10 Times Harder, 100 Times Better

snuglomaniac:

The female orgasm, ain’t she a bitch?

One of the most noticeable changes from hormone replacement therapy occurred around the beginning of this year (about two years in). I’m talking about sex. Yes there was most certainly a gradual change - the see men taking that last trip out from the ball docks as they recognised their was no future in the salt market. The slow but soft blow of wood gone bi, never to harden at the hands of the flute player again (or be it without backing from the pharmacy). However the last noticeable change was the experience of sex its self.

With male hormones running through my body, if I wanted to fuck myself I could do so no problem. It was easy to mess up - a real time passer. If I had somewhere to be in half an hour or so and was basically ready, why not tug one out? Get to the point of just before orgasm and play around for xx amount of minutes before it was time to go and splat, done, happy times. This is no longer the case…

If I am not horny, no matter how much I try and fuck myself I will gain little sensation from it. However when I am horny and masturbate it will take me between 10-60+ minutes to cum. None of this fire at Will business (even though Will is hot and deserves a creamy face… Who’s Will again? No one I know, I’m just making more jokes again… I do apologise). A-n-y-w-a-y, I may not even always cum. When I do though, the neighbours will hear about it. I do apologise and try not to broadcast my sex life outside of my friend base (or strangers on the internet)… But I cannot help it! I SCREAM, she screams, we all scream for Snuglomaniac’s cream (once again, I do apologise for my desperation to make jokes that lack accuracy. As stated, I no longer actually cream).

A-n-y-w-a-y, It’s good. It’s better then good, it is amazing! The female orgasm is definitely better then the male orgasm, a 100 times better in fact. However its times hard(soft)er which I think is fine. It’s a fair trade off and definitely worth it. One of the main things that I have noticed is that it is so much more psychological. The only chemicals in the male orgasm are released at the end. They basically say “Let’s hug, good night”. Up until then it’s just allllll about the genitals. As for the female experience… Omg, there are so many chemicals all the way through it. I will briefly refer to a threesome I had a couple of days ago (which I may write more about at a later date) in order to highlight this.

So my flatmate was being fucked on all fours by a mutual friend as she went down on me. I concluded from this experience that she’s better at sucking dick when she has another one inside of her. Nonetheless, the thrusting got too much for her and she could no longer focus on mine. Instead she got up her elbows when are arms pushing against my thighs. Every thrust he made into her pushed her forward. I felt her pressure on my thighs with every thrust he made. My genitals were not being touched. Regardless of this, I had never experienced a greater sexual satisfaction whilst under the influence of male hormones. I remember (trying) to think to myself at the time that it was bizarre how much I was getting off on this. In hind sight it was probably better then the oral sex. I noticed how much I was moaning in sink with his thrusting. My mind went so far elsewhere in sexual ecstasy and my genitals were not even being touched.

This one moment was greater then any sexual experience as a male.

Dear men, I regret to inform you but… What you believe to be sexual gratification is pathetic.

Next three blog posts (assuming I get time to write them this weekend around social obligations and cleaning my room, my car, and my snakes’ cages because I manage to make everything dirty):

  • Massive mum argument; I need to move out.
  • New relationship type - casual romance?
  • THIS THREESOME OMG SO HOT. (Yes I am the roommate.)

Diary entry – 27/07/14 – Stop. Touching. Me.

This is a rant, and also to keep my assault tag updated. I’ve been irritated by one of my girlfriend’s friends, here referred to as S, and want to rant about it. Buckle up!

S attended a play party/orgy that my girlfriend and I co-hosted at the beginning of July and managed to irritate me three times over the course of the night and subsequent morning. That’s 3 times in about 18 hours. Some people don’t irritate me three times in 18 MONTHS. Those are good people.

Irritation the first: he woke me up. At 5am. URGH. He snuggled up to me while I was crashed out in the main bed and tried to persuade to come out and get breakfast with him and my girlfriend and then go back to hers for a threesome maybe. I may have responded rather aggressively, i.e. I said to him “I will punch you in the face”. And then repeated it: “no seriously I will punch you in the face”. He put a bit of distance between myself and him, unsurprisingly, and spent a few more minutes trying to persuade me out while I insisted I wanted to go back to sleep and needed to drive in the morning, couldn’t be sleepy for that. Eventually he just said “sucks to be you” and left me alone. I was happy he fucked off but I could’ve done without the attempt at shaming me.

No one wakes me up at 5am. Not unless the bed’s on fire or they’ve just captured a unicorn. These are the only two scenarios in which I want to be awake at 5am. Unless it’s with Aaron Paul, I do not give a shit about your crappy threesome. Fuck. Off. (I did apologise later for threatening to punch him. Possibly a tad far.)

Irritation the second: because we’d had a party in the room the night before, it was covered in condoms, gloves, antibac wipes, lube sachets (everyone does safer sex at my orgies at risk of being thrown out), empty bottles, empty packs of crisp. Before leaving I wanted to tidy all this up because we weren’t technically meant to be having the party and I thought it would be considerate to the hotel staff – there were only meant to be 2 people in the room and anyway it’s unfair to expect strangers to tidy up your used condoms, no matter the circumstances. So I started bagging up all the rubbish and putting all the recyclable bottles in one pile.

S was still crashed out on the bed but woke up as I moved around him, and attempted to persuade me to stop tidying three times over. Three times! Apparently I gave the hotel a lot of money so that I wouldn’t have to do this and other people were paid to do it and it wasn’t my job blah blah. Yeah, someone else is paid to do it, but they’re paid to do two people’s mess, not a dozen’s, and anyway, why do you have a problem with me wanting to make a life a bit easier for the minimum wage service worker? Why do you hate minimum wage service workers? Eventually I just had to say “this is the third conversation we’ve had about it. I want to do it and it’s not affecting you, so just back. off.”. Some people won’t listen to anything other than full out aggression.

 

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The Trashcan of Garbage Humans

I briefly mentioned this in my previous post and wanted to ramble about it a bit more. I mentally categorise people according to my relationship with them: partners, close friends, normal friends, play partners, people I’ve met a few times and would like to get to know better. Because I am an autistic weirdo, I write these down in lists on my phone, because it helps me keep track of and maintain my relationships – when I see someone I move them to the bottom of the list, so the person at the top of the list is the person I haven’t seen for ages and need to get back in touch with. They’re beautiful lists, coloured coded and everything (by group – people from school, people from the scene, etc). Love me a bit of colour coding. I know this is an odd thing to do but if I don’t do it I feel overwhelmed by all the people I know and really confused about how to do friendships.

There is a final list on my phone: the trashcan of garbage humans. This is a special place reserved for abusive people – people who’ve stalked, attacked, lied to, verbally abused, or sexually assaulted my friends. People who hit their partners. People who ignore safewords. People who hurt other people with impunity and without remorse, over and over again.

Being in the trashcan of garbage humans means – at heart – that I no longer make excuses for you. Most people I give the benefit of the doubt: I assume they are ultimately good people. If they do something bad, I’ll try and see a way that they could be doing it out of confusion or fear, rather than assuming they are doing it out of pure malice. I’ll give them a second chance, mark it down as a mistake and a blip in an otherwise good record, and I’ll move on from whatever it was they did that I thought was unacceptable.

If someone is in the trashcan of garbage humans and they fuck up, I do not give them the same courtesy. If you are in the trashcan of garbage humans and you hurt someone, I assume you are doing it just because you a terrible person. I won’t forget it because I consider it symptomatic of a wider pattern of behaviour, rather than an isolated incident. I will tell my friends to avoid you and I will tell anyone who wants to know precisely what you did to make me consider you a waste of skin.

Basically, don’t fuck other people over and I will always be nice to you. If you do decide to be an abusive fuckwit, I will never say a good word about you again.

(This would be way more intimidating if my opinion had any actual weight in anything, ever. Which it doesn’t. Although clearly it should because I should be queen of the world.) 

My grand theory of drama.

I was talking to Snuglomaniac about some social drama in our local kink scene and developed this theory with her. It’s a good theory. This is my theory of how people get into fights in social groups. 

For drama you need primary drama nodes and secondary drama nodes. Primary nodes are normally straight up bad people. They aren’t considerate of other people’s sensibilities, they make no effort to see things from other people’s point of view or forgive people even minor faults, they hold grudges for years and will actively make life difficult for the subject of these grudges. Sometimes these people cross the line from being deeply unpleasant to being straight up abusive, in which case they go in my trashcan of garbage humans and I stop making an effort for them. The best way to spot a primary drama node is because they are always complaining about “drama llamas” and other people making drama. Primary drama nodes never think of themselves as making drama, but are constantly surrounded by it, so they blame everyone else.

(Aside: it is my opinion that these people, even the abusive ones, are often (not always) very distressed. Most bad people are suffering themselves and they’re not coping well, so don’t have much mental space to pay attention to other people’s feelings, and feel victimised and attacked a lot so attempt to defend themselves by overreacting to minor faults. It doesn’t stop them sowing misery seeds everywhere they go though. I think that the best way to deal with this is to treat said distressed people with compassion, patience and understanding, even if they’ve been abusive fuckwits – if they’re abusive because they’re miserable, being awful to them won’t make them happier and so less abusive. But it is also my opinion that this is not my job. I am not a social worker or a psychologist, and if my sole interaction with someone is social, and that social interaction is unpleasant, I will ditch them. They may need help, but it is not my duty to provide that help, and I’m not going to spend time with someone who makes me miserable.)

Primary nodes make drama because they treat people badly, basically. But for a primary node to create true drama it needs to interact with a secondary drama node. A secondary drama node is a perfectly fine person, and what makes them a secondary drama node is that they will stand up for themselves and say to the primary drama node “actually, you’re treating me badly, and I won’t put up with it”. Primary drama nodes can’t cope with that and will get angry at the secondary drama node, the secondary drama node will probably get upset right back. Hence argument, grudges held, bitchy shit spread among the group, full on drama. Not everyone is a secondary drama node because lots of people are conflict phobic and will make an effort to placate the primary drama nodes. They value an easy life and can’t be bothered with the fights, presumably having much more interesting things to do.

Those people probably have much lower blood pressure than I do, because I am a secondary drama node. I will tell people if I have a problem with their behaviour and I refuse to back down to make things easier for myself. Most of my friends are also secondary drama nodes, because I’m attracted to people who will also get ragingly angry over apparently minor things. (I call it passion and self-belief.) I am okay with being a secondary drama node.

As for primary drama nodes, I will continue in my effort to have as few of them in my life as possible. I’m still going to hear a lot about them because I love secondary drama nodes, but as for the actual nodes themselves? They can fuck off.

Diary entry – 11/07/14 – Either the worst or the best psychiatrist I’ve ever seen.

Last academic year my GP referred me onto primary care, which in my case took the form of an eight week course of CBT (cognitive behaviour therapy), because she thought I needed it. The therapist I ended up seeing decided to refer me to secondary care (a longer term form of talking therapy) because he thought I needed it. That CBT therapist dropped off the face of the planet for reasons unknown to me – seriously, I just got an email one day saying Mr So-and-so is no longer seeing patients due to sudden and unexpected circumstances – and never finished the referral, so my GP referred me onto secondary care because she thought I needed it. Yesterday I got that secondary care, which turned out to be one Professor A.

My appointment with Professor A was not a positive experience for me. Essentially, he didn’t take anything I said seriously and his whole manner was pretty aggressive and combative. I don’t want to pick through this whole appointment in detail, but it was stuff like me saying I’m on the autistic spectrum; him saying everyone is. Him saying have I ever thought about going travelling and me saying I can’t because I get panic attacks if I’m away from home for too long; him then saying I should buy a one way ticket to Istanbul. Etc etc. There was lots of stuff. Actually, I’m not going to pick through the whole appointment, but I am going to mention a few more specific examples of stuff he did which I personally don’t think he should have done, because it’ll give this post context and I need to get it off my chest.

In the early part of the appointment I said I’m a weird human and I often find it difficult to socially integrate because of this. He asked why I’m weird. When I say “weird” in the context of finding it difficult to socially integrate, I mean the poly/kinky/sex worker thing (I haven’t written about this yet, but I’m working as a pro-Domme now and so qualify as a sex worker). In fairness I did linger on this a bit, because I always do when I tell mental health professionals about this, because I’m scared of them thinking my lifestyle is a symptom and I want them to know that these things come from a good place inside me, not a place of distress. But he told me he thought it was strange that I flaunted my sex life so early in the appointment? And, later in the appointment, told that me he didn’t find sex impressive, he didn’t think it was weird, he actually found it quite boring, and it’s like…I wasn’t trying to impress you. Why are you acting as if I was? I told you because it’s an important part of my identity and it affects the way I interact with my peers. I’m not trying to convince you I’m an edgy little snowflake, this is just…me. 

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I LIVE

Blogblogblogblog. Hello blog. I’ve been leaving you for a good few months while I get my head together and sort out stuff to put here. I think I’m ready to commit to this blog again, although I may go AWOL again and if I do I make no apologies for it. This blog is mine. It exists to improve my quality of life. And sometimes (for instance, most of my first year of uni) maintaining it becomes a stressful burden rather than the joyful catharsis it should be, and in those times it is okay to stop blogging. I owe nothing to no one (I can’t work out whether or not that’s a double negative) and I shall do as I damn well please.

Let’s start with a tale of Tansy malfunction. I feel like that’s a good place to start. Just a short one.

I have four pet snakes as some of you may know. Two of them (Twiglet and Sneaky) live in the same tank and when I feed them I put Twiglet in a separate box so they don’t bicker over food. I was feeding them before coming up to Nottingham today, so I put Twiglet in her box, gave her a rat, gave Sneaky a rat in his tank, gave Jezebel and Roger rats in their tanks, packed up my stuff for Nottingham, gave Jezebel another rat (she’s voracious), told my mum I did want an egg sandwich thanks for offering, packed up my stuff for the dance class I was going to in London before Nottingham, checked the time, worried I was running late, dashed downstairs, grabbed my egg sandwich and headed out. 

What is wrong with this sequence of events?

Five hours later I suddenly clicked and called home in a panic. Thank god I didn’t get my mum, who is not a fan of the snakes, and instead got my brother, who responded much better to “is there a snake in the box?” than my mum would have. Twiglet had not left her box and my brother restored her safely to her tank. Thankfully.

Relatively minor malfunction this time. Relatively. It could all have been much more dramatic if Twiglet had gone for a wander.

Other things…I have become EVEN MORE of a social media whore and got an Instagram and a Foursquare account. I am now on Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, FetLife, deviantART (I feel like that counts as social media), Pinterest, Instagram and Foursquare/Swarm. There’s a link to Twitter on the front of my blog and a link to Instagram on my about page, but the others are either limited to people I actually know in real life or are really boring for anyone apart from me (Pinterest = lots of pictures of make up). If you do want to hunt me for any reason I am TansyBlue across all my accounts, except Instagram because there was already a TansyBlue on Insta (grr, Diane Powers, how dare you), so I decided to really go in a different direction for that one and call myself TansyBlue1. I won’t add you on FetLife or Facebook unless I know you in real life though.

If I know you even passingly, you’re based in London/Nottingham and you’ve ever fancied getting Swarm, pleeeease get one and add me, I am so lonely on Swarm all by myself. I’m not sure if it’s really taken off in the UK…

As an aside, a friend did a survey recently for her work on students’ use of social media and, even though the results were anonymised, knew I’d replied because I listed FetLife as a site I use. I am not subtle.

Back, with a bang.

mimieuxinmadrid:

That was so incredibly cliché, it hurt.

Much has been going on in the land of Mimieux, since I got back from Spain. I’ve been home for just over a month now, and I’ve squeezed in two orgies, one munch, a trip to a nudist spa, and a potential girlfriend. (I know, I don’t really talk about girls…

I host orgies, bitches. Again. This is becoming a regular thing in my life.