Get you a girl who speaks in parentheses. Get you a girl who includes information in a sentence that isn't necessary but adds additional context or commentary.
Okay, y’all. I cannot be the only neurodivergent human with this inherent feeling of loss in monogamous relationships. Learning that it’s possible to identify as polyamorous (as an orientation more than a lifestyle or choice, because I do think it can function both ways) was a huge wake up call for me. But now, I’m grappling with whether someone who is neurodivergent/polyamorous CAN feel fulfilled in a 100% monogamous relationship?
In my experience the innate longing/curiosity/desire has nothing (or little) to do with the quality of the monogamous relationship and everything to do with the fact that the poly/ND brain seems to be lacking in some kind of necessary sensory input. Am I hard wired for this feeling of loss in some way? Is someone going to come along at some point and quiet that part of me? I’ve wondered that all my life. I believed the mono-normative idea that when it was “right”, nothing else would matter. I had been in terrible relationships when I was younger, so I felt like that explained my dissatisfaction. But the older I get and the more I experience, I’m just not so sure anymore.
A connection or relationship can be AMAZING in its own right, something so meaningful and important. However, without a certain type of sensation/freedom/independence, I can’t force it to click in as my “everything”. I hate the feeling/idea of being owned or limited by it, and a mono-normative society villainizes those who express this openly.
Here’s what I wish more people, even outside of these communities, could understand: I don’t (always) have a desire to break up with the monogamous partner, nor do I want them to feel disrespected or undermined. To me, it’s like listening to different music or artists. I can’t even rank them, but sometimes I really want to hear/feel/experience/be immersed in a specific sound, and sometimes I crave something else. I simultaneously can’t imagine having to listen to one album for the rest of forever; I also can’t imagine being WITHOUT that one album.
I think, in my case and many others, there is a further correlation to growing up in purity culture. Having needs/wants dismissed, being incredibly repressed/shamed/lacking true autonomy (sexual, romantic, or otherwise). Breaking free of that kind of existence, in my experience, leads to a person who is chronically open-minded, curious to a “fault”, and simultaneously grasping for any fragments of genuine connection, meaning, intimacy, and “magic” they can find in the world, because it makes one acutely aware of the rarity/sacredness of such things. I identify so deeply with not wanting one moment of positive connection to go to “waste”. Should it not all be experienced? Are there avenues to do this in safe, healthy ways, even if you’ve discovered/diagnosed your orientation/neurodivergence while inside a monogamous setting? It’s hell for some of us. It may not align with every partnership, but why is it so often painted as deviant/deceptive to want to get closer to your fellow humans? The closest thing we have to anything celestial/god-like?
I’m really just shouting this into the void as I’ve been learning and unpacking and seeking to know myself better. But. I cannot be the ONLY one. Right?!
Being fingered by your partner under a blanket while you're cuddling<3 they're just kissing your neck and whispering praises into your ear while you're softly grinding against their hand , letting out the prettiest whimpers and whines
Specifically making out before aging bodies and trauma and pain and the monotony of being.
I miss the hours I spent sneaking around with my high school boyfriend. I miss the fantasy of an empty house or locked door, the nights edging inside an instant messaging window. I miss dares at the pool, I miss spending all night on the couch in agonizing lip-biting silence, I miss wearing his jersey to bed with nothing underneath and returning it to him the next day, I miss tossing a blanket over my lap at any given gathering just so he could run his hand along the inside of my thigh and make me shiver.
I miss when the one kid at church camp – why did he have have to be such a good fucking kisser – led me behind the building, I miss the first time he pulled me in, slowly, a hand on my neck, then my hips, and feeling the whole world disappear in the hot, heavy darkness.
I miss meeting someone new and suddenly feeling electrified by every touch, every slight graze of skin on skin, aching as our ankles, knees, and thighs pressed into one another in that booth, slightly too crowded. I miss talking in his car until we couldn’t take it anymore and genuinely fogging the windows. I miss being up against the walls of that one house, in that one hallway, so dizzy with desire I couldn’t breathe, moonlight spilling in. I miss his voice in my ear on that one spectacular road trip and I miss fucking myself on FaceTime from the hotel as he moaned and marveled because we were both that desperate.
I felt it again today, inside a dream giving way to the early morning. A proper kiss, a fucking perfect make out session with someone who knew exactly what it was doing to me, how to move, how to tease and flirt and give me all of themselves but make me work for it just a little at the same time.
Imagine if someone you’ve fantasized about admitted to fantasizing about you.
18+ only below the cutline
“He makes me dizzy.
That’s the best way I can describe it. I can feel the blood rushing to my face, the heat almost stings. I’m having trouble focusing on the conversation at hand - deciding on a drink. I ask my friend a question I don’t hear her answer to, and I stumble over my words as he watches me - way too casually - spin the cap off of a bottle of tequila.”
We’re at a friend’s place downtown and I didn’t know he would be here. I didn’t know, but I hoped. He’s taller than I remembered.
We’ve shared some interesting conversations in the past few months, since the last time we found ourselves together at one of these events…funny messages here and there…compliments exchanged that never felt entirely innocent. Somehow. Finding ways to bring up the topic of sex - in music, in television. Responding to one another from the shower - and noting, unnecessarily, where we were.
But we’re in the same field. We’re artists, just connecting. It was nothing more than mutual admiration. Mutual respect for both of our hard-fought careers reflected in the social media posts that prompted our interactions in the first place. Probably.
I pour the tequila as if I’m paying attention to it. I engage in conversation with friends, by all appearances ignoring his existence entirely. Still, at this distance, I feel his eyes. Tracing my neckline. Dipping down to the tights stretched across my thighs. I’ve always been so aware of him - if he’s in the room, I might as well kiss higher mental functions goodbye. Things get blurry.
I thought this through at home in my closet an hour earlier, imagining what it might be like to see him for the first time in months. Imagining what he would think. What he might say in a world where we didn’t work together, and where we weren’t dating other people. I tried on three bras, having decided on the lacy black one that happened to be peeking out from my loose fitting, low cut top right now. Pure coincidence. One of my necklaces was draped down into the depths of my top, shimmering in the low light. Also coincidence. I promise.
It takes a few minutes for either of us to get up the nerve to say something. Eventually I do, and it’s completely insignificant, because he smiles and plays along, but his eyes know too much. And they say it all.
We take a moment to orient ourselves. Exchange pleasantries. “Good to see you.” We manage to wind our way through conversations about our work, about our lives, mutual friends weaving in and out. But we’re standing so close. I breathe and watch his hand find his pocket. He watches me nervously finger the choker around my neck. An hour passes. Then two.
“To indulge or abstain?” He offers me a bottle being passed around for refills.
“That is the question,” I say, holding out my plastic cup.
He has an air of arrogance, just the slightest bravado, and in anyone else, this annoys the hell out of me. But he’s IS good at what he does. And his jokes are so endearing, so self-deprecating. And his sleeves are perfectly accentuating his ridiculous biceps. And his hair is falling in this way. He’s gorgeous. I try to give him an out.
“I’m monopolizing you.”
“You’re the only person in this room I want to talk to.”
His dark eyes drop again, and he catches himself. Before more can be said, a friend enters the conversation. So much for that. He recalibrates the situation expertly. We’re in a room full of people. We always are, but it never feels like it.
Soon, the drinks are emptied and the playlist lulls and everyone begins to part ways for the evening. I hug a friend goodbye and of course he gestures for one as well. I think too hard about where to put my hand, running it lightly across his back as he wraps a muscular arm around my shoulder, hand snaking toward my waistline for just a moment. We crash together like magnets. The first touch is fire.
“I really enjoyed this.”
“I thought so.”
I laugh, but I know he was serious. He has always known how I feel. I can’t keep the nerves from zapping through my limbs. Can’t keep the blush from my face. I’ve felt it all night. I retreat up the quiet midnight street to my car, and as I’m driving home, I hear my phone buzz. I know who it is. I can barely get the keys out of the ignition before I’m opening the message.
H: How. Why. Who gave you the right to be there. Tonight. Looking like that.
M: I could ask you the same question!
H: I didn’t expect you.
M: I know. Sorry I surprised you.
H: You aren’t.
M: You’re right.
H: I have immense respect for our situation. I really do. I need you to know that. You’re a great person.
M: Oh, I do too. Our individual relationships. Our working relationship. We can’t jeopardize those.
H: Of course not.
M: I’m glad we understand each other.
H: I also need you to know that if the situation were different, I would’ve taken you to a quiet bar up the street just now. Someplace dark, where we could keep talking. Drinking. Someplace where I could tease you properly.
Fuck.
My heart skips and I scramble into the house, hurriedly undressing for bed and climbing inside, trying to remember why I shouldn’t respond. This lasts about six minutes. He’s already sent another message.
H: Those damn tights. Certainly didn’t help matters.
M: I kind of wondered what you might think of them.
H: I can’t stop thinking of them. Had to steal a few glances. Maybe a few too many.
M: I hope you got enough to last a while.
H: I don’t know how long I’ll last, honestly.
M: …
I hesitate. The words I’ve wanted to say for the past several hours all compete with the last rational part of my brain.
H: Hey, look. I’m going to behave in-person. I give you my word. But after a night like that…I need release. And I know you need it too.
And the words win.
M: How do you know? How have you always known?
H: I can just read you. I don’t know what it is. Magic? My own projection?
M: So, you want me too, is that what I’m hearing?
H: Uh, yes. I wanted to reach out and grab you, actually. Take you to some back room. Anywhere.
I gulp as I feel a familiar fire, burning its way through my body to my core.
M: I can tell my imagination has its work cut out for the next several weeks.
H: I can tell the key to your sexuality is your mind. I just have to get up inside and take over a few things. If only I could whisper a few things. Touch a few things.
I can no longer help myself as my hand slides under the waistband of my panties, finding the heat already spilling out.
M: This is so much easier to picture after just talking with you for two hours straight.
H: I know. Now I know exactly where my hands would fit. How they could trace your collarbone. The way they would hold your hips. It’s like the pieces missing from my imagination over the last few months have been filled in. I can see you.
My breathing catches as my hands wander, imagining his. It takes me too long to reply. My phone buzzes again.
H: You’re picturing it now, right? God. Have you thought about it before? My hands all over you?
I smirk, not sure how much to give him. Despite what my body is begging for, I’m still not interested in fucking up my life. Or his.
M: And if I have?… Are you sure this won’t affect our work? Our...situations?
H: I vow to keep this momentary lapse our own. I think you’re amazing. As a person. I want to work with you. I don’t want to upend anything. I just…my mind wanders sometimes. You’re so attractive. And I’m of the opinion that if someone makes me feel this way, they deserve to know. You deserve to know. It’s the law of attraction
I laugh.
M: I don’t think that’s what anyone means by the law of attraction.
H: Close enough.
I’m still trying to process this. It’s all happening so fast. And I have clearly underestimated what being wanted like this - desired like this - does for me. I don’t remember the last time someone talked to me this way. One hand reaches up to graze my nipple. I can feel the sheets getting slick as I squeeze a little. Buzz buzz.
H: Is that okay? Just tell me if I say too much.
M: We’re on the same page. It’s the law.
As soon as I reply, he sends a .gif, clearly copped from an X-rated site. A muscular guy sitting next to a petite female, his hand traveling between her legs. Okay, .gifs. That’s a new one.
H: This page? Is it okay if I send images? Sometimes I find they make it a little easier to express what I’m thinking.
M: Visuals are your day job. It only stands to reason.
H: You get it. Art.
Another image comes through, this time the guy has gone under her skirt, exposing her to the camera. My hand quickens under the blanket, feeling my body’s reaction. I reach into my nightstand and pull out my favorite vibrator, debating whether I should interject.
H: As I was saying, the mind is the most powerful weapon in the bedroom. Combining the right thoughts with the right touches, the right words…
M: I can hear your voice so much clearer now, in my head. Ringing in my ears. I’ve always been very…auditory.
H: Really? I love that. Makes me want to call you right now. Get the most out of this moment. All of the…available senses.
Another image comes through - an attractive man kissing and biting a woman’s ear, down to her neck. I shiver and switch the vibrator on.
H: Should I call you?
Before I can confirm or deny, his name flashes across my screen. The phone is buzzing in one hand and my vibrator in the other. I take a deep breath and slide the icon to answer his call.
“Hello?” I manage in a whisper.
He laughs on the other end, low and sexy. “You sound surprised.”
“This entire evening has been somewhat of a surprise, if I’m being honest.” The back of my neck prickles at his voice in the most pleasant way.
“Think we can keep it up?”
I whimper a little, before a stifled “I hope so.”
I hear him let out a low moan. “That’s my girl. Are you touching yourself right now?”
I’m both disarmed by and enamored with his boldness, the palpable curiosity and excitement emanating from his words. I remember the vibrator at this moment and drop it down under the blanket, still over top of my soaked panties.
“I uh…I have been since I got home.”
“Ohh, fuck. I’m glad I’m not the only one. I could barely keep it together in the car.”
I smile, moving the vibrator in slow circles over my clit, finally beginning to relax into the sensations.
“You should see how wet I am. Everything is soaked.”
He gasps a little and I can hear him working on himself. Each word takes a little longer to form than it should.
“I know we’re going to be good. I know. But I can’t help the thought that flashed through my mind as I was watching you walk up the street.”
“What was that?”
“I thought, ‘I’m definitely going to fuck her one day.’”
I sigh and slide my panties down around my knees, letting the vibration touch bare skin for the first time. I can’t help the sounds I make. “Ahh, shit.”
“Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I just took down my panties. I’m using a vibrator.”
“Mm, that’s so hot. Everything about you is so fucking hot.”
“Imagine if we had just made off to a back room tonight,” I breathe, ragged. “If we could just...let go.”
“Mm. Hiding out somewhere. I think in that case I’d really like to see you down on your knees for me.” I can hear rustling like he’s changing positions, then, “I kept picturing those pretty eyes looking up at me.”
“Yeah?”
“Is that something you would like?”
“Of course. I bet you sound incredible when you’re being sucked off.”
He groans, hearing this. I turn up the speed on the vibrator and adjust the phone, now able to use both hands. Two fingers slip through my wet folds and just as easily inside. “Ooh, yes,” I moan into the mic.
“You’re too much. Fuck me,” he grunts. I hear rhythmic pumping. “If your mouth takes me like a good girl, you know I’d have to taste you too.”
I moan. He continues. He knows what I need to hear. Somehow he just fucking knows. “I’d bury my face in that little pussy. Licking, sucking, driving you crazy. Pumping my fingers in and out, tongue hot against your clit until I had your cum dripping down my chin.”
“Fucking hell,” I gasp, sucking in air, trying not to explode.
I can hear a smile in his gravely voice, “You like this, don’t you, baby? You like hearing what I want to do to you? I like telling you. I can picture your hips rocking, putting my mouth exactly where you want it.”
“Mmm, fuck. Fuck yes.”
“I’d have to turn you around eventually. Up against a wall, legs spread nice and wide for me. I’d bend you over and push every inch of my cock inside you. Make you mine.”
I speed up the vibrator again and my hips roll back and forth, anticipating an inevitable climax. I haven’t been this wound up in oh, I don’t know, maybe years.
“I want it. I want you so fucking bad,” I whisper, the pleasure mounting. “I want you to take me, my pussy was aching for you all night.”
“Confession. This is far from the first time I’ve been stroking my dick and thinking of you. Imagining those words.” I can tell he’s getting close too. The noises sound more frantic. More desperate.
“No?” I can’t manage much else, as very intense waves of pleasure are building.
“Definitely not,” he drawls, slowly, his heady voice losing focus. Dropping in and out between panting and sloppy wet sounds. He’s close. “But it’s so much better when you know.”
“I love knowing,” I whisper, afraid to lose this momentum, but making it last as long as possible.
“The first time we met, I was a wreck. You have no idea how many long, hot showers have belonged to you.”
“Ohh, fuuuck,” I cry out. This undoes me, hearing that he’s been so fixated, hearing that I’ve been playing on his mind like this. My orgasm crashes into me and I whimper and whine as the waves break. “I’m cumming. I’m cumming for you.”
Apparently this was what he needed to hear. He lets out a low growl and returns the favor, breathing heavily in my ear as he blows his load. It’s so hot, I can hardly stand it.
As his moans settle, and we’re left in the quiet, I realize my vibrator is still running and switch it off. He laughs in spite of himself.
“Woah,” I start.
“Exactly what I’ve needed. For a while.”
“Really?”
“Well, maybe not exactly…” he amends. “But pretty damn close.”
“Pretty damn,” I agree.
“I guess we should…”
“Yeah, we should…”
I can hear a smile in his voice. “We’re good?”
“Better than.”
He laughs. “Goodnight, you. ‘Til the next time you show up somewhere looking like a goddess and make me lose my shit.”
