelings a lot. We’re in-sync with how our bodies and hormones work. The girlies that get it, get it.

      Thinking that I could be open with men just the same was a big mistake. I will say my situation is different than if pursuing a relationship in that I’m primarily seeking physical intimacy, however it’s been quite tricky to just understand someone’s emotional intelligence at the surface. I like to warm up a little bit and understand the nature of the person I’m about to sleep with.

      I’ve had men get highly defensive and shut down entirely to questions like, “When was your last relationship?” and “Oh you’re on the road a lot, does that get lonely?”. One man snapped at me for asking him to tell me about why he bailed on me one night we were supposed to meet up (mind you, I came at with no intentions of being combative).

      They don’t ask questions.

      I know it’s a normal thing based on my Tik Tok algorithm of women talking about it, but what the fuck is that? I will ask them question after question – mostly trying to stay relevant to the goals of our hang out but notice they never ask any questions back, as if they don’t care about my experience even though it’s a mutual arrangement.

      Is it nerves? Is it ADD/ADHD? Is it truly that you don’t care?

      They really do love to just ‘teach’ us, don’t they?

      Yes, sir I know why my bathroom door won’t close.

      Yes, sir I know the purpose behind why pets should get a dental cleaning regularly.

      Yes, sir I’m so aware of how to submit a maintenance request for my broken dishwasher.

      The first guy I had sex with off the bat spent a solid 30-mintues telling me about geopolitics and why religion is the way it is.

      The last guy spent a good amount of time giving me pointers on every answer I would give him about nutrition and protein intake.

      There’s more but I stopped listening.

      I have never received so much pointless, unsolicited information in such a short amount of time.

      Lastly (for now), the oral sex.

      I have been with a lot of woman partners to have experienced getting eaten out in quite a few different ways and styles. There’s angle, sucking, blowing, edging, soft kisses, hard kisses, side-to-side, finger & tongue play, etc;

      So far out of the 4 guys I’ve slept with only 2 really knew what was up and made me come with their mouth, but a common theme amongst them all has been the noise.

      I think in porn women learn that men like their oral sloppy, right? They have probably assumed the same for us? That might be in some women’s interest – won’t yuck someone’s yum – but a trend I’ve seen is that they do not get embarrassed about the sloppy sounds of lips on lips in fact, I truly believe it’s a goal at this point.

      Personally, not interested in the dramatics – I know my pussy is wet.

      What I have appreciated though is that each guy I’ve been with so far has been open to direction – something that wouldn’t have flown back in my early days of getting with guys in college.

      They listen and are appreciative to the direction and I fucking love that.

      In summation, I’ve had more positive experiences than bad and overall I’m happy that I it turned out that I’d be exploring men all over again in my 30s. Where I am mentally; the work I’ve put into myself and knowing exactly what I want and need and most importantly how to communicate it has made this experience liberating on a few different levels.

      The shock of understanding and connecting with men is still on-going. Every new guy I meet and/or have sex with is a fun new experience and I learn something new about my own body and preferences. I so appreciate them for that regardless of my points above – though the condom thing I won’t get over, still bat-shit crazy to me.

      More to come.

    1. Exploring Hook-Ups: Casual to Primal Needs

      For the last two months since having intentional short flings & hook-ups with various men, I’ve started to melt toward more levels of connection. Maslow’s 3rd level of need is love and belonging and although I couldn’t really ask that of these men formally, nor would I want to, I found myself leaning toward that direction like a plant to sunlight.

      I’ve been in this studio apartment for three months now and it’s the first time I’ve lived alone in quite a few years. I’ve always prided myself on my independence and lack of need for other people to fill my cup, but I was ignorant from the comfortability of being fulfilled in other ways and not realizing all that I had been missing.

      I am officially in this ‘hoe phase’, as people like to call it, with the expectation of seeking after the physical elements of what a man can bring since being with a woman these last six years. The expectation being sex and only sex.

      After time went on with having these guys in my bed, I realized that I began to crave hugs, being squished, and face-on-skin contact. I would bury myself in their arms and neck, pulling myself closer into them as much as I could. When cuddling wouldn’t happen, I’d feel robbed even though it technically fulfilled my ask.

      I got confused for a moment because I thought perhaps that need surfaced from feelings bubbling up, but after some time really thinking about it I truly didn’t/don’t have romantic feelings for any of these men. I would never seriously consider dating any of them.

      I realize that just as sex is important, physical touch is essential for me to feel regulated and emotionally fulfilled.

      I love the relaxation of noticing my heart rate decrease with slow deep sighs. The softness of his bicep under my cheek as I pull his arm into me in a hug, or when he grabs me in a small burst of tightness before releasing.

      I’d flip around eventually and tuck my face in the space between his collarbone and neck, nuzzling in as I wrap my legs between his and pull in tighter letting any extra excitement writhe beneath the surface as I press myself into him.

      We would talk a little bit about easy things, sharing perspectives on light topics and laughing. We were comfortably warm and found the perfect position. I realized after this that this was exactly what I needed, sometimes even more so than sex.

      Now that I’ve been experiencing a lot of new things, things that I now crave even more, it’s been making the need feel more primal. Instead of just wanting it, I feel I need it. With that need a new feeling bubbled up – fear. Fear of not having it, not being able to obtain it, a lack mentality.

      It was something I had always needed, but only just realized.

      In the beginning of this entire journey, I began to go to Swing Dance classes. I think originally it was because I just like to dance and try new things, but over time I would find myself seeking out classes when I was feeling lonely or sad. Of course, the conversations that would come from this community were fulfilling in their own way, but it was the craving of physical touch that I started to realize was prevalent every time I asked myself why I would gravitate toward it. The holding hands and being close to someone in an almost a hug.

      I guess I didn’t want to admit it because it sounds fucking sad, but after time I’m just beginning to come to peace that this is what being a human feels like when you don’t have a long-term committed person in your life to fulfill these needs when you want them. My prior relationship didn’t actually offer a lot of this, it was primarily a friendship for the last year or so, so now that I’m back into it, I feel as though every need is heightened after getting a taste of it.

      It’s as if it’s brand new. Like it’s my first time. Like I had been so hungry for so long and I hadn’t realized it because I frankly just got used to it.

      As I move through my days, I feel this perpetual want. I’m always wanting. For the last two months since the first time, I’ve been with a guy it’s been a tidal wave of feeling unsatiated, even when I’m completely satisfied in the moment. It’s ongoing and almost endless.

      With the sex and now this physical intimacy, I’m just feral for the connection.

    2. Being Mean: A Coping Mechanism in My Relationships

      When I was young, my parents would take bets on my relationships to see how long they would last. Rude right? It was because they said I was so mean to the boys. It hurt my feelings at the time because I felt like it meant that something was wrong with me.

      I took pride for a little while that I was mean to them because it made me feel superior. My dad even egged it on, probably because he was nervous about me dating as dads are. Also boys at that age were fucking idiots and I felt like I had to be mean to get my point across.

      Over the years the meanness had persisted in different ways/degrees. I’ve gone to therapy, have talked about it and tried to understand it without it actually going anywhere. My last relationship suffered quite a bit from it, but she would call it my ‘night spicy-ness’ as at the end of every day I would get pointy. It impacted our sex life and her overall comfortability around me. In the last year of our relationship, it reached an all-time high. I still remember lying in bed hearing her say,

      “I know my girlfriend is somewhere in there, I’m just waiting for her.”

      I think that level of meanness in the last year was triggered from internal dissonance. I wasn’t doing what I felt I needed to in my soul and instead working against it to try to be more ‘comfortable’ in that relationship. This was all happening on the back end though and I wasn’t ready to face it, which I feel made it even worse.

      The meanness of when I was younger I feel was triggered from not feeling like I can be authentic because I was emotionally stunted.

      Now that I am experiencing guys all over again, ass-deep in therapy, and having mini-realizations about how guys repress their feelings and have a hard time emoting/opening up, I’ve been practicing being gentler with myself and them- look at me go!

      With that gentleness, I’ve been filtering my thoughts through an extra layer of ‘how would they interpret what I am about to say?’ or ‘how would I feel if they said this to me?’ 8 times out of 10, I rework the words in my mind or forego it altogether. It makes me feel bad when I realize how many times, I actually do that and how long I’ve been going without the filter. Getting out of that negative mindset is a new obstacle for me. I should be celebrating the self-awareness, but it’s making me nervous at how far I’ve come without it and how I’ve been perceived.

      So, I’ve been doing this work and then in comes fucking Carter.

      The first time we met we had drinks, talked about our sexual preferences and hooked up in the same night. The second time he just came over and we fucked. This time, he came to pick me up to go out to a few bars in the area. The plan was that we would go out, he would use my panty vibrator and then we’d fool around in his car until we got back to my place. It was a solid, well-thought-out plan in my books. We are so sexually in-sync that I didn’t see any flaw to it.

      I jumped into his car, and he immediately made a comment about my swaying the car, cracking a joke about his suspension. I asked what these lights were on his car, and he gave me a passive, dick-ish answer. The rest of the next hour went just like that – being poked and prodded by every question and answer I’d give until he started making comments about girl friend groups and how there is always a ‘D.U.F.F’ and then proceeded to ask if I was one. I slapped him with my purse and told him if he planned on getting laid he should shut his fucking mouth.

      What happened next was the most interesting part. He shut up, started playing around on his phone, and sat on the opposite side of the booth. He made me work to turn the night back around as I persuaded him to come join me on my side. He apologized for being so mean, but I knew there was something else going on behind the scenes I wasn’t seeing. I asked him about it and he said he genuinely feels like this was his personality and I felt that. I felt that unsettling feeling of permanence as I’ve felt it thinking about how I’ve always struggled with it.

      Although the night went exactly as planned sexually & logistically, I began to realize that I couldn’t quite get comfortable, and he picked up on it. I couldn’t quite relax enough to truly just enjoy the sex and the foreplay beforehand. I became self-conscious of my razor-burn, how I looked on top, my facial expressions…everything because I knew how mean he could be that perhaps he had internal thoughts about them.

      Then it clicked this morning when I woke up, Carter is a lesson for me. Perhaps a little Karma too.

      What I am beginning to learn:

      1. Other people struggle with keeping ‘nice-ness’ in the forefront of their brain when interacting with partners of any degree (I just hadn’t met anyone else like this until Carter).
      2. Whether it’s a personality trait is actually a mystery, but I feel mine are from triggers, communication struggles and learned patterns that I believe can be helped. Maybe it’s time I dig into it further.
      3. Even if you are emotionally detached from the person you are sleeping with, what they do/say will impact the quality of sex. That is perhaps a reason why my sex life with my prior person was such shit.

    3. Approaching Sexuality at 30: Straight to Bisexual to Questioning. All Over Again.

      I’ve had sex with four different guys in the last month and a half.

      Mind you I haven’t had sex with a guy for 7 years beforehand because I was in a relationship with a woman – so, it does kind of feel like I’m walking back into my twenties and trying to experience things all over again, just through a different lens.

      I feel I do give myself some grace for that, but I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt or judgement coming from behind it. Perhaps it’s the internalized notion that what I am doing is slutty, irresponsible, un-ladylike, whore-ish. I’ll be honest, some of the kinks that have come to light from my ventures definitely make me feel like I am treading further in that direction.

      After that first time with Drake, I was hooked. I just didn’t realize that it could feel that good, that I could get off by a man being inside me. I know my 23-year-old self never experienced that. Most if not all the guys I had slept with back then got off leaving me high and dry. It was like a transaction; except they didn’t understand I needed something in return. It created this idea that men were inherently selfish, and that penetration wasn’t what it was cracked up to be.

      I had heard [from where, who the fuck knows] once way back when that only 20% of women can actually orgasm from penetration and that thought kind of made me give up on it altogether. If external stimulation was all most women could really experience, then what’s the point? I guess in that scenario the point would be to give pleasure to them, but none of them even attempted putting my pleasure first so I was S.O.L.

      I find myself asking if I only dated women despite men. I’ve been asking myself if I could see myself dating women again based on these new experiences. I would have to ask myself at that point if I was only thinking that because the sex these last 5 years wasn’t good, but we stuck around for comfortability.

      I think sadly I have to just admit that as 30-year-old woman I haven’t had a lot of quality sexual experiences. I’ve had mind-blowing sex with 1 woman in my life, and a lot of amazing sex with these men in just the last month. It makes me sad, but also excited to see what else I’ve been missing out on.

      I’ve been craving to write about it, to experience them all over again.

      Drake had this remarkable way of sliding into me at the perfect angle to hit my g-spot every. time. He’d made twirls with his hips, spelling god-knows what. He’d whisper in my ear asking me what I like and then give it to me without a second thought. There were moments where each push inside me, we’d make eye contact connecting on breath, feeling literally everything between us until we’d both come.

      Wesley spooned me on the couch as we watched a movie. He caressed my back and hips, playfully pulling them ever so slightly closer to him making my eyes role at the subtle feel of his hard cock against me. When he caught on to me moving with him, he started to trace my neck with deep, breathy kisses making my entire body shutter and press into him deeper. He took me to his bed, ate me out beautifully and then let me ride his fingers until I came.

      Then there’s Cade from last night who talked dirty to me at a packed bar for a good 45-minutes before scooting my chair closer, tucking his hand between my crossed legs and squeezing so hard I about came right then and there. We went back to my place, and he played with me for a long while before everything turned feral. He spanked me hard and let me ride his cock as he took me from behind. I was so wet, begging for more.

      So, yeah – can you blame me? I ask myself really, the person who is casting the most judgement.

      Part of me feels that me listening to my primal needs, wants and desires is a way of honoring this sexual liberation. Leaning into feeling good and experiencing good sex shouldn’t feel like I’m doing something wrong. I think that I will even out and adapt balance, but for now I’m just learning how to let go and let myself enjoy this part of life.

      I just want to learn how to embrace it without the judgement. The internalized slut-shaming of my generation and gender expectations. How the fuck do I do that?

    4. Navigating Life Changes: Unpacking Layers of Identity

      There have been some stark moments lately where I’m realizing there are even more layers to who I am and that’s scary. I thought I knew every angle and crevice of my personality and desires. Now there’s this hunger to unveil more and more, ripping up each layer like floorboards of an old house. It’s overwhelming and electrifying, and I can’t slow down.

      It all began when I ended a very safe and healing 5-year relationship with a woman (we’ll call her Erin). She taught me what a healthy relationship should look like and how to comfortably live with another person while still holding independence. I owe so much of my growth to that experience and her. It just couldn’t work out – we weren’t right for each other for a lot of reasons.

      I don’t think it’s talked about enough how intense it is to just change you’re entire lifestyle after a long relationship like this one. You’re removing an entire person from your life, from your bed every night, from your current and future plans. It rewired my brain and now all I can think about is – ‘What now?’

      I began to take stock of my life; the first thing being how I was taking care of myself -how I looked. I asked myself: “How do I want to feel about the way that I look?” The answers always drilled down to confidence. I wanted to look and feel confident.

      So, I got Lasik; my biggest insecurity being my glasses. I updated my wardrobe, where for the last few years I almost always wore sweats. I started experimenting with my hair and makeup, where I would usually throw on a hat and didn’t want the work of taking off the makeup so I would forego it altogether out of laziness.

      —It’s a little funny now when I look back to see how depressed I actually was in that relationship. Getting out of it and on the *right* SSRI changed my fucking life. I was in such a funk and completely blind to it because of all the weed I smoked – chalking it up to just resting, just relaxing, just taking it easy, just me being me. —

      After all that, I began to exercise regularly – wanting the feeling of being refreshed, feeling strong and again, confident. For the last two years I had been insecure of how much weight I had gained which resulted in high cholesterol. I was consuming so much sugar out of comfort, and she was too – we were enabling each other constantly. Add in weed and well, you can see how it can get out of hand.

      Almost three months out of the relationship and I’ve dropped a considerable amount of weight out of eating healthy, exercising, and regulating my emotions exclusively. Taking myself out of the disgingenuine relationship began saving my health.

      The snowball kept snowballing and I didn’t want it to stop. It became addicting – still is. I told my therapist, “I don’t want it to stop! What else can I do?”

      I decided my next exploration would be my sexuality. For the last 7 years, I’ve only been with women. The last guy I had been with I was just 23 years old. I was very unsure about everything in life then – though I still am in a lot of ways – I was in a completely different place filled with insecurity and unhealed trauma. I had no tools.

      I’m 30 now and I’ve gone to years and years of therapy and with all the healthy moves I have been making, my libido had picked up which made me think more…creatively. What sounded good. Like food, what could I go for? Between all the smut books I had been reading and my curiosity to what men were like now, I knew I had to move in that direction.

      I was so scared at first because 1. what if Erin found out and so soon after our breakup? She would be heartbroken. 2. what if it is awful? What if it brings up triggers?

      The very last thing I had wanted was to put myself in a situation where I would come out of it feeling the same ways I had felt when I was young: used, unheard, and transactional. I decided that whatever happened with these men that I would tell them exactly what I wanted and make sure it happened. I wouldn’t settle for an experience my younger self cried over countless times. I started coming up with a plan to do just that, and doing it discreetly so that Erin or anyone would never find out without my control. This was mine.

      Something amazing happened from that. I’ll call him Drake. He was the first guy I met on Tinder who made an effort. He made me a little scared with how forward he was, triggering me on a small level, but I summoned the courage to tell him to chill the fuck out and if he wanted it to move forward it would be on my terms. Luckily, he took it very well and the mutual respect only grew from there as he texted me every day for a week until we met up, hopping on the phone once for two hours just so I’d be more comfortable first.

      He came over on Valentines Day of all days – by accident. He swept me up in a kiss in the first moment, ripping the bandage off in an instant. It quickly escalated but it lasted forever, in the best way. It happened a few times with sweet moments tucked in the middle. He made it feel comfortable and safe. He made me feel desired. He asked questions and leaned into my answers. He helped me grasp in that moment that sex with men didn’t need to feel the way I only knew it to be.

      Don’t get me wrong, the guy has his flags and I would never consider a relationship with him, but I’m so grateful for the experience and the mutual intentions for connection. I walked away (barely) with a new outlook and giddiness to an entire side of my sexuality that I can now feel confident can be pleasurable and accessible.

      It made me emotional for a few days, just processing the experience. How my body felt and at what times, what things he did that I enjoyed and perhaps what I wanted to try next.

      Tinder came through again with another guy, we’ll call him Jesse. He was more subtle, actually barely forward except for his pet names for me – “Queen” and “Baby” that I guiltily throbbed for. I began to notice his insecurities, lack of communication and time management, and worst of all – his drinking problem. Things escalated anyways and I let him grab me in big bear hugs that would melt me to the core. I would let him grab my hand and kiss the back of it as he looked in my eyes and said something sweet. Two weeks of talking and it appeared he craved the ‘girlfriend’ connection more than the physical, and I was kind of okay with that.

      We eventually had sex and I was pretty curious to see how it would feel compared to Drake. Would he also know what to do and how to do it? Would I feel just as safe and comfortable? I couldn’t help a little nervousness as we didn’t have as direct conversations like Drake and I about what we liked and didn’t like. Jesse didn’t get my spiel on ‘I won’t accept anything but quality’ as I told Drake from the start – but that was because Jesse didn’t come off as threatening as Drake did in the beginning with his fuck-boy talk. Jesse was also more shy.

      I approached everything with Jesse differently and it showed. It showed in Jesse’s comfort to be a little too drunk, it showed in me letting myself be drunk along with him. It showed in Jesse’s lack of focus on me in that moment…his inability to take direction and make consistent effort to ensure I was having as good as a time. The sex certainty wasn’t bad, but it was nothing compared to Drake and I felt that in my heart. My younger self felt it a little, she was a little disappointed in me.

      I’ve let her down a lot these last seven years. Not calling it quits when I should have with Erin. Not taking care of my physical and mental health. Staying in a job that was chiseling away at my peace.

      I owe it to her to make up for it, so I told Jesse that I needed to move on. Even though I loved the sweet platonic things he would do, I knew I couldn’t let myself feel less on the physical end. I knew his drinking problem wouldn’t let up for me to do that. It was surprisingly difficult. I had grown attached to the sweetness and because of that, i strung him on a little bit more than I should have.

      There was a lesson there that I needed to learn. A reminder that sometimes I have to override my feelings even when it sucks, that I have to parent my younger self from making choices that would hurt me in the long run even though it felt good. It also brought to light a feeling of lack – a deep desire for hugs, comfort and general connection. Something I’m actively trying to fill with my friendships, a dependable love.

      So, after all this glorious snowballing and lesson-learning and sexual awakenings, I’ve let myself reap the benefits in other parts of my life. The confidence leaked into work – which resulted in taking on new projects and receiving accolades for my work. It leaked into my friendships – opening up for more vulnerable conversations. I have been becoming more myself – getting my sparkle back as they say – and leaning into my truest thoughts and desires. People have been noticing and telling me how excited they are for my changes, which snowballed me even more.

      I will say, I’m still adjusting to this side of myself. Learning who she is, how much is too much. When to fold and when to press forward.

      I’ve now redirected to my job. If this HR career is something I actually want for the rest of my life or something I have kept with out of comfort and my long-lasting depression.

      I know that I would write full-time if I could. But the confidence hasn’t leaked in that direction just yet and I know that full-time writing isn’t common. Not only are the odds against me, but I feel that my ADHD brain sends me on unorganized tangents. That I miss important details, themes or connections that would strenghten my writing. That I lack outline and general structure.

      I joined a creative writing group to help with this, which is such a huge step out of my comfort zone, but it’s once a month. This blog is anonymous, and I’m scared for anyone I know to see it; critique it. My best friend reading my diary when I was younger still triggers me today. I have a lot of fears around my writing still.

      I know that if I want that to change that I need to make big uncomfortable changes as I’ve done so far in other areas of my life. So, what would big uncomfortable changes look like? How can I melt the confidence into this?

      The snowball must continue – I won’t let it stop, at least not yet. If I let it, this could perhaps be the biggest roll.

    5. From Silence to Confidence: Reclaiming My Story

      It’s been sometime since I last wrote here. Truthfully, life has completely taken over and I’m glad it did. I’m sitting in a corner of my new apartment, looking out to everything I built for myself just in the last month.

      A magical thing happened when I started to write. I began to dream about what different experiences could feel like and subconsciously, experiences that I wanted for myself. I read somewhere that you should ‘write what you want to read’ and I had been craving something with meat to it – something that will have me second guessing who I’ve become these last 30 years and who I actually want to be for the next 30.

      Since the beginning of December I ended a 5-year relationship, moved into a studio apartment, dreamed up another idea for a story, went to a swing dancing class by myself, signed up for a creative writing group, dyed my hair and even got Lasik. And it all happened because I really wanted it to. If my characters could have adventures and happiness, so could I.

      With all of these changes a new sense of self-confidence has emerged, both on my own and interacting with other people. Confidence that I’ve got this and I can have what I want, if I just fucking go for it. It’s snowballed into the most essential thing I’ve always needed from the very start, the sole reason I began to start writing again, and that was to be heard.

      I ended my last relationship thinking to myself that my ex was perfect just the way she was and I just wasn’t feeling it. After some time to myself, I started to take note of my feelings in the closure process. I realized that I was dating someone that inherently prioritized her own voice above mine. It’s funny (sort of), I look back and think of all the times she’s blatantly interrupted me both one-on-one and in social settings, sometimes completely changing the subject as if whatever I was saying was unimportant. I look back and remember all the moments when she would ask me how my day was and completely check out. I remember asking for something and her twisting it so it would benefit her too.

      Not many people know that I grew up in an emotionless and uncommunicative household. I’ve come to realize that I was allowing myself to perpetuate my past. I allowed myself to be unheard because that’s what I have known.

      My younger self used to dream of my comments being posted on websites when dial-up was still a thing and I had only 30 minutes of computer time. I told myself after seeing “How to lose a guy in 10 days” for the first time that I would be Andy Anderson someday. I loved Harriet the Spy, observing and writing everything she saw. My journals had receipts, little drink umbrellas, movie stubs, and flowers and leaves. From a young age all I wanted to do was to be heard and connect.

      So, here I am starting over at 30 and doing my best to reconnect to the little girl that felt so free and open to share everything with the world as it came, no filter and no fear.

    6. Therapy & Character Development: Writing my first book

      I have had this story in my head for years. Whenever I had felt a subtly glimmer of inspiration, I would build it in my mind little by little but never actually putting it into words.

      Over the course of the last year and a half, I went through some of the worst bouts of depression. I wrestled with the thought of feeling meaningless, like I had nothing really to live for. I didn’t have drive or motivation in my career. I smoked weed to get through a lot of the long days and nights. I had been growing apart from the person I had been dating and with all these things combined I was severely under stimulated.

      I would scroll through TikTok, searching for keywords like ‘passion’ and ‘quarter-life crisis’ just to figure out what other people were saying. I was looking for guidance on what to do with my life.

      I don’t know what exact moment sparked this next chapter, but all I know is that it took 3 and a half weeks of isolation and a tiny spark of inspiration to just open up my laptop and begin writing an outline for the story I had always wanted, but was never brave enough, to write.

      The issue was that I knew the story would be personal, regardless of whatever fiction I sewed into it, there was going to be raw and real feelings -my heart- knitted into most of everything I wrote. Not because I meant to do it, but because it’s all I knew. It wasn’t till later did I realize that I needed it to be that way.

      I put it off for so long because I thought that if I had decided to actually publish it, that people in my life would actually read it. The people who are not actively addressed, would know who they were in the story.

      Even if I didn’t publish it though, there was fear someone would find it and read it. Like my best friend read my diary in my sophomore year of high school, causing a rift between us for two years. The summers after that, I would burn my journals on solo camping trips after finishing them for exactly that reason. Fear. Fear that someone would read something they didn’t like and that I would lose them.

      You’re probably thinking, “Damn, what the fuck are you writing in those journals?”

      Everything. You know those thoughts that you know are not healthy, not politically correct, not censored – your ‘monkey brain’ thoughts that you are conditioned to think from your environment, your background and your own personal experiences and traumas. Those.

      What she read that day was directly about her and how I felt about the decisions she was making with her life. Thoughts that were harsh and unguarded, but needed to be picked out from my brain and laid out on paper where they could rest and I could let it go.

      Writing has always been my therapy. With this new book that I continued to write, pushing through the fear, I have digested my most difficult feelings. I have gotten closure from my parents, went after what I truly desired, and worked through things that I never knew lived deep beneath my skin.

      I kept asking myself when writing it, ‘Is this too much of me – should I make it more fiction?” I laughed to myself because a lot of it was/is fiction, just things that I actually wanted to happen in my life. I was writing for the person I was, am and wanted to be without realizing it.

      So, as I was developing this character, I began to develop the person I really want to be. She’s still in progress by a large sum, but I’m starting to get to know her more, what she really wants and how she’s going to get there.

      Fast forward a few months later and I’m sitting in an almost empty apartment, the person I just broke up with going solo on their family trip as I count down the few days I have before I move into my new studio apartment. Alone. Well, with two very cute cats, but alone.

      I started this book thinking it would be a gutsy project, only to find that it has opened my eyes to an entirely different world that I want to be actively apart of and build from the studs.