After words

With Seer I engage in debates about the role of an author in world politics. Our sex is hasty, hungry, and afterwards my stomach hurts with devour. Always too little time, too much to say, books noisy as children around us, craving for attention.
I’ve asked Butch if she’ll let me write during sex. Sex at its best is writing to me, books are bodies of words and passion. On another level, I’m tired of both writing and sex, don’t know what I want and with whom. Usually it’s about needing solitude. But I love these people, and many others, like I love my multiple selves, passing as what they are not. My new job is about maps so old that they bite the dust if they come into contact with a breathing skin.

All roles, no play

But of course, there is another side to all goodness with Butch. The deal is: she wants someone born with high heels and I’m too versatile, careless and queer to match that profile of lipstick-femme always ready to please. Of course, I never searched for fundamentalist butch either, and we are ill-assorted to each other in this respect. Then again, I don’t see the problem as severe as she does. I don’t care about what she wears, how she identifies, what her gender presentation is at any given moment. She seems to mind, to the extent that she actually said to me, at one point, that she feels misled with me not being femme proper. Come on! To me that sounds bollocks all the way down, but I need to appreciate her straight-forwardness and honesty.
In case having someone ultra femme is so important to her, all she has to do is go and look for one. We can compromise on some things, such as she stop putting me into this tiny femme box in her mind, and I start wearing more clothes to her liking every now and then, but we cannot change each other one bit. This is a casual and open relationship, albeit a serious one, and she’s got all freedom in the world to seek after what she feels is important to her butch identity.
So simple, and yet hurtful. To think about how much work it has taken to feel this easy with my body, with my gender presentation, with my queer orientation, and then a loved one wanting me to stuff it all down and present myself as a doll-like traditional woman, not appreciating me as I am. God it sucks.

Yesterday was good with the long-time lover. We talked about sex for hours, kissed and cuddled. She knows my weak spots and challenges and I have a great appreciation for her, although I’m crap at expressing these things. Definitely we laugh a lot like only those who have tried and failed for three years and had some amazing moments along the way can. I suppose we still have a sexual appetite for each other and it’s often close to having sex when we’re together, but it’s better to leave it stand as it is. There is too much attachment between us and a need to gain more independency in order not to fall on that famous lesbian symbiosis. Ever heard about that, folks?

Balcony

I’m thinking of adding my lover’s balcony into the Helsinki series in which I list suitable places for public sex. She lives on the first floor in a densely built area that however has few grand old pines that give shadow and cover. On that balcony she fisted me good the other day after dark. We’d had amazing sex for hours already and needed a break and some fresh air in order not to collapse on each other. I was wearing her bathrobe and lying on her garden chair, resting my back to the railing. She was having a smoke when her fingers casually found their way into my cunt, then the palm. She looked at me intensely the whole time her lower arm circled around my core and told me to keep it shut. I rubbed my clit frantically and buried myself into her eyes, keeping it quiet when I came violently pulsing against her fist and over it, four times in a row. The pines were watching, the people on the street couldn’t see or hear us, I felt like I was under water, with her, breathing salty water, suddenly finding myself able to.

Earlier that night she had put the collar around my neck, spanked me with a belt, hit me across the face and fucked me. Few times she was on the verge of losing control of herself and at those times I always get secretly excited, pushing her off the limit, hoping her to let it go and hurt me against my better knowledge. Yet, I’m too scared to let her try new forms of pain on me when she’s at that state, and often try to stop her when the reality of pain dawns to me. So far she has always forced herself to stop right then.

How I love the feeling of leather around my neck, her hands that fasten it tight and her hands that take it off after everything is done. We take care of each other, caress for hours and talk and hold each other tight. Sometimes I cry, but more and more, lately, I smile. Never before can I remember having smiled to my lover after sex, happy, all consumed, full of unreserved love.

Another day

Things are turning good after an angsty week of relationshit drama with Butch. We’ve talked etc. and decided to give it another try. Hopeless the thing surely is, on that we agree upon, but then again, most relationships are. At least we know what we are dealing with here, that is, utterly ill-assorted patterns of interpretation and communication. But did I mention hot sex? The passion, the tenderness, the trance-like states of other worldliness that I get to share with her and nobody else.

I’ve settled into meeting up once a week with the Date (to whom I should come up with a better name, but can’t think of any). Time is tight and we both have our loved ones in addition to friends, families and jobs (household chores we’ve both done away with long time ago, of course). Moreover, we both cultivate independency and need no clutching or clinging. This week’s get-together was good, again, with eating vegan at Siltanen and having sex and cuddling at her place. She fucked me for the first time and it was hot and sweet. Later on she ejaculated into my hands after which we spent long hours talking and me rubbing her back. I haven’t been that much at ease with anybody for many years. So good.

Today is for meeting up with friends and family, eating and hanging out, running with the dog, reading too much fiction and drinking one too many cups of coffee. And how are you doing today?

Relationshit

There really is not much to do when there is no communication, no empathy and no sense of responsibility. When all she does is avoid and act normal.
How on earth have I come to this, at this age, when all my previous relationships have been totally loving and supportive? Now there is a brick wall every time I try to open up some channel of understanding.
Talking about Butch, of course. I don’t see a way out, and she is not willing to lift a finger to help. So be it.

Helsinki part 3

I’ve spent a lot of time in the Suomenlinna sea fortress during the summer. Fifteen minutes of ferry travel is enough to detach you from everyday horrors of work, and if you walk purposefully away from the tourist routes, you’ll find one or two patches of unspoiled privacy. What better place to spend the night, listening to the waves in a sleeping bag, and have sex with the one who doesn’t take cliffy ground personally.
The other extremes are the endless, pitch-dark caves that were used as trenches during the Crimean war. Find the farthermost niche, press your lover against the ever-damp wall and keep circling her clit with your fingers until she can no longer stand on her own. The arched walls will repeat even the smallest of sound you two make threefold and you’ll feel like you’ve hit the centre of earth. Then try to find your way back to the sunlight together, and if you manage that, try not to dream aloud how amazing it would be to have one of those barren apartments just for the two of you. The thing is, she wants to put up a pool table where you want to situate a reading lamp, and besides, it is pretty god-damn amazing the way it is.

Back and forth

Some setbacks with Butch. She not telling me everything I need to know, me reacting strong because of some old wounds, she cancelling our date with no reason, me playing it indifferent. A cycle of mutual rejection has been developing between us, communication failing repeatedly. I refuse to initiate talk because I sense her mistrust in words. She tries to act normal and I get all angsty under my skin. We still have great sex, though. In bed I feel connected to her, close to her, able to give myself away.
Still, I didn’t come here for a fight, or to avoid one. I feel that my commitment cannot last very long if problems keep arising and they cannot be tackled. You know, I’ve always tried to keep it together for too many years, against my better knowledge, and at this point I want my love life to be easy. Please?
Otherwise all good. Autumn nights, antique lamps, money sorted out for a while, mystery illness close to conquered, old friends getting married in woods.