#dinerdiary

[lupineledger]

Diner Diary #6

I'm sorry I'm so Tall

I'm sorry I'm not small

I'm sorry I'm not strong

I'm sorry I'm soft where I should be hard

I'm sorry I'm a nerd

I'm sorry I like to learn

I'm sorry I don't shave

I'm sorry it's hard for me to feel safe

I'm sorry I'm too much

I'm sorry I'm not enough

This life has often made me feel like I don't fit my own shape. Like my preferences make me less myself.

People often told me during my teenage years that there must be a little white girl inside of me. Like because I liked books, pop music, and celebrity gossip my race must've been improperly assigned. "How dare I be black and have those interests?"

As I got older things changed and they'd tell me that there must be some white man inside of me. Like because I liked video games, comics and whiskey my race and my gender must've been improperly assigned. "How dare I be a black woman and have those interests?"

I prefer pants and a button up so clearly I don't want to ever wear a skirt or be bottom.

I'm outspoken and well educated so surely I don't need time to process new information or situations.

I'm black and I'm queer so of course I have thick skin and I don't need to be handled gently.

Just look at me, just talk to me; why would I ever crave the freedom of submission?

If I had a dime for all the wrong assumptions I'd be a very rich woman.

[lupineledger]

Diner Diary #5

I don't think I've ever been praised by a partner.

The only way I knew my exes enjoyed being intimate with me was their continuing to do so. To hear them tell it they hated my touch. Which is wild, given how they sought it out, but wtf do I know.

With all my past girlfriends a troubling pattern emerges. They get me into bed, eventually pressure me to let them touch me too, then they shame, belittle, or ignore me until I never ask them for reciprocation. Even though at the start I was happy to focus solely on them and the only reason my pleasure was on the table was by their demand.

And by no means am I saying they were obligated to reciprocate. Consent can, and in some instances absolutely should, be revoked. No one is obligated to reciprocate. We all make our decisions of what we do and don't do.

Like I decided to be in those relationships.

Even once they stopped being kind to me.

Even once they made it painfully clear they expected me to touch them or else.

I realize I bear responsibility for this because why did I put up with it and why did I stay with them?

But also I didn't have the knowledge to contextualize it or the words to articulate how it made me feel.

I didn't know they were exploiting the submissive tendencies that somehow they knew I had even when I didn't have a clue.

I wasn't taught to have strong boundaries, or to have boundaries at all.

I couldn't bring myself to accept the reality of it being abusive.

I just thought "They express themselves different than I do."

"People can only love how they know how to love."

"This is what they want, so I'll give it to them as best I can. I love them, they don't have to do anything they don't want to do."

I was naive and uninformed and that's my fault.

But looking back part of me can't help but think "would it have killed them to say 'I liked that,' or 'you did good,' just once?"

I'll never know the answer to that I suppose.

At least I'm not naive and uninformed anymore.

[lupineledger]

Diner Diary #4

I'm thinking about the only partner I ever used a strap with. Third of the total four girlfriends I've had.

To this day I still have no idea what initially made me ask. I'd thought about it before, ever since understanding my attraction to women, I'd daydreamed and wondered if I'd ever get the chance.

It's been 5 years, maybe more, and all I know is it was unprompted.

A confidence I often pretend to claim swelled in me and somehow my courage became audible: "I want to get a strap-on. I want my arms around you while I make you feel good."

I didn't expect her to readily agree. I didn't expect the warm feeling of shopping for it together online. I didn't expect the excitement of the day it arrived. I didn't expect how at ease I felt in trying it on.

I rarely let myself remember the heady feeling of that first moment pushing into her. I shy away from the echo of her moans and whimpers.

I hate the way so much time has past and still my heart skips a beat and squeezes in my chest.

I wish I didn't remember the way those moments felt.

I want so badly to forget that she demanded it be okay for her to sleep with men. The way she told me I could never compare to them.

The way I just accepted, didn't fight, didn't leave. Just "Yeah sure, baby, whatever you need."

I want to forget that she asked me if we could try it again. I want to lie to myself and pretend I didn't eagerly jump at the chance. Only for her to push me away when my moans joined hers. Only to tell me she wanted no part of my "disgusting fantasy."

As if my desire to hold her close was an affront to decency; a sickness of loving her.

I wish I wasn't with her another several months after she told me how she really felt.

"I want you to wait until I want you. Like a toy on a shelf I can play with when I choose." She said.

"But I'm a person." I whispered.

I wish I could forget that laugh, like me being worth respect or basic decency was the funniest thing I'd ever said.

[lupineledger]

Diner Diary #2

Back before I had my first serious girlfriend, maybe 2 years before so like 2012/2013, this girl at my college randomly told me I had "big dick fingers."

and I panicked. HARD

It has never been a secret that I'm attracted to women. Strangers on the street and everyone I meet can somehow always tell. I can count on one finger the number of times I've actually had to come out.

So she knew I was attracted to women. It's debatable whether she knew I was attracted to her or not, but I absolutely was.

The thing she didn't know, the thing no one ever assumes, is how painfully inexperienced and pathetically, woefully ignorant of how to deal with my gayness I was am.

I think the assumption is that if I dress so clearly masculine, am so vocal about my preferences, and so comfortable in my sexuality then obviously I know what I'm doing. Obviously I'm the one in charge. Obviously if you drop it in my lap I know what to do with it.

Absolutely wrong. Which is what she found out that day, standing in my best friends dorm room waiting for him to find the notes she was there to borrow.

She told me I have "big dick fingers" and looked at me like a meal she wanted to indulge in. I don't think I've ever seen anyone drag their eyes over my body in exactly that way before or since.

It took a second for her words to register. I remember looking at my hands as I processed them. Then realization snapped my eyes up to see her with that hungry look, slowly devouring me like she had all the time in the world.

And when her eyes met mine?

I panicked. HARD.

I stuttered and squeaked. I struggled so much in those few seconds that felt like an hour.

and then I fled.

I remember the sound of my friends laughter muffled by the door and fading as I made my way down the hall. Sometimes I still hear it now.

I can still see the hunger in her eyes shift into amusement at the way it took one sentence and one look to dissolve every ounce of my confidence into a puddle I left behind at her feet.

I wonder if it's still there.

I wonder what the fuck the correct response is to "You have big dick fingers."

[lupineledger]

Diner Diary #1

The other day I was playing Overwatch with a friend of mine.

She's one of only two people who I've told about my discovery that I'm submissive. She's been super supportive, as has the other friend, and invited me to a kink discord that I'm too scared to do anything more than lurk in.

Anyway, I digress. So we were playing Overwatch.

And somehow the conversation turned to the fact she isn't comfortable calling a woman "mommy."

I told her that's understandable and it's good she knows her own boundaries.

I told her that if a woman is confident enough to tell me that's what she wants me to call her then I will happily do it.

She said she just doesn't like it.

I said I don't particularly like it, but it doesn't bother me, and I'll do it because I'm obedient.

She said "You're a, dare I say it, good girl?"

The sound that came out of my mouth.

The fucking sound that came out of my fucking mouth. Is not one I have ever made before.

It is not a sound I could ever hope to replicate on command.

The high pitched giggle squeal that bubbled up from my throat before I could even think to stop it was the sound of my first time ever being called a good girl.

And the way she laughed in response is burned into my brain because it had this air of recognition like the sound I made answered her question better than words ever could.