Posts Tagged ‘rift


Moar Metamours.

I have lots of boundaries. About lots of different things. Some of them are fuzzy and negotiable; some of them are crisp, neat, and rigidly enforced.

Not all of them are capital-R-relationship related. There’s “I will not interact with people who disrespect my personal space,” “I will not knowingly allow criminal activity in my home,” or intrapersonal stuff like “I will limit myself to two cigarettes a day.” (I’m bad at that last one.)

Some of the boundaries are drawn behind me to prevent me from going back into my comfort zone — “I will tell the Captain when I feel like hurting myself” — even though it’s easier to hide and deny, I *will* cross the boundary of non-forthcomingness, and, having once passed it, will not go back.

Some of them are based on ethical lines. “I will not practice dishonesty.” Or legal lines. “I will not sensually engage with someone who is under the legal age of consent.”

The relationship ones are complicated, though. I have trust issues. “I am absolutely fucking paranoid about THE SAME SHIT happening AGAIN but I’m theoretically poly but people, by and large, suck; but the Geisha has been fine but you can never ever trust strangers and *everyone*’s a stranger no matter how well the Captain thinks he knows them” … shorthand for I don’t always trust the Captain’s judgement when it comes to other partners. And while he’s absolutely *fabulously* good at respecting our relationship and not letting others disrespect it either, the Paranoid Brain wants to prevent that situation from ever occurring in the first place. And boundaries that really shouldn’t be there are and aren’t really helpful and are basically just a buffer against insecurity start getting thrown up.

The Paranoid Brain is the one that jumps at any chance to quash potential friendships/relationships/metamors/sharers because what if we get screwed again? The Robot Brain says the Paranoid Brain is a fear-based system and that there are ways and ways to control a situation without needing to prevent it from happening. The part of my brain that really listens to Loki says “Shit is going to happen, it’s not all going to be under your control, get the hell over yourself. Ride the wave of chaos, don’t mind the sharks.” And Me? Me is on input overload from the brains and just screaming into the pillow at this point. Me is the one who goes out for a smoke break every chance he gets, just to turn off the brains, and talks to The-Pappa-In-My-Head about life and work and Manly Topics.

The Paranoid Brain says “You’ll never top again. You’re an abusive sadist who didn’t use safewords and didn’t know what you were doing and didn’t care how he felt and harmed him and broke him and loved every fucking minute of it. That uncertainty you feel when you had Xemnas’s gorgeous red hair in your fist? THAT MEANS YOU WANT TO BREAK HER TOO.” The Paranoid Brain is glad we missed that party, glad she’s married now, glad that her husband is stationed in Europe and glad that we’ll never get explicit approval from him because that means we’ll never ever be able to hurt her too. The Paranoid Brain worries incessantly about whether we serve and bottom because we feel like we deserve what we get, whether our deep dark desire to have control taken completely away is actually deep dark self-harming guilt.

The Paranoid Brain is skeeved out by other transpeople, because we’ve never met one we got along with long-term (they’ve all pinged some form of unhealthy instability) and we are not not NOT playing therapist for others right now. The Robot Brain says this is coincidence, and surely there are many transpeople out there whom we’ve never met and who are perfectly happy, well-adjusted, functional individuals; and let’s not be prejudiced about our own. The Loki Brain is disappointed in our inability to connect with other non-gender-conforming people, but understands that we can’t lower our standards just because someone happens to be trans*. (We have struggled with this in recent months, but no details just now. That particular wave is still rolling.) The rest of me wonders if I’m just too solitary and omituinen to *have* “friends.”

The Paranoid Brain FLIPS SHIT when someone is just too helpful — the last time we let someone like that near us, she broke up the Captain and Quietone, lied about having cancer, accused me of stealing from her, broke my French Press (on a school day!), spit in my face (YES. LITERALLY.) and went crying to the Captain when I snapped at her, STILL owes Crusader a few hundred dollars, ran screaming into the night “for no reason” after the Captain made peace with Quietone, and then went through five or six people in the local TNG group in the space of a few months before finding another poor sap to whose wallet she could engage herself. *PTHOOEY!*

The Paranoid Brain wants to run criminal background checks on potential partners and metamors. Because the last time we took someone’s word for it, she talked me out of pulling over to help at an accident where she would have been recognized by cops and arrested and wouldn’t have been at our apartment the night of the fire and I would have been safe in the Captain’s bed; come to find out she was skipping parole, *still* engaging in sex work, lying to partners about it, refusing to get tested, and claiming to be a legitimate massage therapist while deriding “massage therapists who give happy endings;” FUCK all the “help” she gave me afterwards because the first thing she did was try to get rid of Loki when this was my kick in the pants from him; because she wasn’t even PRESENT for her fire, WENT THROUGH disaster response training, and still FUCKING FROZE WHEN I RAN OUT OF MY ROOM WITH MY BEST LOVED BOOK AFLAME IN MY ARMS.

The Robot Brain says I did everything I could. The Loki Brain wants all this aired in public as loudly, vehemently, clearly, and often as possible. Because people don’t know and they should know and I shouldn’t have to hide a part of me that isn’t part of me anymore; because we do sometimes get better and we’re not permanently damaged and really we don’t want to harm you. Because people lie cheat steal and I DON’T FUCKING DEAL WELL WITH THAT.

But now any un-asked-for help puts us on Red Alert, and anyone could be running a con, and anyone could be crazy, and anyone could be so broken they can’t handle our family. I could be too broken to handle another person. So I build walls around not only myself but also the Captain, one brick of bad experiences at a time, mortared with uncertainty and sealed with a desperate and wasted bid for control over everything.

This is why I have trust issues.

(The Robot Brain says “We’re only here because of the fire. Except for Loki. You’re letting temporary issues interfere with your mental health. Stop that.” Sometimes I listen. Today is not one of those times, apparently.)


learn something new every day, chapter 5

(Right well really it’s every month more like)

January 6: Driving up to Crusader’s house for D&D (by myself, since I was coming from work and everyone else was already there). Thought process while driving up/past:
1. Oh shit, that’s a lot of fire engines.
2. Damn those people standing outside look cold. They haven’t got coats on.
3. Fuck, that’s flames coming out of the chimney.
4. Well, looks like it’s fairly contained and under control. No need to stop.
5. (hyperventilate sob hyperventilate sob hyperventilate sob)
6. Huh. Panic attacks make it hard to drive. I really ought to pull over.
7. *Calls the Captain* “Hi honey. I’m having a panic attack. Can you talk me down?”

January 19: Driving to work on 100E.
1. That giant plume of smoke up ahead could be a fire, accident, or idiot semi.
2. “I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer…”
3. Flickers of flame on the ground. Upright beams, charred and still burning. Chimney. Fire truck. No people. Ground is black.
4. Nothing more to be done and the FD is already there. No need to stop.
5. (hyperventilate sob)
6. No. I’m not going to be late to work.
7. “I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will let it pass over me and through me. When the fear is gone, there is only me.” * Rinse and repeat.
8. OK, my voice is steady again. Just keep driving.

I do the same thing going over the Bay Bridge, actually (usually it’s just whiteknuckles on the steering wheel but the Bay Bridge is HORRIBLE and it’s the quickest way to Storyteller’s house). Depending on who’s with me. I’ve found that if Crusader is sitting in my car (January 2nd) I can actually carry on a conversation with him. He and I ended up talking a lot about fear and religion (and relationships, kind of) on the way back one time and we’re a lot more alike than our political views would suggest.

Things I learned: It doesn’t matter where the prayer comes from or whether it’s made up or cribbed from a movie/book or copied directly from [holy text of your choice]. What matters is that it does what you need it to.
…Also, the consequences of getting bindrunes tattooed on you may happen unexpectedly quickly. (The consequences themselves are not unexpected. This is WHY the spider.)

* Having now looked it up, yes: Your foaming at the mouth is justified. This is inaccurate as far as the novel is concerned. It is, however, accurate to my memory of it at the time. Having both read the novel and seen the movie at least a year and a half ago, I paraphrased. It worked anyway, so there you go. The complete and accurate litany against fear.


Learn Something New Every day, chapter 4

I opened the altar book to the story of Frey and his servant Skirnir.

I lit a candle.

I went to pray.

The next thing I remember is my altar burning.

(It’ll probably help if I describe it: It’s a slotted shelf sat on top of a bookshelf, with green linen over it. The top level has candles, personal effects, and an incense holder; the lower level has my ancient copy of Norse Gods and Giants, my calligraphy set atop a carefully folded Marimekko scarf; the tiny space underneath holds more candles, lighters, incense, etc.)

The new book the Captain had bought me was singeing. I tossed it on the bed.

I picked up the altar book and carried it into the bathroom and tossed it in the tub. I could feel my fingers burning. The Captain turned the shower on.

I got a cup of water (a basin would take too long to fill) and tossed it at the bookshelf. The Captain did the same. The fire hissed in reply and leapt higher; melted wax splashed against the already blackened wall.

We left.

I grabbed boots and a jacket, and extra shoes when I saw the Geisha leaving barefoot. The Captain closed the door to my room. Pennylady had the presence of mind to grab her purse. The Captain called the fire department, pulled the hall alarm, and we rousted out the neighbors.

I had a meltdown–crying and blaming myself, calling on Balder’s mercy and wondering why why why why isn’t the Captain furious with me. I chainsmoked half a pack of Pennylady’s cigarettes right in front of him and he didn’t say a word.

Within minutes the FD was there. The fire was put out. I got an ice pack for my fingers. We were allowed back in.

There was no more altar. The bookshelf under it was in pieces on my bed; there was a pile of ash and char where it had been and the firemen were tossing burned books into a bin to throw out through the broken window. I got the book the Captain had given me, some clothes and toiletries, and we went to his parents’ house for the night. No one slept.

The next morning we went back and since they wouldn’t let us in until 9, I went around back and picked through what had been tossed out the window.

My inks were melted and had exploded. I found two nibs and no pen. Most of the books were only charred on the outside. My collar (There’s a picture of it on Fetlife and Twitter) was half-melted and twisted; the plating was gone.

When we were able to get inside I threw everything from my dresser (soaked through) into a plastic bag and forgot about them. I found a pile of quarters in the charred remains of my bookshelf. I wiped them off because we would need them to do laundry at the hotel. I found my wallet, my phone and charger, my work clothes, my immigration papers and US passport, my loan papers… essentials.

I broke down bawling when I found the frames and broken glass from two of my grandfather’s tiny paintings. I kept the cardboard backing, which on the back still reads “God Jul ├ątt [legal name].” In the weeks after, while we were trying to clean the place out and pack, I went through the pile every time I was there, hoping I would find even a scrap. Nothing.

(That part still plays over in my head: The last time I saw them the flames were just beginning to lick up the wall, why why why didn’t I tear them down as well? Everything else is painful, but replaceable. My grandfather died when I was in high school and the two miniature watercolors of Turku in winter are gone.)

We lived in a hotel from October 3rd through October 29th. I got up at four, went to the Macy’s, had lunch, went to the other job, came home at eight, had a beer or three and went to sleep. We moved into a house just south of Baltimore on the 29th-31st and gave out candy on Halloween.

For a few weeks afterward I was having shock reactions: I kept thinking I smelled smoke at the Macy’s. Pennylady called me on one of those days and talked me through it and she has my eternal gratitude for being the one person I could listen to through sheer panic. I had trouble sleeping because every time I closed my eyes I saw waking up to the fire, so I worked myself to exhaustion and drank myself to sleep. As recently as two weeks ago one of Bosslady’s other employees had overheated some beeswax on a hotplate and the smell of burning wax brought panic into the back of my mind. The first reaction was “Smoke? Wax room. Turn down hot plate. Open window. Clean hot plate and bottom of leveling pan.” Sane. Rational. Levelheaded. I do not have PTSD.

There have been good moments: One day the Geisha and I both went to the liquor store and brought home Mike’s Hard Cranberry, without knowing the other was doing so as well. I cut and tooled a leather mask, which I ended up giving to my sister for Christmas. I developed a taste for pro wrestling and we watched a few SVU marathons.

There have been bad moments: Driving without glasses for a week. Finding out the rental insurance only covered the Captain. Almost freaking out when touring the house before renting because there was a lit candle. Having a meltdown at my parents’ house — they haven’t seen me cry since I broke up with Caboose, which was in 2007, and rarely before that.

The second week we were at the hotel, I told the Captain that I had been smoking behind his back after telling him I’d quit this past June. I had finished the pack I had left over that morning and swore there would be no more. I had one while at Packhead’s party and one randomly when I found part of a pack in the Captain’s backpack and my self-control slipped. I *really* wanted one this past night when I knew I would be at my parents’ house for a few days, but I held it off until the Captain came home because I knew I wouldn’t do it if there was a chance he would see me. Which makes it about one a month since stopping cold turkey.

Eventually (mid-November) my sleep deprivation and crankiness and drinking habit got annoying and the Captain beat it out of me, then told me that he owned me and I had no other choice, and that I was going to quit the Macy’s job and get my life together. I agreed. Sanity began to return.

A month or so ago I started reconditioning myself to having fire around, one candle at a time. One night I had six of them lit on the kitchen table, no lights on, and the Captain came down to get me. I had just closed my computer and turned off the lights and began having a Loki moment, needling the Captain about how familiar the fire looked and didn’t this bother him and *why* did it bother him so much, I bet he couldn’t tell me… and the Captain beat it out of me again. For all the things I have to thank Loki for (and yes, the fire is one of them. We were stagnating and we are, really, in a much better situation now, despite the initial trauma) he is an asshole. I’m not supposed to let my deal with him involve the Geisha and the Captain.

We haven’t really been doing a lot of active D/S except for my usual work around the house and the need for a little something special has begun to eat away at me. I need something to focus a service meditation on to get back in the headspace where I was for the few weeks after the Captain took possession.

I can make jokes about fire now, and candles. It only took two months. Fireplay is on the edge of my radar again. We’re hopefully firing up the woodstove this week.

I had to stop and start at writing (October 8 through today) this because it still was a little difficult, some parts more than others. So, there you go. Where your favorite tranny has been since 3:40 AM on October 2nd, 2010.


learn something new every day, chapter 2

Well, now it’s more like learn something new every week.

EDIT: And post about it a month later.

A preface: For a long time I’ve had a bit of a fear of guns. (The Captain takes advantage of this in his own special way.) I’m not exactly sure where it comes from originally; recently it’s been because thinking about shooting myself had become a coping mechanism (yes, I got help.)

Couple of weekends ago I went shooting with the Captain, the Geisha, and the Crusader. The Crusader went over safety first.

1: The gun is always loaded.
2: Even when it’s not loaded, the gun is loaded.
3: Never point at something you’re not going to shoot.
4: If you’re not shooting, the gun is pointing at the ground. Not at your feet, not in the air.

Then he taught the Geisha and me to use the .22 long rifle. It was actually not that difficult once I got the loading action down. I stuck with that one most of the evening, although they also had me try a shotgun, a handgun, and a gigantic scary Lee-Enfield rifle, which left a bruise on my shoulder.

Afterward, we cleaned everything we’d used and hung out with the Crusader’s dad and brothers for a bit. I kept the spent shells so I can make a necklace, although I might need more of the tiny .22’s for spacers.

This makes two irrational fears the Captain has helped me get over. I don’t have to like guns to know how to use them, though.



There was also an ancient revolver that came with us, but didn’t get used because it was rusted to shit. The Captain says it’s probably from the early 1900’s, and it’s been sitting unused at his parents’ house for freaking ever. He cleaned it while we were at the Crusader’s house. Last week he heard it whispering and decided it needed to hide somewhere.


I learned a lot this past year or so.

Crossposted from the Fetlife.

I love cloudy weather. It means I can look for a silver lining.

I don’t read tone, inflection, or generally body language.
I generally take people literally and at their word.
When I am being serious, I speak literally, and expect to be taken literally.
People lie and people cheat. People do unkind things to one another, people take sides, people build walls to whisper behind.
I can’t trust actions or words.
When two people say two different things, I cannot pick one to believe, unless I see physical evidence. No matter the circumstances.
If I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t, I can’t do anything.
The only thing I know I can act on is my gut instinct, because nothing is going to change it anyway so I might as well follow.
I can no longer take actions that aren’t congruent with what I believe to be the truth.

I stopped being petty and cruel, stopped entertaining myself at others’ emotional expense, for a lot of very good reasons — one of them being that I didn’t want to hate myself any more.
There is a place for everyone on this earth, and there is something worthwhile in every living breathing one of us.

If I really want to believe in the inherent goodness of people I need to be willing to look for it. Something good has come of the last year(ish), something good has come from this past weekend, benefits will continue to be found in the coming weeks. Even if they are in the form of lessons to be learned, or warnings taken to heart. Any insight taken away, even from the ugliest situation, is a good thing.

One more thing I have been forgetting for a while: There is hope. There is always, always hope.


Gun Play

Just thought I’d put that right out there. I should probably stick a WARNING right here: This post talks about GUNS. and SEX. at the SAME TIME. in a mostly NON-EXPLICIT theoretical manner. If this is a huge problem for you, skip this entry. If not, read on, because this was kind of a breakthrough realization for me.

FWIW: It still even has the orange safety tip.


It’s not the uncertainty that turns me on — quite the opposite. If there was any uncertainty, I wouldn’t play like that with the Captain. Is it loaded? Is it empty? Irrelevant — I trust him to not shoot me. The fear is just a visceral, visual reaction to the gun-shaped piece of metal and plastic.

It’s the balance between absolute trust and irrational terror, standing perfectly balanced on the ledge between two precipices, that makes it arousing. Trust by itself is nice, fear by itself is unpleasant; it’s their combination that turns me on.


I didn’t know whether he had just emptied the clip or filled it, but the loaded/not questions didn’t even enter my mind. I was just doing, just reacting. I don’t know if I can put into words what I was thinking, but I know I liked it and I want to do it again.

There may or may not be strings here to form v. content and/or romantic-grotesque. I’m tempted to expand into theory but… I think I need more practice first :3


The Closet

Yes, I’m still in it. In a lot of places.

There are parts of my life where I am only selectively out to people who need to know — i.e., people who are boinking me (currently only the Captain) and people he trusts to be smart about it (a very small number, most of whom I only see a few times a year), and people who have access to my records at work or school, or have known me under a different name. I just tell everyone else I’m a guy. Because much as I’d love to be out about everything, it’ll be on my own damn time. And much as I think educating people is important, sometimes I don’t want to be the gateway tranny. Sometimes I just want to go out and have fun and be “one of the guys” in that special geeky way we have.

(I got glared at yesterday and reminded that I agreed to this. …And I want to do it myself, my way; not accidentally via someone else’s thoughtlessness.)

This is why social networking sites are so devious, because a link from one can have a link to the Twitter which is connected to someone’s personal anonymous blog, and a lot of the stuff on here is quite transparent if one knows the people involved. Bit of a problem. So, some care will be exercised until the issue is resolved. Don’t know what form that’ll take yet. I don’t know if I’m overreacting but uh, putting someone in danger of being outed seems like a big deal to me.

Stealth? Yes. Sometimes. Yes, most people there would probably be supportive. Yes, I’m open about most things most of the time. Yes, I have a blog with basically my entire personal life all over it. But in real life my biology in particular is not everybody’s damn business.