Single’s Awareness Day

February 16, 2021

I hope everyone had a good V day or galentine’s or single’s awareness day. The last few days have been wearing on me. Mr. Baby going through baby woes but screaming breaks my brain at times. He seems to be on the up and up later today. The snow makes me feel trapped, normally we go for a walk or two daily. Except, now I can’t. It’s hard to imagine the difficulty unless you are in the moment. Part of sidewalk clear then not clear then not. The furthest we can get is one building over, so I walked with him on foot to a smaller store near by than our usual grocery. It just upsets me, I am glad snow does not last long here but I feel unhinged feeling trapped. How ridiculous a small bit of snow creates such a huge change. Can’t navigate too many streets, and on babysitting days I work, not walk on my own.

Valentine’s day was slow and so was today, family day. Then the toilet clogged and I tried again to leave seeing rain had cleared some snow. Nope, still cannot get to the store. I tried. The plunger is draped inside the toilet, full of soap and whatever other stupid DIY online has told me works. I don’t know why this particular toilet is so difficult I had no issues with a plunger any other place I have lived. Something as simple as going to the store for draino is not a possibility at the moment. I will go on my own tomorrow, while I have babysitting, but just everything compounded the last couple days I feel foul.

Valentine’s day is one of my favourite holidays despite rarely having a valentine on one. Someone stole my lingerie delivered in my building in a boring black package and I cannot get over that. I was too excited and then someone fucking steals it. I am grateful those that buy me it from my fan web site, the package originally got delivered last Tuesday on the 9th and I still have not figured out who took it. However, Victoria’s Secret is amazing, sent out a replacement to arrive soon. I filed a police report, building is checking the camera. It just feels so violating. And there are packages left all the time for residents. Why that package. In a matter of three hours. I have been robbed before, in a house. It took me three days to really sink it in someone came in and took my laptop, and I had a roommate at the time, they stole her guitar. Each time I go downstairs here I see other packages. Why my package, why that package. I get things delivered often that are boring, diaper wipes. Others have packages big and small. I realized it isn’t a personal assault on me, it isn’t a personalized target, my diaper wipes did not get stolen. It just feels violating, bitter, and I normally run to get packages as I am excited. This time I did not, as I was working and figured would pick it up after picking up Mr. Baby and I regret not following my usual routine of grabbing something right away I am excited to receive.

Every faucet of these sour notes is kind of whatever on their own, but together I’m just really fucking sad, upset. The possibility of taking time off is not an option. I’m beginning to have anxiety again that I have managed well to rid of for many months. Not being able to eat until late late at night every moment full of screaming or feeling I am not doing enough online. It makes me angry when people have called me an independent woman. I am not of a belief a person truly asks to be independent. People are social creatures. It is not a choice of full contentment. My commitment to values or a commitment to keeping a non dramatic household is not a badge of independence honour. It just happens to be a side effect. If you have a choice between not having something or doing it yourself, what are you going to do? You try to fix the toilet yourself. You try to drag the stroller through this dumb snow that is no obstacle to many. The smallest thing is a huge thing to some. Wheel chairs, strollers, walkers. It makes me angry some people assume I have a boyfriend. It makes me angry some people assume someone takes my pictures. In a heartbeat my friends would go and drop what I need off if I asked. It isn’t like I am abandoned, alone in the supportive sense. I feel unravelled this last week and any navigation back to not feeling that is not working. I have nothing good to say here as all I feel is rage and sadness. Coupled with each other in a wild devilish dance. It is so rarely I unveil vulnerability of this type, bound by years of emotional snipers ready to capitalize on an emotional opportunity. I haven’t been around those girls since I left. Yet the poison still binds me. Stoic coldness or death. Down to earth or death. Polite indifference or death. I understand why so many working girls are not kind. I do not blame them, not even the slightest. I do not condone it either though. How much harder it is to be kind in the midst of those that drink up your soul from emotional warfare. What is normal vulnerability around square people is a portal to being destroyed. The only other people i’ve met that seem to understand that have been in the military.

I remember it snowed, too, Valentine’s day, 2019 and my last day forever there unknowing to all the girls except the managers. My mentor had picked up the day specifically to see me to say goodbye. The snow prevented her from coming to work. I never got to say goodbye. I think of this often. How we never got to have one last conversation. How guilty I felt keeping my pregnancy a secret from her. How I wish I could have said goodbye and the fucking snow prevented that. I never got to see her again. I never will. It isn’t like that in the working girl world of those types. I packed up my stuff and left as discreetly as possible. The girls there that day didn’t see me bringing more stuff than usual. They didn’t notice my empty locker. I was as quiet and discreet as possible. Me and my future Mr. Baby inside of me off to a different, quieter life.

2020 Valentine I actually don’t remember. Blacked out. A ex I kicked out in summertime would have been here with me. Except, I can’t remember. Majority of last year I don’t remember outside of Mr. Baby or things related to online. I remember things about you guys online, minute details, I remember many firsts of Mr. Baby. But other than that? Nothing. Blurs of scream crying most days and never knowing what day he would come home to rip me apart or Mr. Baby. How I wouldn’t know what he was up to. How I will never forgive him for how he treated my baby. How I will never forget the breach of trust on every level. How eternally grateful I am he was never his daddo. I can only imagine having a person like that, stuck as your co parent. Not remembering most of last year outside of working online or Mr. Baby doesn’t disturb me. It is just something realized and kind of it is what it is feeling.

Disassociation has always been my strong default, clearly. It is the main thing that has kept me upright despite any circumstance. A willful ignorance perhaps. Amnesia is a blessing.

I had a dream about baby daddy the other day that severely disturbed me. When I looked it up it talked about how I was onto thriving, no longer just surviving. How my subconscious was loving him to balance the hateful suffering of my conscious awareness. I’m not sure how to navigate that. Although I cut my ex off many months ago, I still have baby daddy in my peripheral, and thankfully we never dated. He told me how much of a cunt second baby mama is. Gee, hard to imagine why she acts a certain way towards him. I wonder what the other mamas think. I wonder about if my baby will ever meet his half-sisters, one is 25, the other is 6 weeks younger than Mr. Baby. He has met his half-brother, 10 years older, but it is always this weird orchestrated feeling event.

Regardless, the lingerie will arrive, Mr.Baby is fine already, the person of thievery will likely not be caught, people will be more active online, I will get draino. The ratchet snow will melt and I will be free to walk around again.

Writing it, thinking it logically just doesn’t erode the crushing sadness or anger. What’s more important is where does that energy go from here?

To The Reddit BME

January 27, 2021

I didn’t think you were hitting on me, but I appreciate you thinking of me and my point of view as to avoid a misunderstanding of your intentions.

I love mysteries, and Podcasts investigating stories of people. Perhaps it is innate we are all interested in each other as social creatures. Feel free to direct any future partners to my posts if they need engineer clarifications haha. Partner is a word I often see engineers using. It’s a serious word. I once had a crazy landlord jump down my throat using that word to describe a boyfriend. It inferred a husband, she’s a lawyer, the connotation and denotation meaning of words are important.

I have no interest in ever becoming a therapist. Albeit I do not mind being a mild, I said -mild- therapist to a couple people. Because you deleted your account I am replying here. Perhaps you took initiative to avoid awkwardness of feeling to reply or embarrassment if I didn’t reply at all. Perhaps neither of that is accurate. I don’t and won’t reply to everyone as it isn’t sustainable to chat to hundreds of messages then oopsie got no work done cause I was chatting all day.

For once I’m taking tonight off and going to read. Well, read, do chores and plan tomorrow. That’s a good night off. The night familiars are out. My bookend pets.

Until next time…

To the curious kittens, BME is biomedical engineer.

The Marketer and Ex-Stripper

January 12, 2021

The Lovers Diary IX,

I fucking love him, in the most platonic way. I first met the ex-stripper about seven years ago. He is 6’2, gorgeous black thick hair, big and bearish, fit, and giant features EVERYWHERE, top to bottom. Big eyebrows, big nose, huge smile, big chest, huge cock, legs, everything is delicious. He is hairy, in that cuddly perfect amount. I saw him on a dating site and had to have him. I felt he was out of my league, but couldn’t stand the possibility of not trying to capture him. He responded delightfully, professionally, he is one of the biggest ethical sluts I know and I’ve always admired that about him. He has been in an ethically open relationship, living apart from his long term blonde girlfriend for about five or six years I think now. We don’t talk unless it is for hooking up. When I am in a relationship he leaves me alone and I love that about him. I message him and we pick up instantly where we left off. His enthusiasm and emotional stability matches nobody else I’ve met.

He came from the East Coast, and despite when he was a stripper he never drinks. He didn’t drink. He has quietly, confidently, been climbing his industry in marketing the last years and he truly is what I see as a prime example of a slutty man who doesn’t leave ashes of women behind. I’m pretty shy, and he would drag me into thrills of lust I am not used to. Vibrator? What in the actual fuck is this. He was the first. His experience in many areas trumps mine, he is the only person I have ever met more experienced than me. Or more accurately, more well-rounded in his experiences. For as experienced I am in sexual escapades, I have a great deal of gaps and inexperience’s in areas.

He goes down once, twice, he makes sure the ecstasy of pleasure is screaming from deep within you. He fucks from behind, obviously, and he loves missionary. He is the only person I have actually enjoyed calling me good girl in bed or acting “daddy”. He loves the way I suck his big cock and I am honestly surprised he was never in porn. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has been. I will ask at some point.

He has a huge pregnancy fetish, I remember one time we hung out and he gushed how beautiful pregnant women were. I always enjoyed about him he had a vasectomy quite young. He knew he never wanted to be a daddy. Just a kinky daddy. He just loved pregnant women, but not children. I didn’t understand until I became pregnant myself. Of course, I immediately messaged him because I knew he would be so fucking excited. A stark contrast to bb daddy in his, “why are you keeping the bb again?” We were never in a relationship, bb daddy was, I had thought, my friend of several years. The day I found out, sitting frozen in my bathroom with the positive test hyperventilating, I called bb daddy and told him. Three weeks later, I told and saw my loving and warm stripper. Probably the same week bb daddy was knocking up bb mama #4.

I needed the ex-stripper’s love of women and enthusiasm to not unhinge my overwhelming rage on bb daddy and make my pregnancy difficult. I was committed no matter what to try to be as peaceful emotionally and calm in my life as possible. I knew my ex-stripper would be excited to see my bump, no matter how small or big. He was always a gentleman before, too. Grabbing my bags and getting my coat whenever I arrived. Of course I had to sleep over. I was the flakier one than him earlier on. He called me out on accountability once, I used to be into ghosting people and I could not handle life, even if I cared about someone. I stopped doing that. I don’t think I was used to the sincerity and giant warmth he radiates and not being ashamed of being slutty. He never once shamed me or put me down in all the years I’ve known him.

He was one of the only people I knew outside of my non-sexual friends (all of them know), who I could talk to about work. He would be excited to hear about my day or weird experiences, my shitty interactions or funny stories. He could not get enough. That has stayed consistent. I could drink, even if he didn’t. He had some just for those occasions. When I first met him, his arrogance put me off, but it is a slight whatever in all the other qualities. I remember seeing his bookshelf the first time I came over, “Ohh you have lovely books. Kurt Vonnegut!”

“Yeah, I’m somebody with taste!” He laughed

I was not impressed.

He has a king size bed and soft sheets. All the usual slut gear handy, the big condoms, lube, baby wipes, and vibrator for the lady if needed. He fucks like a strong bear with an insatiable thirst for pleasure. He is a true hedonist in my views, unapologetic in his pleasure seeking. He was one of the only people I knew really bummed out when I went red. He loved my dark hair and light eyes. He liked who I was. Who I am. I adore him in the same ways I have felt towards camper van, but am not sure if I will ever see my wealthy bratty camper van friend again. Except camper van never knew my whole story, just some of it.

My ex-stripper isn’t satisfied with one sex, two sex, he is primal and I love that. He growls a bit and I love that. I scratch his back and he flows into the pleasure.

I would be overwhelmed by his sex stories. The sex swing, we never used but he would have. The swinger parties he used to host in the East Coast. The orgies, the threesomes. I am a nervous freckle among stories like that. Lost in trance over the tsunami of lust and openness. He would reach out to me and I would ignore him. One time I was sitting in a subway restaurant exhausted from work, and he was walking by. A neighbourhood he is never, ever in. He began waving and came inside right away. I was so excited to be there with him and saw him a couple days later. I love chance encounters like that and believe they happen for a reason. He fosters dogs and has never had one long term. He got into wood working in his home which I found bizarre in his tiny apartment, but he always seems to make things work while holding onto great enthusiasm. I know it is possible, but I can’t wrap my head around seeing him sad or even angry. I can’t imagine it even if I try to.

He is a great cuddler, he hugs tightly, but not too tightly. He grabs my hair and spanks me, he never has to be told what to do or why. He just knows. He would tell me about his other dates sometimes which I wasn’t a big fan of, but it didn’t matter.

When Covid is over you can bet your ass I am seeing if he is around because I have not seen him since before I moved away, 5 months pregnant in 2020.