The Juggler

My newest Tinder adventure is one for the books. I have to admit I really love an odd ball man. I lovingly call these men my weirdos, and I’ve been seeing a new one. Though this person identifies as gender queer so I’ll do my best with neutral pronouns.

We met many months ago, just weeks after Spouse and I split. They are a professional juggler and I saw them perform in a circus show. Afterwards, I tried to awkwardly hit on them. I told them their performance really spoke to me or something equally embarrassing. Which is true, their performer persona (and it turns out their real persona) is adorably bashful and I was real into it. They brushed that off with a “yeah, sometimes audience members get really into performers”.

Then we matched on Tinder recently and decided to meet up. They don’t remember me hitting on the, after the show ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Since I already knew them, we decided to just meet at mine (but not before having hot phone sex the night before). When they arrived, we sat on the couch, drinking kombucha and polishing our nails. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, we were sitting on the couch facing one another and The Juggler closed their eyes and took my hands in theirs. Then they began tickling my arms with this look on their face just like they were exploring, trying to sense me without using sight.

I kept mine open and looked at them like “what is happening?”. But, I didn’t pull away because truthfully I was enamored with the whole thing. They didn’t say much, just kept feeling my arms and eventually my back, by which time I was getting really turned on.

Eventually we made it into my bedroom where we spent about three hours exploring one another. Let me just say: The Juggler knows how to use their hands. I think they may be the most intuitive lover I’ve ever been with. I typically have trouble letting a new partner make me cum. I can get myself there by leading the charge or using a toy, but to trust another person to do that is tough. But they got me to the edge of that about 5 separate times, in many different ways, but each time I’d get in my head at the end and would lose it. We talked after and they said they felt they could read me until that last moment.

They also know themselves very well sexually. They’re a decade older than me and has been non mono most of their adult life, with a variety of lovers. All that experience and openness shows; they are very well attuned to another person’s needs. This is the kind of lover I aspire to be.

But back to the actual event.. after all these hours of fun, I finally asked him to cum on my chest, a particular fondness for me as I think I have great tits. BUT THEN. THE CRAZIEST THING HAPPENED. HE LICKED UP SOME OF HIS OWN CUM AND SAID “Huh, it tastes funny today”!!!!

Keep in mind that I have been doing threesomes like it’s my job and even was double penetrated very recently. But this. This was a real shocker! I honestly could not keep my face neutral. I mean. It’s ok. Like, people eat cum all the time. I’ve just never seen a person eat their own, let alone know what it should taste like normally!

I should also say that as sexually adventurous as I’ve become, I still do not let people cum in my mouth. It’s something I’d like to get used to, but need to be motivated by love or something probably. Barista came in my mouth once (it was the first time anyone had) and I spit it out on his shirt and started laughing. We broke up that night. Longer story. Just to say, I am not a fan of semen in my mouth. So the idea that someone would willingly and without anyone asking them to, eat their own cum. Yikes. Intellectually I don’t have a problem with this and I have fucked them three times since. But boy was I surprised!

Unfortunately they is not terribly good at conversation or asking questions. It seems like they doesn’t care all that much about getting to know me. But then again, they did come stay over during my health episode and was very sweet. They did my dishes and everything. It’s hard to tell if the reason they don’t ask questions is because they’re really caught up in himself in an egotistical way or if they just likes to get to know someone more by spending time with them. I’m not so worried about it.


Oh to be young and in love

Spouse called to check in on me tonight after my health episode. Truth be told, it was difficult to get through without him. My new people stepped up, but I wasn’t supposed to even have those people. I am married. I was supposed to have a husband. And I don’t.

I’m still in some pain and feeling tender and not quite myself, so the conversation went there pretty quickly. We were both in tears. I asked him the question I ask myself all the time “Why didn’t it work? We loved each other so much.”

If that question had a simple answer, we may not have to ask it. There are a lot of answers and it’s tempting to fit it into a neat narrative. But that wouldn’t be honest or fair. In fact, we decided tonight that doing so may actually tarnish the beauty and rarity of what we did have.

Facebook reminded Spouse of a photo of he and I snuggling in bed with our first dog. In the picture I am looking at Spouse with the kind of adoration and love that you just can’t fake. He told me that when he saw the photo he could remember a time when I looked at him that way. He said he could remember when he deserved it and he remembered I continued to look at him that way long after he deserved it..

Spouse is incredibly intelligent and incredibly afraid of letting others in, emotionally. When I met his family, they told me they had never seen him so happy as he was with me. He attributed this to the fact that he never felt he could truly be himself with them of with anyone. He told me then and reaffirmed tonight that when we met, it was the first time in his life that he felt maybe another person could know him and understand him. He began to show himself fully and fearlessly, censoring only ever so slightly.

That time, which cannot be defined by dates or eras or legal status, was ecstasy. We met, and in typical me fashion, I said “you” and focused all my attention on making him mine. We fell quickly, fully and without fear. Within weeks, I was intending to spend the rest of my life with him and he me. We empowered one another, made one another smile and laugh and discussed everything. We melded our lives easily and without question.

There was a moment tonight when I wondered if I would ever have it again. That experience that words cannot even begin to adequately describe, that love. And we agreed: no. Neither he nor I would ever have that again. Because to be young and in love is truly a unique and impossible to replicate experience. And I feel unbelievably grateful to have had so much of it with such a special man.

We will both love again. I’m sure of it. But we will never love with such recklessness and fearlessness. We will never fall so hard and so deep and so fast quite like that again. We agreed and reaffirmed something we’ve felt all along: just because it changed doesn’t mean it was a mistake. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been a part of.


Having a person

One of the hardest things about exiting a marriage is the loss of your person. In a marriage, you have a built in person. This person is your go-to. In crisis, for events, for staying in and watching Netflix. You don’t have to think about it because you know they’ll be there.

Because work and emotional distance, Spouse hasn’t really been my person in a while. But he was good at showing up when it mattered. I have a recurring ailment that has me laid up in bed for a few days every now and again, unable to walk or care for my dog or work. For years, Spouse managed me care. The dosing of pain pills, who would take the dog out and keep an eye on me while he worked, etc.

So when I had an episode this week, I was truly scared. My roommate is out of town and Spouse was working, unable to get away and also no longer required to try.. So I was in charge of my own care. These episodes are unexpected and they put me in so much pain, I can’t usually think straight.

But the most wonderful thing happened: my community came through for me! Spouse coached Feathers over the phone on how to give me a shot I needed and Feathers stayed with me for 24 hrs, caring for S and I fully. Tall Guy came by to take S out and help after that. My closest girlfriend in the city, H, came by to keep me company and a few men who I just have casual sex with came by as well.

Feathers and I have been spending a lot of time together lately and it’s been really magical. He is truly a special person and I feel really lucky to be a part of his life. He’s tender and brilliant and creative. I never know what time with him will entail, but I’m always glad to see him. He was a really attentive caregiver as well. One of the best things a person can do for me when I’m in pain is distract me and Feathers is full of stories and ideas, so he was the ideal caretaker. I couldn’t sleep the first night and he stayed up all night with me showing me youtube videos he made or telling me stories, real and fictional.

When Tall Guy came over, he walked in, saw me laying pathetically on the couch and said “oh sweetie” with so much empathy I almost started crying. He came over and gently hugged me and kissed my head. It was honestly such a sweet moment, I wish I had been more lucid for it.

As painful as those days were and as stressful as it is to be so helpless, I couldn’t help but marvel at the idea that even though I don’t have one built in person, I do have people who love me and care about me. And in some ways, sharing the burden among a few people is actually really nice.

I love to believe I am completely self sufficient now. Miss independent woman who can do it all. And I think that’s mostly true. But, there are times of crisis and not everything is meant to be done alone. Such a relief to find out I do have support. I do have people. I just don’t have a person. And that’s OK.


I have a bladder infection. Frequency, pain, blood.

In all the sex I’ve had these last 8 months (and it has been A LOT), I have somehow avoided any STIs, yeast infections or UTIs. But of course, it’s my five year anniversary and I have been hit with a severe fucking UTI.

G said this was just me being punished for all that extramarital sex. She’s probably right – god is likely a vindictive bitch.

Luckily, Spouse finally put his degree to use and called in an antibiotic for me.



A little over a year ago, I found myself in hysterical tears on the steps of a church in Streeterville, Chicago.

It was a month into Spouse’s residency and I had never felt so alone in my life. I was in a new city, trying to figure out the basics and Spouse was married to the hospital. We had intended to go grocery shopping together, but as was so common, he was asleep before 8 PM and I was left to go it out alone.

Before leaving, before he fell asleep, I had expressed a need for some emotional reassurance, some closeness and words or actions of solidarity. He couldn’t give them to me. I know he wanted to. And that fact made it harder and more painful. So I got out the grocery cart, took it down the elevator and began the 15 minute walk to the store as he fell asleep and began to snore in our new, king sized bed.

While I walked, I called my big brother, J. J has always been there for me, fully and without judgment. This is when I fell apart. Somewhere en route I had to stop because I was crying so hard. I tucked up into the church steps, hoping darkness would conceal me a little bit on the busy streets. At least three people stopped to be sure I was OK. Including the doorman from across the street, who brought me tissues. I suppose being on a church’s steps made it seem like a very different kind of breakdown.

I thought of this tonight as I walked a similar route, this time headed back to the el after my weekly therapy session. You see, tomorrow is Spouse and my 5th wedding anniversary. Or, I guess it would be. Do you stop counting after you decide the marriage is over?

I cried, albeit not as hysterically as a year ago, all the way home. There is actually something really beautiful about walking around the city, listening to music, and crying. Now I’m sitting on my front porch, still teary eyes, but calmer.

When I tell people our marriage is over, they often ask if I will stay in Chicago. Outwardly, there is nothing keeping me here. I work remotely, after all. I could do my job from anywhere in the US and none of my family or closest friends are here.

But the truth is, I have built a life here. In only a short time and under relatively traumatic circumstances, I have grown into this city. I have an incredible roommate, a growing group of girlfriends and a kooky little dog. I have had more new experiences in the last year than I thought I even wanted. I have had tastes of love, companionship, friendship and great sex with men and women across the north side and am fostering the beginnings of more. I know how to live in this city. I can get around and enjoy myself and I know there are opportunities for me to do anything I want here. And I’m really proud of that.

Last year, our anniversary fell on the night before residency began. We got dressed up and ate at a nearby Italian joint, taking a moment to pause about getting here and what beginning this life would mean. At that moment, we still had a fair amount of blind hope, firm denial and the only thing still true this year: a lot of love for each other.

This is not how I expected to spend my fifth anniversary. But, it’s a lovely night. A warm wind is pulling my hair across my face and the tears are gently rolling now. Last year these tears were futile and frustrated, broken and tragic. This year, the tears are leading me somewhere.