Delightfully unique- whatever or whomever I'm writing in consent, romance, and lust.
My current therapist has diagnosed me as having Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD); recently we discussed Complex PTSD- which is sadly still not in the DSM (the so-called “bible of psychiatry”). Yes, that diagnosis describes me well. My therapist and I have a great working relationship- we are both rather academic-minded and so we often share books, articles, topics. One idea I wandered upon was secure attachment; because of the abuse I've lived with, I'm not very securely attached to anyone, even my Master.
I wish I could remember where I'd read the explanation of “Find a person as an adult whom you can ask if they will be your secure attachment person.” Importantly (according to my source), you should ask the person if they will fill this “secure attachment person” role. My Master, He has enough of His own issues. However, Audrey suggested I ask her to file the role and she said yes after I asked her. Given that she's 69 and doesn't keep a “second shift life” as I do, she's often fast asleep by the time I go to bed a bit after midnight. So she recommended a bedtime ritual of “attaching to memories of [her].”
Both my Master and I have issues with anxiety; a friend of His bought us a queen-size weighted blanket. While at first I couldn't use it by myself- He works 3rd shift and I try to keep to 2nd shift- I've grown to find it comfortable and useful. So now my bedtime ritual is getting into the made bed (flat sheet, comforter, weighted blanket) surrounded by stuffed animals and laying on my back with my arms at my side as I focus on memories of Audrey. My mental voice meanders between Audrey's voice and my own, even as my memories work through each of my senses and sensory systems. I sometimes select specific memories, such as Audrey telling me that she couldn't spend time with me because she has other relationships to attend to, other things to do.
Now the thing that caught my attention as I was doing this last night- why Audrey, not Shaman (that's my Master's nickname)? To say “He has His own issues” seemed like a cop-out, even as I thought it and then wrote it. (Wrote it? Does it still count as “wrote” when I do my “writing” on a keyboard?) My mind started to create a table.
Physical. Nesting partner. (I had a 3rd thing, but it's not coming back into my mind.)
Virtual. Non-nesting partner. (I never did figure out a 3rd thing for her.)
Of course, Audrey made the offer; I'm still working on being able to ask Shaman for things I need that He's capable of acquiring and/or giving. As with another thing I worried, I think I have a ponder that's related to polyamory, not to the differences in Shaman's and Audrey's being.
I took to my blog to write this out because talking about Audrey in online support groups most often gets incorrect, offensive, “armchair psychologist”-type responses. Not too long ago, I ran to my therapist, upset that someone had said that they were very concerned about me and asking if I'd been screened for Schizophrenia- based on me stating Audrey's validity.
In the US, monogamy comes along with this expectation that partners should be everything to each other; I reject that notion. So why not Shaman? Because Audrey said yes.
I'm writing this second to the vlog I just recorded; I had thoughts for both the vlog and the blog, but I didn't think to write either of them down. So let me gather in the spark or sparks that gave me the idea for this vlog/blog combo. One big inspiration is Happy from my “Typing My Love” story. Joy (that's Happy's pronoun, not another person or even Happy's nickname)- starting again after explanation :D Joy was lucky in my book to have more people in joys life that supported the use of written communication, even when they meant they had to read rather than listen before the technology became accessible. Even when people in my life have supported my use of AAC boards, text-to-speech technology, I've had a difficult time asserting my desires and needs; for instance, my daughter prefers to continue learning ASL rather than using my AAC board when we're shopping. However, since figuring out the sign for “Remove headphones,” she annoyingly uses that to speak rather than write on the board.
Now when I brought my AAC board to the SOGI group my therapist runs (pretty sure I mentioned this in an earlier #TT post about AAC), she was supportive of me using the board, but I didn't see my way to using it. Other than thinking that I'm not worthy of the accommodation, I'm not sure why.
So whether it's a blog post or a vlog on my YouTube channel, I'll make sure to tell everyone how the therapy session went using Balabolka as a text-to-speech device on my computer.
And here's the link for the vlog; hopefully it will be properly close captioned by the time this goes live. Captions and transcript will be provided as soon as I can get them up.
“Touch is a solid theme”- the words of a dear friend when I was trying to come up with posts for July- well, possibly into August as I'd like to work on submitting at least two manuscripts to publishers in August once Camp Nano July is done. I saved her suggestion because, at first, I wasn't really sure what to do with it. However, as I was reading “Too Loud, Too Bright, Too Fast, Too Tight” by Sharon Heller, I realized that I indeed have tactile challenges that I didn't realize. Dr. Heller talks in that book about how tactile is one of the earliest scenes; I was six years old when I didn't want my mother to touch me ever. In my opinion, the book does a great job talking about tactile difficulties as not just being “clothing tags make me itch”; if we went by the stereotypes of “sensitive people,” I wouldn't fit them because I'm underreactive to much tactile sensation. I wonder if that's part of why I've made such shiny spots on my keyboard's keys :D. I also wonder if improving tactile sense is part of why I don't need BDSM impact activities to be as harsh as I used to want them.
“Here's the box from the therapy company.” Ziba placed a small brown box on the kitchen table between Happy's and her mats. After joys nod, she continued, “Would you like to open it?”
Happy passed the letter opener to Ziba.
Quick work with the opener and Ziba had the box open. Not too loud. “It's your brushes.”
Happy typed on joys tablet and pushed a button. “Can we try them now please?”
While I'm not working on this WIP currently, when my friend made her suggestion, I immediately thought of “Typing My Love.” Happy (the character who's on the Autism Spectrum in that book) doesn't get diagnosed on the spectrum until adulthood- this also joy (Happy's pronouns are joy/joys/joyself) to avoid things like Applied Behavioral Analysis. Another friend responded to my post about EMDR and skin brushing by mentioning how skin brushing had been awful for them because it was done to them as a child; we talked about the differences between their childhood experience and me choosing skin brushing as an adult. I'm not sure if the little bit of fiction between the paragraphs will be fit into TML, but it's definitely a scene percolating in my brain.
Overreactive to tactile. That one has been a track in my head. Even though I feel comfortable saying that I'm on the Autism Spectrum without a formal diagnosis, I definitely struggle with stereotypes about not liking hugs, kissing, sexual activity, etc. Then I realize that my behaviors with that are rather complex and do include a bunch of avoidance. I want to be hugged more, but not by strangers; I'm good with my Master, my girlfriend, my daughter hugging me, the occasional person at church who doesn't put me off too much. But when others with Sensory Processing Disorder and/or on the Autism Spectrum talk about not wanting anyone to touch them at all? I struggle with that; I'm not sure why, with my former comments. Just because *some* people are okay doesn't mean I'm at all average on this. While it doesn't fit Happy very well either- the idea of overreactive to tactile- I'm pondering when an intimate scene between one or more people with overreactive tactile sense might look like. Of course, that sends my mind to a #MasturbationMonday post in which I showed intimacy between an allosexual and an asexual persons.
What to do when an idea is so far from your knowledge that stereotypes are what come to mind? I don't have any characters already created, breathed into life that hate all touch, even most touch- even Didier, asexual but not sex-repulsed, wants cuddles. I'm glad for my reading that explained how touch is more than just people or things touching one's skin, but also the air, the temperature etc.
I want to ask my readers a specific question now, but words fail me as I write this the evening before seeing my med manager (who I don't entirely trust). What are your thoughts about someone being over- or underreactive to touch?
Silly me, I'm at the mall (thank goodness for laptops) because the AC isn't working at home, and I realized that I forgot the notebook I wrote in yesterday so I could lay on the cool floor in the basement. Ah, the prompt: “intimacy in a pool of water.” I have such diverse thoughts on this. “Sex on the beach” and “sex in a swimming pool” are both common enough fantasies, but as my reading has shown me, neither are very good in reality; in my “Vala's Story” story-verse, the rules around the indoor pool are delightfully specific and only partially shaped by BDSM.
Since I already dipped into that story-verse with my girlfriend Audrey (it'll be “last week” when this is actually posted), I figured I'll stay there. There's another body of water in The Queen's mansion that doesn't have tons of rules- why doesn't anyone think about how chlorine on the genitals would be bad? And thank you very much, but I don't relish the idea of sand between my buttcheeks.) I'm waiting for the players in the Oasis- one of his small, themed playrooms- to step forward.
I leaned back against the wall with the comfortably thick “outdoor blanket” separating me from the sand. The Queen promised me the chance to be a voyeur.
Suddenly the door sprung open to admit Tommy and Simon; I was struck by everything about them.
Tommy's deep black hair had been cut in messy bunches, giving him an extra shaggy look. The whites of his eyes had turned pinkish and the tears still poured down his cheeks. His pale skin was highlighted by the dirty white straitjacket restraining his torso and arms. His semi-hard cock rested against his thigh.
Smoldering with intensity, Simon's eyes moved over Tommy's shuddering form. Tight black jeans showed off how tanned the rest of him was. “Time to get in the water, little boy,” he growled.
“Ye-yes, sir,” Tommy whimpered. His toes pushed into the sand.
Simon moved behind Tommy. His lips pressed against the metal-encircled neck. “Are you my good boy?”
“Yes, yes! Please, sir.” Tommy jerked as Simon obviously worked on the buckles. “Need you.”
“Of course you do.” Simon reached around Tommy to pull his arms away from his body. “How is it feeling so far?”
“Okay. Um, miss the... tightness.” Tommy wavered on his feet as if ready to fall to his knees.
Circling around to Tommy's front again, Simon paused and placed his hand on Tommy's cheek. “I'll hold you tight in a moment.” He grabbed the jacket at the shoulders and eased it off Tommy before tossing it to the floor. With flying fingers and pushing hands, he removed his jeans and pulled Tommy back against him. His eyes closing in bliss, he kissed Tommy hard until the boy moaned against him. Continuing in the kiss, he walked them backward to the pool. “Easy now,” he muttered into the kiss as they took gentle steps into the warm water. He helped Tommy to ease down into the pool so they could lean against the side.
“Love you, love you.” Tommy's head rocked against the pool's side.
“Love you too. Relax now.” Simon brushed Tommy's hair away from his face. “Such a good boy.” He sprinkled kisses over his love's moist face.
“Might I be a little more than a voyeur?” I asked Simon.
Simon nodded. “Just keep your voice down.”
“Was he very wound up?” I asked.
Simon nodded again.
“Has he earned an orgasm?”
Rolling his eyes, Simon asked, “Is that all you think of?” Before I could respond, he continued on, “First this bath and then probably some snacks. You saw how I marked his ass and thighs, yes?”
Tommy pressed his face against Simon's neck.
Simon wrapped his arms around Tommy's chest and held him tight. “Sh, little boy. You don't have to be alone ever again.”
I held in any comment; poor Tommy, still so hurt by his parents' abuse too. Looking around, I spotted a perspiring bottle of water and held it out to Simon.
“Thanks.” Simon took the bottle and pushed the cap off with the same hand. “Tommy, drink.”
Tommy lifted his head enough to give his lips to Simon and the water bottle. He drank deeply until seized with a coughing fit.
Simon patted Tommy's back and passed the half-empty bottle to me. “Okay?”
“Mhm.” Tommy pressed down against Simon. Then his ass lifted just out of the water. “Awww,” he sighed.
“Good, little boy. Did you have a good orgasm?” Simon cooed.
“Yes, love.” Tommy coughed again.
“I love watching you two, whatever you're doing,” I said.
“We do tend to play harder than you enjoy for yourself with Shaman anymore.” Simon accepted the water bottle back from me. “Can you tell Raanan that he and Gaelan need to change the water?”
“Sure.” Careful not to lose my balance on the sand, I crossed the room to the intercom box. I looked closely at what I'd never described well in the Vala's Story books. My gaze sped through the sections until I found first the slave quarters and then Raanan's room. “Raanan? Simon wants the water in the Oasis changed in awhile.”
“Got it, my Lord,” Raanan said a moment later. “Joelle, good to hear your voice.”
I returned to the blanket and knocked the sand off my feet.
Tommy looked into my eyes for a long moment before muttering, “Thanks, Joelle.”
“You're welcome. I hope you enjoy the rest of aftercare.” I leaned back against the wall and pondered what I'd been invited to watch.
When I sat down to write this, I realized that probably one of the first steps I made in the journey to drop my extremely well built “masks” to make me seem neurotypical was starting the story “Typing My Love.” Really fleshing out Happy, my first self-consciously Autism Spectrum character, I had to question ways in which I was like and not like stereotypes and actual parts of the diagnosis of the Autism Spectrum; after all, I'm not a “perfect stereotype” and I didn't want to make Happy one either.
This is harder to write than I expected when I put this as a possible topic to prepare for July; maybe that's a hint about how I'm struggling to go about actually dropping the NT “mask.” Here I am, 40 years old, and I don't have a formal Autism Spectrum diagnosis; I have many other diagnoses that AFAB (assigned female at birth) people often get instead of Autism Spectrum; I've just started to read about Sensory Processing Disorder and finding myself in these books. Between my therapist and I, we're looking for what will help me (she's no more an Autism Spectrum expert than I am, which is most likely why this is working :D ). I think right now, I'm largely going through a lot of “Who am I underneath the masks?” I also think that the nervous breakdown that I started recovering from back in February forced down quite a few masks.
One thing I've learned is not to hide my tools. I love the word “tool” when used it this way; it's what my therapist repeatedly has used talking about the wonderful techniques and objects she's taught me or I've found and she's helped me to use even better. It's been a process though, a slow journey of finding what helps and affording to buy it. I already had a bunch of toys, but starting to look for specific things like fidget spinners. I have a multitude of things and now an indoor swing has slowed the progress way down. It's going to take saving up, deep cleaning a room, and probably other things that will mean I continue to sit in the patio swing at Meijer until summer's over.
One piece that has particularly caused me consternation is my brain patterns. Let me explain- reading descriptions of people stimming (self-stimulating) brought me the realization that the repetitive movements that are stimming, that are one of the hallmarks of “that person looks Autistic,” I put those in my brain patterns. If my stimming was in my brain patterns, my mother couldn't see to disapprove of how different I am/was. I'm still debating if my way of thinking so many things so continuously is actually a problem; I never have a “calm” mind, like so many yoga things teach, and I go to sleep, even with my “racing thoughts”- I used to think I just always had bipolar racing thoughts, but when I examined my childhood, I had to admit that my thoughts picked up speed before adult bipolar would have been diagnosed.
Happy that I mentioned in the first paragraph? Happy is bigender and has noun-self pronouns, joy/joys/joyself. I have worked on bring some random sounds and “words used out of regular context” into joys speech, especially when joy is “making mouth sounds,” rather than using written communication; being able to communicate more efficiently and comfortably in writing is one of the things Happy and I share. I recent story I wrote for the #MasturbationMonday blog hop had me making various vocalizations I do when I'm making mouth noises- like “di di di di di.” Yes, I counted how many “di”s I tend to make when I say that LOL.
I just don't know. In a few days from this writing, I will see my med manager. She couldn't see through my masks at all; she thought I appeared calm and collected. I wonder if she didn't realize that I knew a locked psych ward was nearby; my therapist certainly made that connection to my behavior with the med manager. As a final thought, returning to my age, I wonder- what of the neurodivergent person is left under so many years of masks to try to make me seem normal?
For #TherapeuticThursday, I wrote several posts this month to get ready for Camp Nano next month. I hope you enjoy them!
Fiction or non-fiction? Sex/BDSM scene? All, both, or none of these? I admit to questioning these things as I prepared the file to write this piece; I was totally unsure about how I wanted to precede. With my work in therapy (spending time with a Cognitive-Behavioral therapy workbook my therapist recommended), I'm reminded of how my Master has encouraged me both with simple comments and BDSM orders to do what the workbook has me doing- thank goodness, since I've been able to think “Yeah, the author of the book seems like a jerk, but I'll just listen to my Master better.”
So even though I still need to approach these “core beliefs” with my therapist, I'm going to consider what/how my Master has already turned them into an affirmative statement at some point, using the power of being the dominant in the relationship to work on convincing me that my core belief is incorrect.
A. I am worthless.
“You're awesome, you know that?” “I'm so lucky that you aren't like non-gaming wives or girlfriends who make other guys feel bad about going to the gaming store.” “I love most anything you cook.” “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Those are just a few things my Master has either said to me or posted on social media about me. One would look at that list and say, “Then why do you still hold your core belief?” As I ponder that question, I also think of how I have to print this out for my therapist LOL. The other thing I ponder, why did I leave them in the order I wrote them in when my therapist assigned this core belief thing to me- look ahead to section D.- that one does a good job explaining A. and B. My Master has had about 19 years now working to undo the results of my mother's abuse; sadly, I had to get to a point where I was ready to cut ties with my parents (and only did it this January before my 40th birthday)- if He thought it would have worked, He would have ordered it years ago.
B. I can't do anything right.
Reprising “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Yeah, this is another “I couldn't do what my mother wanted.” She wanted a popular child, not an infamous one. She wanted a friendly child, and a studious one. My Master? He wants to hold me with He sleeps, enjoy a steak when we can afford one, enjoy two bologna sandwiches every work shift, decently clean house, and clean clothes- especially socks and underwear. Yes, His wants are practical and possible.
C. I will never be conventionally attractive.
I don't want to be conventionally attractive; my Master doesn't want me to be conventionally attractive. Hm, maybe I should have hit this point as “why do 4 of 5 points have something to do with my mother?” But like if we start with weight/size. According to an “ideal body weight” scale I saw, I should be 95 pounds; according to body mass index, I should be 103 pounds. My Master doesn't agree with either number; He's recommended, “If you'd like to lose your little belly, you should set your goal at 125 pounds. I like them small, not skeletal.” I went on my first diet at 6 years old; I followed my mother's yo-yo dieting until it become serious anorexia as a teen. Maybe one of these days, I should try to get a full picture of me :D Most of my selfies are head/chest.
D. I will never be what my mother wants.
You know, I'm not sure exactly why I put this one down. When my daughter came out as transgender back in 2015, I texted my parents, “Lose this phone number.” Because they couldn't back off, I sent a card before my 40th birthday this year, stating that I'd call the cops if they ever set foot on my property. Yes, I will never be what she wants. I'm sure a small part of me would actually like to have a healthy relationship with my mother, but that's just not reality.
E. I will never belong anywhere.
When I first seriously began to interrogate this core belief, my first thought was, “Why am I discounting my online life? I rail against people who consider online friendships, queer-platonic relationships, and romances as less than physical ones.” Of course, that might be the indirect response to this core belief; my mother is of a generation before the Internet even existed and she never became comfortable in its use even for the most basic of things- looking up a phone number? Finding show times at a movie theater? I also remember “before the Internet,” but I think part of my difference is that speaking is often painful for me so a place where I can socialize in the written word? My goodness! Yes, please! LOL
Summarizing paragraph here :D (I know, I'm not supposed to announce that or something.) Connecting this topic to my writing? If a reader considers that pieces of an author show up in most of their characters, you can locate all 5 of these core beliefs in my characters- sometimes even all in the same character. I was just trying to think of specific character examples for the core beliefs and realized that it's hard not to find a character of mine that doesn't fit into at least one category.
Enjoy a recent selfie- I'm just wearing my chest binder on the top. Ah, being agender and comfortable in my skin.
My dear Audrey started talking at me as I tried to come up with this scene; she suggested that she and I try it, since I'm using AAC in a slightly different way with my Master currently.
When I finished this piece, I debated if I would break it in parts, but there was no natural break so you get a long scene. It makes more sense if you consider part of Audrey's comment in my memory. If you want to know more about AAC beside seeing it used in this post, I recommend you read my first #TherapeuticThursday post here.
Audrey's voice traveled through my memory: Just because you've never been formally diagnosed with anything warranting AAC, never fitted by a professional doesn't mean it won't make our lovemaking that much better. Yes, using AAC can take longer than speech; that'll just be time to make our lovemaking be a longer time together.
I placed the last word on the board, pressing it down well at the corners to make sure it stuck. Grinning, I studied the words and pictures I'd chosen for this board. Audrey, me, me, Audrey, both of us.
“Such gorgeous pecs,” she murmured as her index finger traced over the picture of my chest in my white sports binder.
I tapped on the nipple of her breast pictured.
“So let's take your board to my bedroom.” She grabbed my empty hand and urged me to my feet. “You need a dry erase marker like with your shopping board?”
“Nah,” I murmured. I continued to hold her lovingly moisturized hand as we journeyed down the hallway.
“You gonna let me enjoy learning this board on you first some? We gonna use the ASL YES/NO eyebrows?”
I giggled and nodded. “Both!”
She snatched my board from me before tugging on my sundress and making her eyebrows go upward. Keeping her expression the same for a long moment, she lifted her shoulders to add to her question.
“Di di di di di. You wanna undress me?” I spun a circle.
With a quick movement, she caught the bottom hem of my dress when it spun out. Before I could find my balance, she had the light fabric off me and I fell to my butt on the floor.
“Love you!” I surged forward to kiss the tops of her pretty feet.
“Oh, you! Love you, darling.” Both her hands grabbing mine, she helped me to my feet and pulled me into a tight hug.
I hummed against her, relaxing in the touch and the smell of her. Light, light vanilla. Some nutmeg, like she was making cookies. Oh, almost too cold. I pulled her onto her bed with me.
“Hmhm. Still gonna lay back for me?”
I nodded and scurried backward to place my head on her fluffy white pillow.
“I like that you didn't shave before our time together.” She tapped her short purple nail on “Hair” on the board.
I touched “Go.” I held my breath until she touched the shaved part of my head; I hadn't thought to specify hair-where. Relaxing into her touch, I let my hands slip off my hips and onto the bed.
“That's good. I agree with Shaman. This style is quite fetching on you. I enjoy the dichotomy of shaved and long curls.”
A smile spread across my lips. Passive voice, passive voice! My fingertips tingled as if she said I could stroke her short layer of recently shaved cotton swirls. Twist out! So beautiful.
“Yes, lovely pecs.” She pressed her fingertip against the pecs side; after I nodded, she took both hands and pressed them against my pecs, the skin of her palms just touching above the edge of the sports bra binder. “Binder stays on today?”
I lifted my right hand to sign YES.
“I do love how YES looks like a nodding hand.” She touched “Lower” and raised her eyebrows, their delicate, rich black curves drawing me into her gaze.
Shuddering against the bed, I forced my lips apart even as I pointed to “Go.”
“Good girl,” she purred as she started to draw random shapes across my belly. “I like the idea of you holding up the board 'cause where I hope to be going, I'll need your help to see.”
With a high pitched whimper, my mind caught her teasing hint. I tapped away at “Lower” before grabbing the board and holding it up awkwardly on the bed.
She aimed one finger at “Vulva” with her lips pressing against my lower belly just above where my pubic hair started.
Both my hands tried to move in YES, even the one holding my AAC board up.
“I can't tell if you're signing YES or CAN.”
I gasped; she'd learned some more ASL. I stilled my left arm and signed YES again before tapping away on “Lower, Vulva, Lower.”
“Would it be cruel of me to ask you to speak some of these words?” She smirked.
I let my lips tremble as I strained to make my eyes wide open while blinking my eyelashes at her. I nodded slowly.
“Don't pull that innocent act on me.” She chuckled. “I know you are far from innocent, dearie.”
Snorting, I wrinkled my nose.
“Are you gonna use your words to tell me you don't like dearie? Or maybe point to stop?”
“Don't like use my words,” I snarled and jabbed my finger against “Stop.”
She brushed her finger over “Lips” and “Go” before lifting her eyebrows.
“Yes,” I shrieked.
Tracing the tip of her tongue over my labia majora, she repeated the gesture four times, up and down, before prying them apart to do the same to my labia minora. “Ba ba ba!”
She lifted her mouth from my body and stretched to touch “Bound Clitorophallus” on my board.
I pounded my finger against “Go.” I melted into a long groan as she sucked my clit between her lips. As my breathing slowed again, I poked at “Fingers” and then “Cunt.”
Her eyes pulled up at the corners to show her smile. She shifted until her right hand rested underneath her. Her thumb circled around the opening to my cunt.
Whining, I tapped against “Go” repeatedly. I released a gasp when one of her fingers slid into my wetness, pressing against the inner wall of my vagina. My fingers tightened on my AAC board as I struggled to keep it upright in the midst of my pleasure. “La la la la.”
She hummed against me, the buzz working its magic on my unbound clitorophallus. She moved her hips and her bound clitorophallus pressed against my leg.
“Ta ta ta ta.”
Lifting her mouth from my body, she asked, “Touch? You want my bound clitorophallus to keep touching you?”
I shook my hand “YES!” My toes curled down into the rich brown comforter.
“I wonder if I can find your g-spot now that you're so very turned on. Should I try to encourage a g-spot orgasm for my sweet girl?”
My finger randomly moved over “Go,” “Harder,” “Lower.”
Laughing, her mouth reclaimed my clit as her fingers moved within my cunt's top wall, searching for that elusive g-spot. Her gaze remained on my face. Her pupils dilated when she found it.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I held my hips tight so I wouldn't buck and move her finger off that glorious pleasure spot. Love that I indeed have a g-spot that my loves can find. Verb tense change! My ability to hold my hips still broke and I pushed down on her fingers until an orgasm roared through my body and out of my mouth. So much, too much. I tapped on “Slow.”
“That's my girl.” She kissed my bound clitorophallus. “I just wanna cuddle and hopefully soon we'll explore more words on your board.”
Words need added. “Love you.” My eyelids wavered closed.
Her lips brushed across my cheek. She drew on the bony part of my chest with her fingertip, “I love you.”
I just don't write “easy romance.”
It seems fitting that I should start this hashtag in my therapist's waiting room. I decluttered one book shelf in the living room yesterday; my Master dropped an oil change appointment on me this morning. Not at all feeling okay.
Well that was before therapy. Doing better, although I realize now that as we were talking about a goal of doing something independently once a week, I didn't tell my therapist about these “hanging out in the mall food court while daughter is working out.” It does make me ponder this hashtag more- #TherapeuticThursday- “Well maybe sensory needs of partners, or a look at one of your characters disabilities and what technology, therapy etc that character uses?”- as my first girlfriend suggested when she read my pondering about blogging.
So her suggestion had both implications for my writing and my non-virtual life. Augmentative and Alternative Communication (known most by its acronym AAC) is an important thing for people with different issues, including those on the Autism Spectrum, like my character Happy and myself. I started off writing “Typing My Love,” my WIP in which Happy is one of four main characters, in part to consider what it would be like for romantic and/or queerplatonic relationship partners to use AAC with a partner who uses AAC. I didn't realize until a few weeks ago- my Master has always supported my use of AAC.
AAC in practice can mean any number of technologies, from the no-tech of using American Sign Language to an AAC device costing thousands of dollars that can be worked by the user's eye gaze. I have a laptop, a Neo (a portable word processor made by AlphaSmart), a white board with a few words related to shopping glued onto it with space for writing in dry erase marker, notebooks, and I'm also learning ASL. But as I said in the previous paragraph, my Master has always supported my use of AAC; I just need to remember His stance. One of my current writing projects is a sexual situation for my Master; I'll share the first line with you, but the contents of the whole scene is only for Him. -- “So I decided to give you two slightly related versions of something, Master.”
Now I want to share a snippet of Happy using AAC to communicate with one of joys loves. Quick explanation that I ended up having to give my therapist when she was confused by the snippet I shared with her: Happy is bigender and uses the noun-self pronouns joy/joys/joyself. Joys partners are named Ziba, Iovita, and Mairead; when my therapist asked if Ziba is a woman, I *amusingly to me* paused; I decided with Ziba and Iovita to write women who consider themselves cisgender even though they have intersex traits.
I decided to show you a snippet of a dinner in a restaurant later the in book (still “in progress”). In it, Happy's current service dog, Alfie, and service dog prospect, Vivien, are both mentioned.
Ziba held the cafe's door open for Alfie and Happy. Soon Vivien will be ready for public access training, even if we will put her to USA standards on that. She followed them inside.
Happy took out joys tablet and made it speak the prepared phrase, “Two for dinner. My partner called ahead so you were aware of my service dog.”
“Of course,” the hostess said. “This way. We set up a booth in the back corner so there would be more room for your dog.”
Ziba and Happy followed the hostess through the restaurant.
At the booth, Happy ordered Alfie to tuck under the table before joy and Ziba sat.
“Oh, oops,” the hostess said. “I didn't think to ask. Do either of you read German or should I get English menus?”
“We can understand enough German to order,” Ziba replied.
“Good. So here are your menus. Lina will be your waitress and she'll be over shortly.” The hostess hurried away.
Happy turned on joys tablet. After a bit, it said, “Thanks for calling ahead to let them know about Alfie. Although Austrians are as good about dogs as most Europeans.”
“You're welcome. It's good to be safe since we don't have anything like the US's ADA here.” She opened the plastic menu. “Well they are known for their pizza here. They make various kinds of vegan cheese in-house.”
“Hi, my name is Lina and I'll be your waitress tonight. Would you like to start with drinks?”
“I have a question about the smoothies.” At Lina's nod, Ziba continued, “Do they have ice in them?”
“No ice cubes because we use frozen fruit,” Lina said.
“I would like the mixed berry smoothie.”
Happy's tablet said, “I would like the strawberry kiwi smoothie.”
“Are you both ready to order your food or do you need time?” Lina asked.
Ziba nodded. “I would like the eighteen centimeter pizza with red onions and chef's choice of cheese.”
Happy's tablet made a weird squawking noise before saying, “Achtzehn Zentimeter Pizza mit Kase und vegetarische Wurst.” Joy snorted and voiced, “It thinks pizza is just English.”
“Bad tablet,” Ziba laughed. She turned to Lina and explained, “My partner uses text-to-speech software because speaking can be hard for them. It doesn't like what it perceives as mixed language sentences though.”
“Technology still has a long way to catch up on many things,” Lina agreed.
It's seldom that I need the same AAC support as Happy is shown using in the previous scene. Most commonly I need some written or visual way to communicate with my carer when I'm wearing my noise-canceling headphones. However, when I'm at my most distressed, sometimes having that level of communication support seems like a need to me. Of course, at 40 years old, I'm just a few years post-coming to terms with the fact that I'm on the Autism Spectrum and have unique sensory challenges; it seems that as an AFAB person, I have just learned social masking too well. Earlier in the book with Happy, I describe a childhood spent in an intentional community- in many ways, Happy got the support I also needed, but was denied. But you know, if someone sat down beside me in the food court where I'm sitting now and gestured that they wanted to type, like I've been daydreaming, I would be ecstatic.
I wanted to continue with a scene showing the use of AAC during a sexual situation, but I'm going to reserve that for next Thursday's #TherapeuticThursday.