random love


i wantmakes life better.

Aside from overarching things like my health, a cozy abode and the fact that I’ve still got all my limbs and five senses, this is a sampling of things that have made me so, so thankful this year:

 laughter, my Right-Hand Bitches, LOVE, subways, croissants,
the power of choice, subtitles, excellent footwear, unanswered questions,
magical bath additives that transform my bathwater into a cappuccino,
MusicMusicMusic, real life gay proposal videos (I need feel-good tears in my life), WordPress, sparkling water, Japanese gel manicures, being understood, my phone,
the vintage, my transsexual ex-GF (who is incidentally my wife), delicious hot pots,
the ever-expanding Bitch network, graphite-paper-colored pencils-nibs-ink, poetry,
the Internet, all of you- beautiful people who stop by and read some shit-
Thank You

Love y’all, Happy Thanksgiving.

random love


Truth or tactLet’s haiku.

one. thousand plates fall
forty thousand rain: drops.  Hit
mute.  sanctify me.

flurries.  hard madness.
as bunny-milk ice cream pools,
red stream breaks even.

quiet   tulips give
chase, beckon.  ephemeral.
sharp edges   .cut.  Free

sun rays…..rapid beat.
They whisper: Run.  Fast.  Faster.
Burn. Spin. Break.             vanish

grey november days.
pine trees bend, invite…sadden.
it was always you

relationshipping, trans talk


Jealousywas unexpected.

BF was the most unjealous person I know.

Early-ish in our relationship, I lamely tested his J-meter in the vein of, “So I think *** might like me.”
BF automatically replies with, “He should.  You’re hot and a really cool person (Um blush-yay).  I’d have a crush on you.”   Such a smartass- I love it.

And in that moment BF manages to make me swoon all over again and I think he’s the coolest person ever.  Because he’s not bullshitting.  He really means what he’s saying.  I don’t know that I could be so generous and nonchalant about someone crushing on him.  Damn.  He’s really good at showing me up and I like the way his unexpectedly sweet response makes me rethink this thing called jealousy.  Namely, how void it can be in our relationship.

And if there was any potential interest or curiosity I might have had for someone crushing on me, he has unintentionally eradicated it.

Time passes, transition happens.

It turns out GF has a smidge of jealous in her.
Of me.


Adoration of innate qualities like my size, height and shape has gone the way of mild envy.  This new emotional reaction is unexpected, disconcerting and saddens me as I feel a decided shift.  I’ve gone from the woman he loves in all aspects to someone who makes her feel inadequate during transition.

I tell myself that GF won’t permanently feel this way about me.
A tiny seed of worry drops in my heart.
I don’t want this seed to sprout.

I don’t want my physical being to trigger thoughts of a more or less feminine ideal.
I want her to see me as she used to.

I have hope that as she discards her male shell, she will believe in and see herself beautiful.




is a thing.
As well as a known acronym?

This one was introduced by way of a complete stranger to me but someone BF knew.  We’re sitting, having drinks at a regular bar after hanging out for a few weeks.  BF and dude are talking; I’m quasi-listening but mostly zombied to the TV screen (a glowing monitor entrances and renders me a deaf-mute) when I hear, “So…is she your girlfriend?”

Erm…awkward, long silence as he and I look at each other, eyes wide open question marks.

“Oh…right, y’all haven’t had the RDT yet.  Hehe.”

Whatever that is, okay, guess not.

But on the way home, I remember the acronym comment and curious minds want to know.

Me: What does RTF or RTD or whatever dude said stand for?
BF: You mean RDT?”
Me: Um, sure.
BF: Relationship Defining Talk.
Me: Wow, people really call it that?  I meant it’s a for real acronym?
BF: Yep, you’re probably the only person who doesn’t know what that stands for.
Me: Hmm….seriously?  I’m skeptical.  I feel that it’s not that I’m clueless in the dating realm but that my guy hangs out with some endearing but seriously geeky types.  Also, he really likes acronyms.  And lists.  I’m pretty sure he makes shit up on the daily just to mess with me.  Our text history is 80% ‘What does that meeeeean?’ from me and chronologized bullet points from him.  Ok, so are we supposed to have that?
BF: I guess so.  I mean I knew it’d be a talk we’d have soon but I didn’t intend it to be today.
Me: You can call me your girlfriend (insert smirky grin).

The truth is we both know we’re BF/GF.  Since the first night he spent in my bed, we haven’t spent a night apart.  But I do understand and agree with naming it, putting it out in the open where there’s a witness to the thought in our heads.

Clarification helps.
And It’s not real unless you share it.

The RDT is easy because what I’m pondering more is…I think I love him.

trans talk

Sex changes

Sex changeswith every relationship.
Of course it does.

And when my partner is a transsexual, the sexing definitely shifts.

I expected gay, bi or straight sexual identity exploration to happen because that’s a common part of transition.  I expected the kind of sex we had to change as she figured out said sexual identity.  What I didn’t expect was the change in sexual roles.

As a man, my BF enjoyed dominating me.
As a woman, my GF wants to be dominated.


I sense an incompatibility of the irreconcilable sort sprouting.  I try being more dominant.  This isn’t my natural inclination but I recall one relationship where a very experimental other wanted me (in one of many phases of said relationship) to dom-i-nate; no two ways about it.  Gosh, that was so many years ago but maybe I can embody that mindset and try it out.

Except it’s so not me.

The dissonance in roles of dominance and submission teeter-totters our relationship, in the same way that GF figuring out whether she is straight/bi/gay does, as well as my determining how attracted I am to a physically transitioning GF.

And I have to be real.

Me: So I think we need to open relationship like you suggested because, clearly, you aren’t getting your needs met from me.
GF: Okay, obviously I’m okay with that.  But you haven’t really tried having sex with me the way I want.
Me: It’s not for lack of trying.  Really, it’s not.  Stop rolling your eyes, goddammit.  It’s just that…obviously this is far from intuitive for me.  It’s like there’s a block.
GF: Rumi, do you think all the sex I had with you was solely the way I wanted?  I had sex with you the way you wanted it.
Me: Sigh.  And oh.  It wasn’t a chore, was it?
GF: Of course not, I love you.  It was never that but it wasn’t always 100% what I wanted is all- it was a compromise.  That’s all I’m saying.

I feel like I’ve failed my GF.
I wish- I really, really wish- that I could be a different person for her, someone who could fulfill all her new and changing needs.

It’s not for lack of love.

Thing is, I can’t lie in the face of sex, sex roles or sexual attraction.
I have before and what resulted was a stupid mess.  

But that’s another story for another time.

random love

NC-17 search terms

NC-17 search termshappen with a blog title like this one, apparently.

“But can you sell horsetail butt plugs to middle-aged straight men with a straight face?” asks my potential new boss as she nods towards a pretty massive plug with a serious tail.  And it just so happens that as I made my way down to the interview chamber I saw a middle-aged guy in the shop, seriously contemplating the sex swing hanging in the corner.

Can I sell this?  My mind draws a cool grey, absolute blank slate.  Then so many questions squish-crowd my brain: what do I know about butt plugs?  What the fuck do I know about horsetail plugs?  How do I go about selling this?  Oh crap, do I need to try this out?  And what do I know about wanting to be a pony?  Shit, I need to find a fetish group?  What if I end up liking pony play?  I look at my interviewer, I picture the middle-aged guy and the image in my head amidst the questions is a verdant forest with all manner of whipped and leather-clad big and little people and animules as a verdant me is attempting to get schooled in this particular fetish scene.

Wait, how did I get here?

Right, my attempt to find a tolerable part-time gig at a very progressive, women-run (read: lesbian friendly) boutique sex shop.  I pictured talking about silicone, electric, metal, glass vibrators and dildos, condoms, harnesses, lube, basically everything except anal toys.  I feel inadequate and ill-prepared.

Shit, I still haven’t answered the question.
How many minutes have passed?

Also, I am high.  Ridiculously giddy high.
I can’t keep a straight face as I attempt to answer.  I hear myself say something about being a lesbian, dildos are cool, harnesses too, honestly hor–…and I lose it.  I can’t help it.  Horsetail plugs are funny.  No?  Thing is, the fucking rabbit vibrator that’s been around forever makes me giggle.

Because I’m that mature.
I so don’t need to work here.  Bosslady agrees (imagine).

I was twenty when I failed this interview.
Why the recall?
Those NC-17 search terms I mentioned?
This is what I thought was searched:
‘fucking a japanese lesbianin [sic] the butt’

Turns out this was the not-cut-off-by-a-smartphone version:
‘fucking a japanese lesbianin [sic] the butthole until it hurts’

What a difference 3.5 words make, no?

Let’s talk painslut later.

random love

Good grief

The other dayis another familiar.

You need to try to master the ability to feel sad without actually being sad.

~Mingyur Rinpoche,
(quoted by Laurie Anderson, November 21st 2013 issue of Rolling Stone)

I believe in the good grief.

There was a five-year period in my life where I grieved.  A lot.
There were deaths and a most significant break up.  One terminal illness was such an intimate part of my life, I might as well have been in bed with it.

A dear friend recently shared a death experience.  The feelings, confusion and questions brought on by the grieving process- how and when to deal or not deal- makes me think, look back and consider who I was then and who I am now as a result.

Grieving is inconvenient.

I realize that the sly workings of grief overwhelm at the most unexpected moments.  I think I am okay, I feel myself smiling because I feel a genuine, warm happiness from within when suddenly, my heart is hollowed out and I gasp, in shock that I am felled so immediately and completely.  It doesn’t matter that the tears don’t fall because I’m wrecked from the inside, can’t catch my goddamn breath and there goes my plan for the next few hours because I must simply feel out this pain.  I am immobilized.

Except this time when I look around, you aren’t there.
This time it’s the death of us that I grieve.
There’s no you to talk to, cry with, come home to.
It hits harder, sadder because before, with you, sharing the grief was so…unlonely.

Time can help.

But it’s not the ultimate panacea.  My heart still breaks 2, 5, 8, 10, 13 years after the fact.
It’s not as raw but it still hurts and…truth?  Sometimes, every so often, it is as raw.

Sometimes it takes a friend from long ago to identify changes within myself.  It seems that I am more open and caring.  But then again if I didn’t evolve after confronting childhood demons, heartbreak, grief, and probing and challenging relationships, what a waste of life experience on me, no?

I can sit in death’s aftermath, maintain a clear line of reason and be optimistic about the future, even, but I can’t not be sad when I’m feeling the sadness.

Feel sad and not actually be sad?
I’m working on it.

about Japan

Love hotels & eyepatches

The other day

are old news and a new trend.
Like, love and kink, Tokyo-style.

Oh, love hotels.
It’s exactly as it sounds: a place for the sex. You can choose 1-3 hours or the night.
You might have heard Japan is renowned for its sky-high service standards and rent-a-doing-it-rooms are no exception. Jacuzzi tubs, toiletries, porn, robes, irons, condoms, karaoke (duh, it’s Japan), drinks and snacks are all de rigeur. Then there are the themes…cages, aquariums, Hello Kitty in a bondage swing, fucking carou- actually, this is so much better.


Japan is so damn good at a theme. In that realm, the bars are also awesome. Alice in Wonderland seems particularly popular and of course, the anime. Or say tonight, I want glowing eyeball cocktails while getting the crap scared out of me in a haunted spaceship while avoiding ninja stars being thrown by Technicolor horsemen. Minus the spaceship, this can happen.

But I digress.

A note on anonymity and love hotels: most enable an affair remarkably well. Zero contact with another human is absolutely possible- use the underground parking garage, touchscreen your room of choice, insert cash or a card and voilà. It’s that easy. Then there’s the other end of the spectrum: after checking-in at the front desk, if there’s a wait for a room, just chill out with other people waiting to do it by playing pool, getting a chair massage or throwing some darts around.

The love hotel experience is such customizable fun in this city.

And then there are the young kids…asking to get their eyeballs licked, followed by conjunctivitis. Young girls are especially keen on wearing eyepatches with pride- that’s right, bitches- I got herpes of the eye because I got so many people to tongue my eyeball. Y’jealous?

My homeland is so fucking weird, y’all.