my mouth is a fire escape

You call her he

But I call her a woman you'll never get the likes of. Curves, perfume, makeup, purses, glitter. So much fucking glitter. Little reminder of her love for me stuck on my skin till the end of time.

You call her my master

I could only be so lucky to be owned by a woman like her. You will never know the joy of this quality of relationship or of possessing someone so completely.

You call her offensive

I call her a champion, an advocate, brave, the opposite of your narcissistic, victim self. She'd lay herself down for anyone worthy. Hell, she wouldn't even care if you're worthy. She's that good of a person. 

You call her aggressive

I call her passionate about making sure everyone knows about predators like you. She takes shit from no one. Carries a big stick AND a heart of gold.

I call you a creeper, a martyr, nothing really. Not worth the amount of time and energy I've spent on you.

I call her my Beloved. My everything. Keeper of my heart and soul. Ma'am, baby, goof troop. The woman who I will spend the rest of my life with.

(edited title in case using the same words is considered harassment)

1. djinni is a SHE. Not all Dom/sub couples are M/f. And she's a fucking hot she. So fuck you for your ignorance. 

2. The world isn't out to get you.

3. You write something controversial (and predatory), expect to get feedback. The internet is literally the least private place on Earth. Your thoughts aren't private here if they are posted on a public blog. 

4. If you don't want to open yourself up to it, you can buy a nice Moleskine notebook at Target for $16. I like the hardcover ones but the softcover ones travel well. Pentel Energel pens write best on the paper if you allow them to dry. 

5. You aren't a victim. You aren't being harassed. I post stuff on my blog and allow people to comment. If I don't like it, I take it in stride. It's called being a grown-up. By all means you are welcome to comment here. 

It's a bit late in the day but...

I'm getting pretty tired of having to play the "angry, feminist, man hating lesbian" trope, folks. 

There is a person on this forum who routinely runs their mouth, spewing hateful, racist, misogynist, transphobic bullshit on posts where they don't even make sense, all in the attempt to be anti-pc and contrary. It's fucking old that no one else calls this person out besides a very very small few. It's obvious that they have me pegged as the above trope (and I mean, sometimes it's true) so me saying anything does nothing. 

Is this what we want on the Cage? I've wanted to post on the queer forums but haven't out of fear that this person will come spewing their vitriol. Having different opinions is fine. Being hateful about it isn't. 

The beautiful thing about new relationships is exploring all the "firsts" together and we've gotten to have a lot of fun doing that during our last two visits. Tomorrow night I'm flying to Atlanta for the third time in as many times, and I'm so excited to share our first Valentine's day together. Cheesy, Hallmark holiday that it is, I'm extremely excited to get to show her how much I love her. Both as her girlfriend and her boi. Tomorrow is a special day, but I hope she knows every single day just how much I love her, and that I love her more than she loves me, and that this is a contest that I will always win. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life arguing with her about this (and backing down when she pulls the Dom card). 

Happy 1st Valentine's Day my beloved. I'll be wrapped up in your arms in less than 20 hours and then I'm all yours (in person) till Tuesday, and then forever after that.  

Today I was referred to as a troll for the first time in my life, so I've decided that if calling out creepy, predatory behavior is trolling I'm going to own the fuck out of that title. Also... I don't post on your blog because I find you droll and full of hot air. I do take a stance when there's predatory behavior though! So yeah... I am totally judging your opinion on taking advantage of women.

Thus... (btw the middle troll is a real life one you can hike to in Breckenridge!)

To add to my list of things I've never done, I've never dated anyone who lives 1200 miles away. To further complicate that, I've never fallen in love with and agreed to be monogamous (which I absolutely want... I want only for my focus to be on her) with anyone 1200 miles away. Suffice it to say, this struggle is a new struggle, and it's getting a bit more strugglier for me (well, for both of us but I don't want to speak for her). Being far away means that I can't hug her whenever I want, means I can't cart things around for her, pretend to be butch enough to do car maintenance (I can't change your oil but I sure can wash it!), sneak food when she is trying to cook. She can't yell at me for leaving a solitary dirty sock laying in the middle of the living room floor, or for having four half drunken Diet Dr. Pepper cans in each room. We can't grapple for couch space under the weight of a million animals, and that grappling can't turn into something a little more serious and a lot more fun.  We can't do good sex together (and we do *really* good sex together), and I can't polish her new boots whenever they get a scuff. We don't get to go out and about with our friends whenever we want, discovering new restaurants and maybe getting a little tipsy. I don't get to carry a perma-bruise, the marks she leaves with her teeth, hands, toys, and she doesn't get to be given service the way she deserves to be. 

What we do have is love. Lots and lots of love. At least once a day one of us asks the other how much we love them. I almost always respond with a gif of a t-rex doing his best to extend his arms out and she always responds with beautiful flowery language that makes my heart burst. We do have a long distance dynamic. I have rules to follow (gahhhh not being allowed to speed is hard!), and she ensures that her property is taking care of herself. We send pictures. Lots of pictures. Have I mentioned we have love? We have phone bills that must be tens of pages long. For the last 10+ of this phone plan, my calls for the month on each bill could be contained within about an inch of the bill. Now... it's several pages. We have video chat. We have each others clothes (okay... she got my favorite hoodie AND my favorite Hufflepuff t-shirt and I love seeing her in both). We own matching undies. There are cards and packages sent. We've had fights and we've made up. Despite being 1200 miles away, we have a fairly normal relationship (as normal as she and I will ever get). 

I'm aching for you tonight. This January has been the longest year ever and it feels like we'll never reach Valentines Day weekend. I can't wait to be in each others arms, tangled in each others bodies, sitting at her feet where I belong. 

Now, because I'm sappy and obsessed with them, I leave you with a poem by Andrea Gibson, who always manages to say what I need to say but can't. 

Wasabi

The plan was to play hard to get, that’s right.
I wasn’t just gonna go giving myself away. I’m no easy catch.
Can you really see me in fishnets?
No.
I always find myself slippin’ out the holes, swimmin’ back out to sea.
I’d never been anybody’s sushi roll. 
But she, has lips like wasabi.
My eyes water every time we kiss.
Makes me wish we had a porch swing and a little home.
Makes me wish I could (write)/right wrongs, instead of poems.

The heart is a bullet that’s terrified of blood.
Love is a windshield wiper in a hurricane; nothing is ever clear.
You mistake her name for the moon, mistake porchlights for the stars and sometimes they are.
Her constalliations lead me home, ten thousand shades of open.
And if there’s one thing in this world I’ve ever known for sure it’s that this girl is gonna crush me like a small bug.

Leave me so frickin’ broken there’ll be body bags beneath my eyes from night’s I cried so hard 
the stars died, but I’m like, go ahead.
I’m all yours.
I would kiss you in the middle of the ocean during a lightning storm ‘cause I’d rather be left for dead than left to wonder what thunder sounds like.

I’m not lookin’ for someone who can save me.
Life rafts might keep you afloat but they rarely get you anywhere and I’ve got places I wanna go.
So break me in two, peel back my rib cage and cover every page of my heart with love poems
you will burn someday.

The most fertile lands were built by the hands of volcanoes,
And I wanna know what grows beneath the drone of Hallmark and roses.
I want your goodbye to feel like explosives,
Your lips, a burning building without fire escapes.
Your hips the gates of hell if I know if heaven exists,
But this will do just fine.
I wanna feel you like lifelines on the palms of Jesus when the nails went through is that really, really creepy?

Just in case it is, let me also say I want you sleepy-eyed in the morning,
Waking at my side like a warm summer sky born from so much softness the horizon cries every time nightfall comes to take you.
Let me also say I wanna make you sandwiches,
And soup,
And peanut butter cookies.
Though, the truth is peanut butter is actually really bad for you ‘cause they grow peanuts in old cotton fields to clean the toxins out of the soil.
But hey, you like peanutbutter and I like you.

Let me also say I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous than you were that night.
The moon, bending through the window blinds, 
I told time by the light casting shadows across your face while you told me this story:

“My grandparents were married for 63 years. 
On the day my grandfather died he laid in bed and said nothing
but “love, love, love love” 
then he puckered his lips and kissed my grandmother for the last time.”

Love, love, love, love is like sunshine:
Sometimes you have to get burned to know you were there.
I wanna know that I’m here, every single part of me,
My heart, open as the river’s eyes the first time it sees the ocean.
My god, look at those waves!
Listen to that thundering tide.
Can you imagine anything more frightening?
Can you imagine anything
More
Alive?

I never thought I'd travel 1200 miles multiple times for love, but here I am and I can say with absolute certainty that it's worth it. 

So excited to relax and just be her boi for nearly a whole week!

If you had asked me 6 months ago what I'd be doing this Christmas, my answer probably would have been something along the lines of hiding in my basement bedroom in my childhood home, where I'd moved back to after a devastating vanilla break-up. However, 5 months ago things changed and a beautiful, persistent, hilarious, brilliant, and dominant woman popped into my PM accidentally. So instead of the first answer, I spent this Christmas messaging back and forth with the woman I'll travel to see again (for a whole 5 days this time!!) on Monday night.

I tend to be a deep thinker so I often find myself wondering why on earth she chose me... I'm a hot mess. I temporarily live in my mother's basement. I can have crippling anxiety, get crabby for no good reason, have emotional walls built up that rival those of Jericho, simultaneously crave and reject control and authority, and tried desperately to push her away for her own good for far too long. 

This Christmas she gave me some amazing gifts. The greatest of these gifts is that I get to be hers and that she is mine. The collar I wear around my neck is a daily gift, a reminder that I exist for a greater purpose. The confidence she inspires in me, the natural submission she brings out in me, the opportunity to be both boi and girlfriend, the gift of hope for the future. 

I was expecting lumps of coal in my stocking this year, and instead I woke up Christmas morning to a gift I get to unwrap everyday- her love for me and mine for her. 

I still don't have the words to words to describe everything I'm feeling, so this picture must suffice for now.