Words fail to capture how delighted I was to receive a letter today.

Thank you <3 x

Someone who wants to take me out of sheer lust.

Well.

It turns out being constantly stimmed on my back makes me a catty bitch liable to meltdown frequently. This morning things got too much and I started being unreasonable at N, and yet managed to keep enough presence of mind to tell her that her taking control of the situation could remedy things quickly.

One of the objects of my unreasonableness was the kettle (and its not being filled up), and, in view of my having just filled it up — it’s like a 3 or 4 litre urn-type deal — she ordered me to go into the kitchen and watch it until it boiled.

The kettle has the decency to show the current temperature of its contents and a minute-granularity estimate of how long it’ll take until it’s boiled. Seeing that “14” on the display as I entered the room really added something to the experience.

It did the trick more perfectly than I could’ve anticipated.

Body’s in struggletown.

Feels like I’m in full-on repair mode. Upper back still feels white hot; N’s focus there was perhaps overenthusiastic. The constant stim has also made me feel a bit less people-capable than usual, at least irl. Tired!

My head is still swimming in endorphins, an hour later.

It was three full hours non-stop, and then a short lull, and then half an hour more. I am more thoroughly rekt than I’ve been in.. years.

And glowing.

C exceeded my expectations — the stamina of that girl! — and I think it definitely drew N out as well. The actual domination aspects were light but still felt; a few times each they pulled me up on address or responsiveness and it was quite delightful. C has a very cute face yet pulls off “hot and in control” almost effortlessly.

It was also just so good to be one of three girls in a bed together again. This was N’s and my first time doing something together with another, too. As expected, no problems there. I think our comfort with each other and in the relationships we hold with each other is at an all-time high. I could just relax into the pain, the submission, the sometimes-brutality of it.

It’s time to put some stuff right out there. I want to track exactly what happens, internally, emotionally, spiritually?, and for that I need to get literal so tomorrow-me doesn’t reconstruct now out of later’s emotional residues.

Miss N’s current bestie/intimate partner C is coming over tonight, and what was alluded to in 「ついた」 (2021-06-05) will come to some sort of fruition; the three of us are to have a discussion regarding terms, desires, and limits, regarding N “loaning her sub” to C. Which is to say, me. Thereafter some actualisation of what was discussed. N and I have been productively working on defining ourselves with each other, finding our way to common terminology, and it feels like we’re similarly oriented. She’s keen to demonstrate that she’s an M-type of action and not just words, and well, here we are, perhaps 4 hours out from C’s arrival.

She collared me this morning and made it clear she wouldn’t be removing it until after C had gone home. So I’ve been sitting here today accompanied by the sense that this thing around my neck won’t come off until my being someone’s slave — someone’s property, transferrable and all — finds itself more reified than I could’ve imagined not long ago.

I wonder if this will shift something in me. What will it be like to be put under the control of someone I’ve never been intimate with before? If it were someone I’d been close with before, I think it might not have such an impact, but the closest I’ve been with C is hugging, twice. For someone like that to go full throttle on me would be unreal. I’m imagining a slave-y kind of headspace might result, but it’s a vague sensation. Perhaps this will make it more real.

I wonder if this will shift something in her. What will it be like for her to see someone else using the authority she’s delegated to them; to see how far can be taken something she herself has? Will it be inspiring?

It’s possible nothing will come of it — maybe C will get cold feet. Or perhaps just not tonight; she might not be feeling it. (Word is she is usually feeling it, though.) Or perhaps she won’t know what to do with me. (If she’s feeling it, there should be at least one obvious activity.)

My indefatigable pessimism aside, what seems more likely than not is that tonight the three of us will have a talk after dinner, and then I’ll end up being — as N so delicately worded it — 2v1’d in her bedroom. What exactly that will entail physically I’m not sure, but apparently C is game to fuck, and well, I’m game to be fucked. Likewise some intense pain. The 3 person scenario is apparently just for the first time, so everyone can be comfortable with a familiar presence.

N seems to envision that in future this’ll mean when C comes to hang out, the two of us can retire to the bedroom for a bit while she plays games so that C can get what she needs out of her system on me. This is entirely welcome news.

There’s a peculiar duality afforded by a gemlog — especially one I don’t host.

I have no idea if anyone reads this. It is linked from one of our blogs, but you have to look to even find that blog, let alone notice the link. Then you have to work out how to follow a gemini:// url. I assume most don’t. Accordingly, I may well be just using this as a barely-public private journal. It is technically open, and maybe multiple people subscribe and read what I write. Maybe someone will stumble upon it someday and read the whole backlog. Maybe it’s never been seen by anyone and never will. There are no logs for me to access, no Referers or User-Agents to analyse for signs of life. Even Lia’s blog gets a few unique non-bot readers a day on average. This one? It is unknowable.

On the one hand, I repeatedly get the niggling sensation that writing here is a kind of pointlessness. I could just write in Notes.app, and sometimes do (though so far I’ve always used it as a staging for drafts that end up here — don’t want a downed Safari tab to destroy my work, especially on mobile). The local niceties are that you can call a piece done, which a note in Notes.app never really is, and that I can mirror them into a git repository programmatically for my own archival purposes. Notes.app is not very instrumentable.

On the other hand, because of this, I am able to write more openly. If I knew I had any kind of readership at all, I might not write some things, or might write differently. It is completely plausible that this will never be seen, and so I can say whatever I want to myselves. It is freeing despite-of-slash-because-of the potential pointlessness. I get the impression I am baring my true self to the world, perhaps, because I am possibly not doing that at all.

That germinated!

Hope doesn’t feel like it exists within my phenomenological horizon any more.

What lies in that direction only feels like a false, baseless optimism, which I naturally eschew.

Probably not the healthiest, but that’s the truth of it. I haven’t known how to hope in a long time. It’s hard to explain how thorough that is. I get by without it, and things are generally okay, but it definitely is a thing that alters my experience with others.

Not to say any worse of the referent of last entry. That is just nice. But it doesn’t mean I could choose to consider the actual fulfilment even the slightest bit more likely, out of some ardent desire that overturns this exacting algorithm of “realistic optimism”. I don’t let myself hope, wouldn’t know how to if I wanted; it’s just fun to consider as one unlikely result among many.

That’s it!

The feeling of something being beyond you; of it being out of your hands and knowledge. The distance itself—

of not only being aligned.