Indigo is Non-Monogamous

Happy Holiday Season, Party People! This is the second post in my 12 days celebration! What better way to celebrate Capitalism than posting reviews where you can purchase these fine items with my affiliate links?

10 out of 10
A long time ago, I wrote a post about being monogamous. I was in a happy and healthy relationship. I didn’t see that changing at the time, and the post still holds a lot of positive memories for me. However, a lot did change in that time. I’m single again, but I’ve come into a new identity as non-monogamous, which has helped me to create some beautiful new things in my world.
Between August and October, I didn’t really see anyone other than my roommates, classmates and coworkers. I wasn’t super social and I kept myself in my work. Needless to say, I didn’t see any bang buddies, partners or even potentials. Then all of a sudden, in a two week span, I had one play partner at my house for three days, reconnected with some old friends who have play partner potential, played with a new person at a party, and visited someone for a weekend who appears to be a consistent play partner. It has been a wild time for my brain as I begin to tease apart all my connections and what they mean for me.
To start off with, I have a hard time with the word “partner.” I hesitate to use it with anyone who I’ve just played with unless we have a conversation. Why? It feels like it gets weighed down with expectations. I expect a Bang Buddy to want to bang, and maybe mention that to me if they are in my city. This is on the same level as friend in my head. But I expect a partner to make time for me, and for them to expect that from me. My roommate says that what I call a partner, she calls a friend. Part of that is maybe because she is on the asexual spectrum, which inherently makes our relationship styles different. But part of it may be our inherently different levels of commitment.
I have a tendency to fear relationships because I fear I won’t understand the nature of a relationship and do something to make the other person uncomfortable. As a result, I am very clear about the nature of my relationships. I can separate kink from sex, which I can separate from emotions. I made sure I could do all this because I don’t want to be hurt by my own emotions, which often come on strong and sudden after physical contact. Play Partner/Bang Buddy is a sexual word. Dominant is a kink word. But Partner is an emotional word. And emotions are frightening. So I try not to use it unless there is some type of connection established.
I almost feel like I can’t have casual partners. That may be a struggle right now, as I recover from a hard year. I feel like I need someone who does support me and sends love and affection very often. And because casual partners send some, but not enough, I feel like I will ask for more and more from them, which may step over their boundaries. As a result, I keep everyone who wants something in-between at more of a distance. I can’t handle the thought of being told I am asking to much, so I ask nothing. I might leave potential partners feeling neglected, but I don’t know how to fix it right now.
Let’s dive into why this might be. Up until a year or so ago, I always felt monogamous. I clung to this word because I wanted to feel special and I wanted to make sure my partner was there for me. I wanted all my needs met, like any other human. And monogamy was a way for me to have that, while also maintaining control. If my partner was limited to me, as I was to them, then we were always there for each other. Only emergencies around family would really stop that. Basically, I could ensure without a doubt that my partners fulfilled my needs because there would be no one else to pull them away. However, as I began to feel myself pulling away in my last monogamous relationship, I realized that there is still that human error to account for. Less humans doesn’t mean no human error. It just means the illusion of less human error. But because humans have lives and needs, even in a monogamous relationship, I was still being pulled away from my own needs, and my partner was too.
As I began to let go of control and trust the world around me a little, I found some comfort in new connections. Sex educators who were friends are now bang buddies, and some might be more. I’ve found my needs being met in new ways. One person covers my need for kink, and finding cathartic healing in my own pain. One person listens as I explain my psyche because she needs to know how it works in order to be a professional dominant. One is my connection to the outside world, reminding me that there are people who aren’t trans that will still like me and my body.
As I let go of control, and let myself open up to more feelings, I find different needs that I wasn’t aware of before. Currently, everyone I consistently interact with is challenging me in some way. I am growing around them, because of them. This is a need I knew partially, but I became more aware of when I was chatting with one person who visited me, and they asked a simple fact-checking question. I was so grateful they had asked because it reminded me to be more careful with my words and assumptions.
However, some awareness of needs comes from not having them met in some interactions. One partner I spent a weekend with is very attached to his phone. He is constantly checking it, and messaging people. It’s part of his personality. I adore it, because he’s one of the few people who is more social than I am. However, when I was there, I realized that it would be easy for me to feel neglected. If I had a bad day, or some brain chemical didn’t line up, I would be hurt by losing his focus, even for a minute. So I need to be careful with my needs. When those days happen, I need to make sure I can voice what is happening, and not just explode. This partner fills many needs, but I am realistic about the needs I have which he won’t fill. I cannot ask things of people who aren’t willing or able to give them.
But those are needs that I have. I do crave a partner who abandons technology as much as I do. Because not being on my phone is a big part of my life. And I do need a partner that eventually builds something with me and says “This is for us and no one else.” Because I’m non-monogamous now, I feel a freedom to find that partner. I am remembering the times in monogamy when some needs weren’t met and I had no way to fix it. Well, now I do. I can find partners who fit me and fill those needs. And it will never change my other partners and the needs they fill. Because those two aren’t mutually exclusive.
I think one of the more fascinating things is how people don’t fill the same needs for each other. I think this is another hang-up from the monogamous views I had. I used to think that many people had the same needs and so you had one relationship to fulfill them all. Each person should grow from their partner. However, what if you don’t have a relationship like that? What if only one is growing? With non-monogamy, that is okay because the partner who isn’t growing can fill that need another way. They may not even have that need at all.
I have some ideas of what I want in my future, including a core relationship with a nesting partner. I struggle with wanting this type of relationship, because I don’t want to place partners into a box that I’ve created. I know that at some point, I will have to balance my needs with the natural tendencies of a partner. Now, I’m excited for the human equation. I feel as if I have gained a clearer understanding of the world, and of the ways that I need to adapt in order to have a fulfilling personal life. It’s going to be the activity that I love the most: problem solving.
My journey in non-monogamy is just beginning. I don’t even know which label I’ll settle on for my relationship style. And I’m off to a really great start, honestly. I’ve learned a lot about myself, which is my first goal in any activity. But I’ve also made a lot of good relationships happen in my life already. I set goals for myself fairly often, and my next one is to trust a little more. Because I attract and deserve good things.

Indigo is a Bottom!

10 out of 10 (for me, anyway)
Pairs nicely with a daiquiri. It’s sweet, smooth, and most of the time, it’s fruity.
Last week, I had sex with a new partner, and this interaction turned out to be really good for me, for a lot of reasons. You can read about the fun times I had, but right now I want to focus on one of the main thoughts that I pulled from this from this interaction, which was a simple sentence: “Reciprocity is subjective.”
Now, my companion said this the in the morning morning as we cuddled and chatted about the sex the night before. He complimented the noises I made, and my giggle, and how hot it was when I squirted. Of course, I giggled though this and was elated at the positive attention. I mentioned that I get extremely wrapped up in my own body and sensations, which makes me less like to reciprocate actions. Usually, you don’t want something in my mouth while I’m being pleasured because I lose focus. 69 is…not the best sex act for me to perform, honestly.
And then he dropped that bit of wisdom, and if I had been more awake, or less in post-morning-orgasm-bliss, I would have talked a lot about how that exact line affected me. Honestly, maybe it’s a good thing because he would have kicked me out for all my chatting at 5 AM. Because in all honesty, it revolutionized how I think about sex, and specifically my style of sex.
Since I’ve been having sex, I’ve been primarily a bottom. One ex has even described be as a “power bottom.” I don’t disagree with this statement. I have something weird with my sense of touch. Sometimes, the sensations I feel take over whatever I’m doing and I lost all autonomy. I very often don’t know what to do with myself during an orgasm, which has in the past ended in me chewing up shirt collars, sheets, pillows, or partners. I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not sure my partners would want to hear that. I’ve always experienced tactile sensations this way; they permeate my being. I touch things that I like to look at to make sure they feel as good as they look. I feel pain from where it happens to all over my body. This makes me good at communicating what I like, though I can’t always make my mouth work fast enough once the sex starts. It makes me good at edging myself. It makes me a great receiver for pain, pleasure, and every sensation between or around those.
However, when my partner described me as a power bottom, I was worried this title meant it such that I never fulfill others’ needs in the bedroom. I am consistently worried about being a good service submissive, and making sure my Doms or Daddies are happy. To be called a power bottom unraveled everything I thought of myself. I think I’ve honestly struggled with this particular statement for years.
So what do I offer in bed? Well, I’ve been told I’m good. I even wrote a post about how good I am. But I always have a doubt in the back of my mind that it’s all beautiful lies. Perhaps all my partners just say I’m good to placate me. Perhaps they all fake their orgasms. Though I enjoy giving and I do perform many physical acts with (and for) my partners, I do often remember the times that I have received acts more clearly. Those are the moments that I really focus on when I’m writing erotica or masturbating. Because those are the acts that linger in my memories, does that mean that receiving is all I do? Does it mean that my partners are left to please themselves after I’m finished with them?
Well no, and all of those thoughts are wrapped up in a complex guilt issue that I have, which is the result of years of verbal and emotional abuse. I’m constantly seeking affirmation, and now I think I can finally give that to myself. Because reciprocity is subjective. So receiving a fist, or a tongue is my way of giving. I can give someone an excellent and fulfilling time by having orgasm after orgasm. As long as that is what they want. On top of all the acts that I love being on the receiving end of, I can still talk to partners and listen to their wants and needs. I can give more blow jobs, or hand jobs. I can dirty talk more. If I don’t focus on giving a physical act naturally, that doesn’t mean I can’t change my focus. If I’m going to learn how my partner wants to be shown pleasure, I can also learn how to give them pleasure.
When someone has sex with me and decides they want to do so again, it means they enjoy what I offer. There is not a tangible or quantifiable way to measure reciprocity. My form of giving back in energy and reaction, is the same as someone giving back in blow jobs. I can now fully believe that I do “reciprocate” in sex I have. This revelation is proof that I need to be a slut more often and sleep with cool people who say cool things.

Indigo Has Drunken Sex!

Either 10 or 0 out of 10 AND NO WHERE BETWEEN THAT.
Pairs nicely with Jameson. That seems to be the typical drink of my best/worst decisions. However, it may work out better if you add in a cheap beer, rum and/or tequila. Please don’t kill yourself. I have the constitution of a 18-hand horse. You might not.


This summer, I have spent all of my time out in Colorado, living in a tent, and going to some pretty excellent drinking events. On the fourth of July, I enjoyed a particularly good party on a bit of land where the neighbors weren’t close, and there were plenty of trees to muffle our fairly loud revelry. And against all my own advice, I got extremely drunk. We played a few rounds of beer pong and I was getting good, before they passed me some whiskey, and then I was right back to being awful at it. And throughout the night, I had teased one other party-goer. Usually when I have a beer in hand, I’ll either cuss you out or kiss you. If you’re really lucky, it’s both. This guy took all the insults I threw at him with a good humor (and if I recall correctly, threw some back). Though I was too drunk to notice, I realize now that he may have been watching me for most of the night.
As the party began to wind down, I was sitting underneath some cover and watching the rain pour. He walked up and began chatting. What we talked about is a bit fuzzy now, but it was innocent enough. Until he mentioned the words “Daddy Dom” and I immediately lost my chill. Somewhere in there, he clearly stated that he thought I was attractive, and he mentioned that he was a Daddy Dom, and I mentioned that I am a Little, and the order of events is lost to time, but these things all did happen somewhere.
I didn’t know him very well, but he was being so up front and extremely sweet. I asked him if I could kiss him. He said yes, and we did kiss, which sparked the chemistry that had been gently building over the night. I now wonder if I was so drunk that I didn’t notice the chemistry until that moment. I was in a group of new people I didn’t know, and that made me nervous, so that most likely also factored into my attention span.
He sat down and we began to chat about our sex lives, what we liked and some minimal negotiation. I wanted this, and even though we were both drunk (and therefore it was technically illegal), I decided to continue anyway. I don’t usually advise this, but I know myself as a slut, and he had earlier identified as a slut. Our negotiation even covered STI status and condom usage. As a result, our consent was informed, continuous, and enthusiastic. We spent a good half an hour chatting like this, which included a lot of compliments. He basically gushed about my hips, which was pretty amazing, as I feel they are often neglected.
Now, I don’t have a type. I have had sex with people of all shapes and sizes. When I do have a type, it usually turns out to be a personality trait that I enjoy. It turns out that whiskey and half an hour of compliments is sometimes exactly my type.
Well, as I said, we were all camping, so he had a trailer to sleep in. Not like a sleeping/live-in trailer though. It was a simple box with an air mattress, which as it turns is an EXCELLENT choice, and I would 100% repeat. He has a small stature, but I was completely in love with his dick, which had the perfect size to suck, and it felt amazing in every hole (and yes, we tried them ALL).
It’s taken me almost a week to unpack this interaction. Not in a bad way, quite the opposite. I have since spent many minutes (possibly hours) just remembering the compliments, and the movements. I remember the very thoughtful way he reassured me in the morning (and yes there was morning sex, which science has proven is the most delicious kind of sex). I remember the way he touched me, and listened to what I wanted. I remember how when I asked for less movement, but more pressure, he said “Thank you,” which had never happened before. I remember how this very drunk interaction was surprisingly romantic, and incredibly respectful.
Somewhere within this contemplation, I have realized something that shocks me a little bit: I am extremely depressed. I could have seen it coming. I’m in a new place, with new people. Most of my closest friends are far away, and I’m afraid to ask for help from those I can. I have spent more than usual amounts of time by myself. I am feeling unstable. Though I love the adventure, and I would never give this up, I’m also lonely. Even that night, I was battling anxiety and depression as I always am. But this turned into an amazing experience that I’ll probably hold on to forever.
So what happened that I could actually have this amazing sex without my brain interrupting every five minutes? Well, Jameson. And Corona. And someone genuinely excited about my body. All this meant that suddenly, my loneliness and second-guessing was gone. My brain could open up and let me relax into someone else’s bed. I wasn’t worried about catching feelings or if I was clean enough (though we both mentioned showering that day) or whether my oral would be good enough. Even in all that, I am very grateful to myself that we swapped our STI statuses, and I insisted on condoms every step of the way, which did involve delaying our interaction so he could grab some from the car. The alcohol allowed me to stop checking myself, and ask for things I really wanted. It allowed me to love every sensation I received. I was able to make every noise that my body told me to. On the other hand, it didn’t strip me of my roots, or common sense. It didn’t erase the need for protection and safety.
More than that, it allowed my senses to expand a bit. When my memories became a little less fuzzy, I thought about how dark it was in that trailer. However, I could also still experience everything as full as I would in a lit room. I didn’t see it with my eyes, but I felt it with my fingertips. I heard the sounds. I expanded my limbs, finding edges, walls and his body. With this limited information, I can still reconstruct the whole thing. The part that shocks me most? I also did this in the moments I was having sex. If you aren’t impressed, you don’t understand. My brain, inebriated as it was, interpreted senses to tell me about my environment in the same or similar language as another sense, which was essentially out of commission. Brains are so amazing, y’all.
So this is more of a personal story than an educational post, but I do want to hop in while I’m on the subject, on some very important things. This one drunk interaction was good, and I’ve had a lot of similar interactions with partners and lovers. Good, relaxed sex. It fulfilled me and helped me wake up happy. It helped me through the alcohol and the endorphins prevented a complete crash (because alcohol is still a depressant, even followed up with sex).
However, I’m not perfect. I have gotten drunk and had sex that I did not enjoy. Do I regret my decisions? No. I wasn’t coerced, and the other party was also drunk. It’s a policy of mine that if I have sex while drunk, that person is a partner of mine, or they are also drunk. And I try to inform all people I drunkenly approach of this. My one negative experience of drunk sex was at a con many years ago. I drank a LOT of rum. And I do mean almost an entire handle. I spent some time at a bar in the hotel I was in, and I met someone whose name I think was Brian. I don’t remember anymore, honestly. I had cotton mouth, he had alcohol-affected dick. Later, I left his room and walked to mine. I think I left him a note, explaining that he was nice, but he snored. I have no idea if that note was legible.
I think what I mean to say is that getting laid while inebriated (or high) is pretty fun. For some people in some situations it can be good (or great). But I don’t want to downplay the importance of decisions made around sex and consent while drunk. It just so happens that this person and I both knew how to have these conversations, and wanted each other. Alcohol helped me process the positive and negatives of being out in a new place with new people, and brought an interaction I might have otherwise missed.

Indigo Tries Getting Fisted

9 out of 10
This pairs nicely with a full bottle of wine. Any color. Any type. But definitely all of it. The whole thing.*
*Don’t drink and get laid. It’s irresponsible. Don’t drink and fist.
This post was created in collaboration with Kit Bauer. Their generosity with money and time allowed me to take my time and research what others’ thought. You can find their (amazing) Twitter Feed here, and their escorting page here! 
Let me tell you a story. As a budding blogger, I heard the term fisting, and I briefly wondered what it was before a kind human turned to me and said “Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like.” Then, I knew what fisting was. And because I am goal-oriented, I immediately knew that one day, I would be fisted. Because I am a size qweeng and because I like to overcome obstacles.
A couple years later, I was spending the night with a bang buddy. She is the first vulva-owner I’ve ever had sex with. After that exploration, which was truly divine, she wanted to finger me. So she started with a dominant routine of hitting and teasing, which led to inserting two fingers. Then three, and four. I just kept wanting more (she is quite small). She said “Are you…sure?” Being lost in the moment, I just moaned “Yes yes!” She went quiet and fumbled around and then went still.
“Is…everything okay down there?”
“Well…your vagina ate my hand.”
And that is the story of how I got fisted for the first time. The second happened that very same night. My second fisting partner would come along (heh) two weeks later at a conference in Toronto. And now I would say I can take a good many fists with ease (consecutively, not at the same time…but like goals, though).
So what is fisting? Well, it’s exactly what it sounds like: you take an entire hand (or fist) into an orifice. It can be done vaginally or anally. I am sure that more creative people have done orally as well. If there are others ways to fist, I cannot fathom them, but I do appreciate other people getting creative with their bodies. It’s often seen as a challenge to overcome, or a really hot way of giving pleasure. It’s denoted in the Hanky Code by the color red.
So I have never fisted anyone (had my fist in a person), I have only been fisted (received a fist into my amazing body). Since fisting had been a goal of mine actively, I spent the first minute with a fist in me just being fucking proud and amazed by my vagina. I felt my partner rotate their arm and their knuckles inside me. Though insertion had to be performed with a traditional thin hand (all fingers pointing away from the wrist and close together), she could make a real fist once inserted.
Let me tell you, there was a beautiful minute where I felt so accomplished. I was so proud. And then she moved it just a little, and I felt myself tense up and orgasm. It was unlike any other orgasm I’d ever had. For me, fisting still brings a unique orgasm that I cannot reach with any other activity. I have just recently found my A-Spot, and I love it. But even that is different than what fisting feels like. I personally feel like fisting hits my A-Spot and my G-spot at the same time, which leads to an intense squirting sometimes. It has all the psuedo-pain and tenseness of a G-Spot stimulation, as well as all the deep and gentle power behind the A-Spot stimulation.
As I’ve said, within a month, I was getting fisted once more at Playground Conference. My friend Taylor J Mace and I had planned this for awhile before it happened, and it was a little different being fisted with purpose and intention. It also helped that we had done some more intense Dom/Sub interaction beforehand. I was thoroughly in subspace when he started. It was even more intense somehow, though there were some people watching. Since he is quite experienced, it also helped because I wasn’t pushed. And though I didn’t get quite to the wrist because I was in a small space, I know that his fist will be inside me entirely soon.
My experiences of fisting are entirely from a submissive perspective, with some kind of Dom/Sub dynamic. So I asked around for others’ take! I was especially interested in what my friend Kit Bauer had to say because they have also been fisted, but without the Dom/Sub dynamics.
“I felt so open, exposed and the amount of nerve endings that are touched is incredible. I also feel very intense waves of emotions during fisting – at times I want to cry while at other times I felt completely overcome by the pleasurable sensations. I felt so intensely vulnerable to put my trust in someone else like that and because of this I can find it difficult to come back to reality afterwards. I just want to be held, not have to speak, or even to be alone and come back to my body.” When I asked about the Dom/Sub dymanics, they admitted to not having any altered headspace. Instead, they said “I felt like I was being given a gift. Perhaps it made me more dominant, but I wasn’t in a dominant headspace.”
There is a distinct possibility that my sexual interactions are almost exclusively submissive now, just because I’m always submissive. However, I will admit that when I’m being fisted and there is a lot of communication, I’m closer to equal with my partners than when I’m not being fisted. I believe that the trust we place in each other makes us closer to equal, which is fascinating as a kinkster, sex educator and as a psychologist.
To further my information, I of course turned to Twitter, where a few other people also mentioned the physical sensations, same as Kit. They used a lot of words like “Intense”, “Connective”, and “Stretched.” However, some folks really got into detail about being a fister, and mentioned that bodies are soft and warm. The tightness as partners came and the sense of accomplishments on both sides of the fist were common themes.
A few people who are dominant and fisters also mentioned a heightened sense of power. They talk about having so much of their submissive under their control. One person even mentioned that between eye contact and muscle contractions, it becomes hotter because there is no verbal communication needed (though it is of course allowed). I believe that this is what draws me to fisting as a sub. It’s so vulnerable that anyone who is domming me with their entire fist has such amazing power over me. Because of that, they have to listen to me because if something does go wrong, it could potentially go really wrong.
Fisting is one of the universal acts. I mean this in the way that it can be intimate or it can be business-like. It can be done with Dom/Sub dynamics. However, it can also be a simple, intimate act that is shared partners. For me, I saw fisting as an ultimate goal and a place to be as submissive as my body would allow. Now, I find it to be a way to form a strong bond between myself and my partners, specifically with my own kink dynamics. I have a goal to fist someone someday, but I’m okay to only receive for now.
As a last note, I want to say: Fisting is a bit hard to accomplish for some folks, and I want to have a brief moment to acknowledge that. Some people just won’t be able to take a full fist. That is completely okay. Bodies are all different and your body is amazing, even if it doesn’t check every box that exists. There are many ways to connect with a partner or to submit. This is just one. Love your body where it is.
This post was created in collaboration with Kit Bauer. Their generosity with money and time allowed me to take my time and research what others’ thought. You can find their (amazing) Twitter Feed here, and their escorting page here! 

Indigo Gives Up Mediocrity

20 out of 10
Pairs really will with some delicious Earl Grey tea. It’s more refined, it’s energizing, and it’s definitely a treat.
During my last therapy appointment, I spent an extraordinary amount of time lamenting about my exes and the amount of labor I had put into our relationships. I talked about how much I gave and how much they took. I went over all the ways I exhausted myself for my partners. Confession Corner: This had a lot to do with my most recent ex.
This ex and I were together monogamously for about a year before moving in together. We found a house and made our space and everything was good for a few months. During this time, I tried very hard to establish a routine of airing problems we had. I wanted to get coffee every other week or so and talk about boundaries, cleaning, or problems. It was going to be a safe space. This way, I wouldn’t just be making lists of what I needed help with or needed changing, and he would feel safe to bring up his issues too. Well, this idea never got off the ground, and it took me a long time to figure out why. It was such a good idea, why wasn’t he excited about it?
Well, after living together for 9 months as his emotional support, financial support and all-around mother figure, I got tired of it. He made the bed once in the entire time we lived together. And the sheet was on inside out. He didn’t really plan meals. The meals he did plan went as far as meat with flavor and instant mashed potatoes. I did all the shared laundry like towels and sheets (though I made him wash his own clothes). I pushed him to find a better job, make goals, and generally grow as a person. Perhaps that was where I went wrong. He did not want to grow, and I should have accepted this and moved on. But I loved him, so fuck me, right?
Well, after 9 months of that travesty, I finally got fed up with it. Even though he offered emotional stability, and a shoulder to cry on, I still felt like I was a grown adult with a dependent. So I kicked his ass out of my house and we tried to make it work while he lived at his parents (because in that time, he had not saved money despite my paying both of our rents for several months BUT I DIGRESS). After his losing another job (number 6 in as many months), I got fed up, and broke it off completely. It was heart-breaking for me. I was hurt, and I was disappointed.
After two months of pain and hurt, we got back together. This probably would not have happened except that we had to be in touch because he owed me over $2000 and we were communicating about that regularly. But here we were again. Trying to make it work. We had been monogamous for so long, and I felt like I was just trapped in this stupidity. I had no sexual freedom to explore and all the talks we had about threesomes or others were fruitless. He was just never ready, and I got the feeling that he never would be. So I wanted to try polyamory. In a polyam dynamic, maybe I could feel less attached to him, and give myself some fucking freedom. He agreed to try it with me. But he also continued his trend of not wanting to communicate with me and we never established boundaries or determined what our brand of polyamory was. So when he suddenly had a new “partner” (not a date, but a partner), I got uncomfortable and scared. I tried really hard to communicate that I felt this way. I tried to explain that I was worried he couldn’t take care of himself, or me, and it felt awful that he pulled in someone else under those circumstances.
So he left me.
Yeah, let me write that again. He left me. For her. After months and dollars. After emotional nights and so much labor. After giving so much of myself to make this relationship work, he walked out. Because it was hard and suddenly I was asking too much.
Now, it’s been about 4 and a half months since then. I’m still hurting because this was my first long-term relationship. I’m hurting because it was really unfair. I’m still hurting because I didn’t set boundaries and maintain them. I’m still hurting because I was betrayed by myself and my partner. I have lost my faith in other humans, and now I need to rebuild it somehow.
What about the money, you ask? Well I’ll tell you. A few weeks ago, he sent the last payment (fucking FINALLY), and that’s why I need to write this. My last tenuous, stressful connection to this partner is gone. I get the chance to say “Payments complete. Bye.” This one moment in text form will be the last thing that he and I share.
The cleansing feeling of letting go after trying to hold on for so long and investing so much of myself is…complicated. On one hand, this was stable in its own morbid way. It was one person who was consistent (not something I have a lot). It was almost a comfortable groove, even if it became toxic in the end. It also had hope for so long. “Maybe it will get better. Maybe if we talk enough. Maybe if I go to therapy more. Maybe if I can make more money.” Well, maybe I just need to move the fuck on and stop dating people who need me to take care of them.
So I hopped back onto my OKCupid account. I started swiping on Tinder with more interest. And I met someone too! He was a great switch, good in bed, funny, a chef, emotionally dependent, told me loved me after one date, wanted me to meet his partner, consistently needed reassurance, and when I told him I needed space, he felt guilty and placed a lot of emotional baggage onto me. Now, I love people who ask for what they want. I love people who are open about needing reassurance and who cry when they need to. This guy did all of that. AND he had all these silent expectations that I would sweep up his emotions after he was done. He assumed I wanted to meet his partner and make agreements. He assumed I wanted to have this long term relationship. And I just…didn’t. With time, I probably would have, but the pressure completely drove me away.
So I went from one mediocre human needing a mother to another human needing a mother. Neither of them are inherently bad. But all these little things that make them mediocre add up and suddenly, I’m the parental unit they need to feel secure. I just thank the gods every day that somehow I was blessed with the strength of will to leave relationships I do not like, and that’s what happened (to some extent) in both cases. Things were bad, so I changed them.
I once heard a joke: Sex is like pizza. Even if it’s bad, it’s still pizza. I thought this was funny when I heard it because I imagined that sex would always be pretty good. After all, I’m good at sex. I applied this same way of thinking to relationships too. Even if a relationship is bad, hey, it’s still a relationship. As a result, I put up with mediocre people in my life. I put up with mediocre sex and effort.
Recently, I have started sleeping with more people semi-regularly. I have one bang buddy that is kind and intriguing. She’s made it clear from the beginning that her intentions are just to have good friendships with sex. I have another who has proven to be supportive and attentive to all my requests. I’ve moved on from things that aren’t fulfilling. I am single now, but I want to be in a relationship again. I like having someone consistent. But until a better human comes along, I’m going to wait.

Indigo Attends Playground Conference 2018!

10 out of 10
Pairs well with a Rum and Coke. It’s sweet as hell, and goes down well.
This year, I heard about Playground Conference through my friends, The Dildorks. I said to myself “Well, that’s nice, but I’ll never actually make it. It’s expensive, I’m a student, and it’s far away.” Unless…
Which is where my angel comes in. Her name is Lilly and as I’ve mentioned before, she is literally the nicest human. She kindly sponsored one person to go to Playground Conference this year, and that was me, because I’m so fucking lucky, I have no words. So then I thought about lodging. That’s always the most expensive. And just like that, another angel stepped forward. She said I could use her apartment as she would be staying at the hotel. (She is local to Toronto, and I don’t want to give away details for that reason.)
With lodging and ticket taken care of, I knew I was going, but the trick was finding a way up. Flying was too expensive, so it would have to be by land. I couldn’t take my car because it is old and dying. So bus was really my only option. By this time, Lilly had already started a campaign on Twitter to fund my attendance, and two people had sent money within the first hour. At the same time, I noticed that a bus from Washington D.C. to Toronto was 56 bucks round trip. So I snatched up a seat and Lilly called back the funding hounds because I had made $60 already thanks to Hermione Danger, and my friends at the Swing Shift. I was really going to Playground Conference.
And then the months of waiting. I made lists. I looked at other people’s lists. I started Testosterone. I worked through schoolwork. I lied to my family about why I was really excited to go (networking versus REALLY HOT HOTEL SEX). And finally, the evening came where I was to board a bus and go to Toronto for a whole weekend. It was a long and stupid 15 hours where I got around 4 hours of sleep and ate too many snacks. So I’ll skip that.
Day 1
I spent this day reconnecting with people who I met at Woodhull. Immediately, I got to see Kate, Bex, Sarah, and Suz. While Kate and Bex had to go take some self-care time shortly after, I spent my afternoon getting lunch with Sarah and Suz. Might I say, the crepes were amazing, and I definitely ate way too much food.
Then we headed out to a really great feminist bookshop in the Gay neighborhood of Toronto (which people just referred to as The Gayborhood, and I honestly never bothered to learn the street name). It was an amazing time with some excellent baristas. I loved the walk and the neighborhood in itself. With good company and good coffee, we headed back to the hotel. I briefly talked to someone who was really draining, and then disengaged to enjoy the Opening Plenary.
Here is a truth: I LOVED the speakers here and definitely enjoyed it. But it wasn’t something that moved me as much as other things. As such, I’m gonna move on from it.
After grabbing some dinner with Kenton, Luna and another friend, we were late for Tell Me Something Good (a sexy storytelling event). Though I had a great story to tell, I didn’t get a chance to go up. It was a fun time anyway. After that, most people were ready for bed. Originally, I was going to be fisted that day by my friend Taylor, but we ended up spending about an hour and a half failing to find a place for that, and then giving in and going home. (Spoiler alert: All was not lost on the fistern front.)
Day 2
I woke up with 7 hours of sleep, which is pretty good considering that I was in a new place. I was lazy about getting myself together, but I did have the best outfit that day, including my curly hair because I’m a beautiful lion. However, I did miss all of the morning sessions and ended up just chatting with folx in the hotel lobby. I was glad to have taken care of myself, but I am sad about not pushing myself some.
We went to a very overwhelming supermarket for lunch, where I got the first thing I knew I would like. I wish I had been a little more put together because someone got poutine and fuck do I love poutine so much. Alas, it would have to wait.
I took my lunch into “Psychology of BDSM” which was my favorite talk by far. I love psychology and where it interacts with sex. I do believe that more of my blog will be geared towards this in the future. I have been told my live tweeting of this talk was thorough and well-done, so if you want to check that out, click here.
However, after spending so much energy, I needed another break, so I went to enjoy some easy socializing. It’s at this point that I perused some of the tables in the vendor area. I saw a paddle, which I absolutely loved, but I didn’t buy it. I waited to see exactly what I wanted and thought very hard about whether or not I could leave it. I also eyed up some of the leather cuffs, because my outfit was truly begging for them as accessories. I believe I bought those on the spot (and I do not regret it).
After enjoying how the links on my cuffs moved, I went to see The Dildorks live recording both to support my friends, but also because I am a fan. I enjoyed many laughs and got some really good ideas for sex while travelling.
Dinnertime rolled around it was time for some Pad Thai. So we went to a delicious Thai place in the gayborhood (because I really want to live there, tbh). I believe it was here that I told numerous drunk tales from my past, including being identified as and answering to the name “Butter.” Later, I would realize that Sarah is the Bread to my Butter and it inspired a photo shoot, which took place in better lighting the next day. Needless to say, I am now ecstatically happy to have enjoyed a good meal with good folx, and I’m excited for new friends all over.
After dinner, it was time for some femme getting-ready time and we definitely had a lot of fun with this. I even got some glitter on me, so I felt as much like a gay man as possible. It’s rare that I connect with so many femmes in one place because it sometimes cause dysphoria, but at Playground, I felt so seen that I could have been in a dress and still felt like myself.
After being appropriately cute, we went to Sex Ed A Go Go, which was an amazing experience. Unfortunately, I was feeling some out of place because the room was so crowded and I ended up near the back of the room to get my own space. I spent a lot of the night laughing hysterically and drinking water to take care of myself. I did good, is what I’m saying.
And being in my own space payed off because I was handed an index card that had simple words scrawled on it: Trans-focused Play Party in Room [0000]. Starts at 11.
I had been seen. And on top of that, I had been invited somewhere. Presumably because those who saw me found me attractive in one way or another. My personal secret is that I’m not very confident, but I am a good actor. And this affirmation took the external view of me and made it more real. I am good and lovely in my trans-ness. So of course, I went to this party and finally got fisted. What else would you expect? For me to go to another party beforehand and get spanked by Taylor? Oh yeah, because I did that too.
Needless to say, I went to couch happy and tired.
Day 3
This day was extraordinary for me. No, I still didn’t make it to morning sessions. I rolled into the hotel around 11:30, and I chatted with some fellow bloggers (including evening recaps) until we went to lunch. Earlier, I heard someone talking about Fran’s, and I love diners. So we went down half a block and we had the best lunch I think I’ve ever had. It involved a bunch of my favorite bloggers, poutine, eggs benedict and boozy milkshakes.
To be honest, I’m not sure I need to qualify it more than that, so I’ll just let you imagine how glorious it was.
After such a delightful late lunch, we headed back to the hotel, and had time to say goodbye to a few people who were leaving. I knew Kenton was on his way out, and I had contemplated asking if I could catch a ride (he would have to drive past my place to get home). But I put it off because I assumed he would have wanted introvert time after a con like that. Being the token extrovert, I like to give my introvert friends their space.
As it turns out, I needn’t have worried. When I found out that he was staying for the closing talk, I ended up asking and got an enthusiastic yes.
So the whole conference ended with a most epic 12-hour road trip, which we tweeted a lot of. I will leave that link there for you to read, and you’re welcome to imagine the rest. But I will promise that by energy drink three, and hour 8, we were in Waffle Hour permanently. And fuck me, that momo was amazing.

Indigo Persists in Teaching

10 out of 10
Powerful as fuck. Pairs will with energy drinks. You’ll need them.
This week marks another turning point in my life. I went through a break up three months ago, which left me distraught for many weeks. In an effort to help myself, I got in touch with my ex and we attempted to cultivate a new relationship. We wanted to try being polyamorous, which was new for both of us. After very little negotiation, he fell into a few dates with someone (who ironically shared my birth name).
I realized that I didn’t like his new romantic connection, and it was probably because I was jealous. Around a lot of poly groups, there is a fear and scorn of jealousy. I’ve been around a lot of people who say it’s natural and you can work through it. But the louder voices in the crowd boast about how they never feel jealous and they are so secure in their love. You know what? I’m not secure in love. Ever. And I kind of doubt that will change, even with therapy. I never had good love role models. So fuck that. I was more jealous than I’ve ever been. I was curled up on my bed crying. I felt gross, like I needed a shower. I felt betrayed every time.
This is the part I’m not proud of: I tried to mitigate my hurt. I pushed it down, and as a result, I grew resentful. Of myself. Of my partner. I wanted to blame him. I wanted to be mad because we never put enough boundaries in there. But the real problem is that we weren’t secure from the moment we got back together. So all my blame and anger was useless. But the damage was already done. He was ready to fall in love with someone else, and I am over here, still NOT being poly, despite all my trying.
I couldn’t find any words to describe what I wanted until the very last night. “I want a relationship were we have sex separately, but with no emotional attachments to others.” It was the last thing I was able to communicate before we broke ties. Later, I was talking to some friends, and someone piped up “It sounds like an open relationship is what you want.”
Holy. Fuck. Guys, I wrote six fucking posts about polyamory and open relationships were a part of that research. Why had my brain failed me so thoroughly? I could have used the right words all along. I might still have my loving boyfriend. I would be free, and also secure.
Well, it’s all over now.
This morning, I woke up to offers of workshops in my inbox. My college has a week where they promote sex education and one of my classmates wants me to be a part of it. I looked at it, and I stopped myself from applying.
“What the fuck qualifies me for this? I just fucked up one of the most important relationships in my life by not being able to communicate. I’m not qualified for anything.”
I closed the laptop and went to class. Somewhere in the middle of differential calculus, I heard the “voice” of someone in my head. I’m used to these “voices” being mean. I’m used to hearing them devalue me. I usually have to tell my brain to shut up and leave me alone. But this voice was different. I don’t know this voice. It belongs to an older woman who has bushy hair and wears a red hat. I think it may be Lily Tomlin, but I’m not sure. What I AM sure of is that you’re wondering what it said.
“Honey, do you really want to let some incident with a boy drag you out of your career? Aren’t you bigger than that? What does happen when a sex and relationship educator/therapist/coach does something wrong? Does that make them less qualified for their job, or does it make them human?”
I thought of every one I know who is an educator. Someone who shares many feelings I have about polyamory, but still practices. Someone who recently broke up with their spouse and still talks about relationships and communication. If everyone goes through break ups and sometimes those break ups are their fault, does that mean they can never give advice? No, it actually makes them better equipped.

Indigo wearing a stripped shirt with a bright red scarf around their neck and bright red lipstick. Their hair is pulled into an up-do. They look prepared.
I may not have a red hat, but I do have a red scarf.

We become educators because we have been through the break ups and the heartache. But instead of just feeling and reacting, we listened and we watched. We grew up watching how others interact because it’s fascinating. We marveled at how people could be so oblivious to the signals from their partners. We couldn’t believe it when someone got upset about something so small, when there was clearly a bigger problem in the relationship. But most importantly, we cheered for the ones that got it right. We stared with wide eyes as they negotiated problems, and came back to love.
Lily Tomlin, I will not minimize the effect of my boyfriend. He was perfect for me for a long time. With the right words and actions, it could have been forever. But you’re right. I will not stop my passions and my career for a boy. I may not be able to eat right now, but I can and will talk about the things that went wrong in my relationships so that others don’t have to follow suit.

Indigo Loves Hair

10 out of 10 forever.
Pairs nicely with a drink that you choose, because it’s you that makes the decisions!
Content Warning: There is talk of consensual hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics and some devastatingly handsome selfies which may include a bit of chest showing. 
Indigo in a ball pit, covered with white plastic balls. You can see their eyes, perfect freckles and short hair. It is swept to one side and spiked on the other.
So I’ve spent a good amount of time with partners, trying very hard to find out what I like and communicate this to my partners. Of course, the first thing that I communicate to partners these days is just how much I like having my hair pulled during play. I was thinking about this in the two months that my recent partner and I broke up. Primarily, because no one was pulling my hair, and it was truly awful.
What is it that I really love about hair? I thought about tweeting out a thread. I thought about writing it in my journal. But then I realized that I have something big and loud to say about hair, and I wanted to place in on here for all of you to read. Because yes, I really love hair that much.
Indigo with all-over extremely short hair, like it was shaved just a few weeks before. They are very soaked from rain.
When I was a kid, I never let anyone touch my hair. I never put it up because that felt weird. It was constantly tangled and I did my best to never wash it. Even then, I had my roots in being as close to garbage as possible. It wasn’t until I was 15 or so, after my father died and I had my masculine-style growth spurts that I began to think of my hair as part of my personality. I took to twitter to hear about other’s experiences of hair through childhood. Pillow Princess and Sex Bloggess had similar experiences to mine. Whether it was through active choices by parents or just lack of thought, their hair wasn’t part of expression until their teenage years, when it became important to their sense of self.
In my teenage years, I first experimented with color. I started with red because my mother would let me. But once that was in my hair, it was hard to argue against other colors. Reds made me feel older and powerful. Blues made me feel whimsical and silly. Purples made me feel serious. But my favorite was always the rainbow. I loved how rainbow hair made people look at me. It put me at the front of every picture. I felt like I could stand out without even trying and with just my hair, I was seen. I wasn’t invisible anymore. Hermione Danger talks about how her mother forgets that her signature hair color isn’t natural. Hair color is important no matter who you are, even if style falls by the wayside.Profile shot of Indigo. They have an undercut, but their middle section of hair is long and braided to one side.
To illustrate this, I had unusual colors throughout high school, but I typically had a boring haircut. It would go through long and short stages, but it was never “edgy” or even particularly personalized. Now I understand that my hair usually can’t be edgy. It really just varies through different types of fluffy or cute. It just grows. Even in my teens, I never worried about putting it up or leaving it down. It boiled down to what was convenient. I believe that this was the first manifestation of my self-love.
Though my hair was “boring,” it was practical in the cut. I didn’t force myself to do anything with it unless I wanted to. The color was my interest piece. It started conversations and helped me feel less plain. I was always tall and broad. I was head-strong and also shy. So I faded into the background a lot. Those colors were the things that reminded me I wasn’t just another piece of scenery rolling by. It was grounding to feel special, and it felt like I could control something in my life where I struggled with sexuality and depression.
Indigo in a pink top with their hair pushed up. It's in a tight up-do that resembles a mo-hawk.Once I became an adult and lived on my own, I found a lot more expression in my hair style. I was exploring my sexuality and my gender with zeal now. I began to feel like plain, long hair wasn’t me, and I gave myself an undercut. This felt like the first revolution of my hair style. It felt so liberating and it felt so queer. I don’t want anyone to walk away thinking there is a “queer style.” But to explore the norms of society and break them down in a bold visual way is subversive. This helps me feel more connected with the other ways I am subversive, which is primarily my queerness.
Dr. Timaree agreed that hair can make you stand out, but in a vulnerable way. She described a change in her hair color and how it made her need to face being openly stared out. She felt she had to be “cooler” to match this new color. Sex Bloggess also talked about growing hers out in order to have something to hide behind. This sentiment has been echoed across many friends of mine, who marvel over how I can cut and shave my head. How exposed I must be when I do this. The same exposure was echoed by Pillow Princess as she discussed her experience with chemo. Losing the option or hair was hard for her, and wigs were the method she used to continue feeling comfortable in her appearance.Indigo is topless and you can see their upper chest. They have a shaved side of hair with the rest sweeping away from that side in waves.
For my hair style and brand, I focus on how it changes. My confidence comes from every person who says “You can just pull off anything, can’t you?” Because I can. I am a chameleon, but others find it to be better as a static style. It’s part of them to be seen with that style. Rose of Hedonish finds that her curly hair is part of her. She knows it’s awesome and that makes it easier for her to take on the world.
So hair is more than what we see. It’s what we feel. How we feel about ourselves, and how it feels to be exposed. Hair can make us powerful. I decided to write about hair because of it’s impact on my personal life, and self-perception. But I also wanted to write about how it has a huge role in my sex life. And this is the part of hair that I truly love. Hair is a tool of my foreplay, power play, and stimulation during all types of banging. For me, hair is everything I’ve covered so far, and it’s more than that.
Indigo as a young human (about 20) with long hair that is elegantly curled around their face.How I put it up before I focus on someone’s pleasure. The way it falls over my ear as I lean in for a kiss. The way I feel a partner’s facial hair on my skin while they kiss my neck. The feeling of softness as I brush my best friend’s hair. The feeling of fingers in my hair as I give a blow job. The tug at the back of my scalp as a dom pulls me directly into subspace. These are some of the ways that my hair has been used during sex.
I have felt someone pulling on my hair in passion, when a partner just needs something to hold on to. (My blow jobs are really good, okay?) I have felt tugs that are calculated, a message. “If you don’t move your head exactly this way at exactly this moment, I will be displeased.” The nature of hair in a sexy scene is dependent on the people in the scene, and the moment that is occurring. I have commonly experienced both of these in the same encounter.
Indigo in a blue tank top and blue eye make-up. their hair is ear-length and curly. It lays on the left side of their face, exposing a shaved right side.Just recently, I experienced a partner who loved pubic hair. As he gently massaged my hips and thighs, he played with my genital hair. His gentle tugs on my vulva felt amazing. It helped me to embrace my vulva, which I hadn’t really worked on before. The hair there is thick and curly, which isn’t like any other hair on my body. I worried that partners would always hate it, feel gross from touching it. Because of this interaction, I realize how much our society has shaped me, and I haven’t cut or shaved it since.
I do still shave my legs, but that has very little to do with society anymore. I love sitting in a bathtub for an hour and really pay attention to myself. I carefully cut away the hair and admire the spring of my own skin. I spread lotion onto my legs afterwards. It’s not the hair going away that makes it feel nice. It’s the care with which I cut it away that makes it feel like I’ve made time to work on myself. It’s small and perhaps not useful, but it makes me happy and it’s something I can do without agonizing over the reaction because it’s so “normal.” Hair is self-care.
Indigo with a short haircut. It is straightened out to brow-length and sweeping left with a shaved right side.Hair isn’t just a social message, it can be a sexual one. Touching hair (with permission of course) can be intimate. It can be loving. But it can be degrading. It can mean control and subspace. It can mean passion and rewards. Taking care of hair is a type of self-care. Having it long can be a protection. Having it short can be a statement. (And those two can be switched, obviously.) Hair is beautiful. Lack of hair is beautiful. Hair is so versatile and wonderful, and I think that I’m going to continue celebrating my hair throughout my life. I encourage everyone to explore themselves, and hair is such a quick and visual way to do that! Plus it usually grows back, so if you don’t like the changes, they are only temporary!
If you have positive hair feelings and/or stories, let me know. I live for stories where people are proud of their attributes!

Indigo Has a Herpes Scare

5 out of 10
Would not recommend especially, but it’s not the worst thing to happen. Pairs well with absinthe. You’re not sure what’s happening and there may be a problem. We aren’t sure until we’re sober again.
So in middle school, there was a “fact” spread around the school: Cold sores are Herpes. I use the quotes around the word fact not because it’s false (I assure you, it’s true). I used those quotes because there is so much more to that story than “Cold Sores are Herpes.” Since the fact was on it’s own, without the whole story, I view it as harmful propaganda, at best.
So what is the full story? Where does it start? What comes next?

A syringe and two capsules lie on a white surface.
Image courtesy of

Herpes Basics
Herpes is commonly referred to as cold sores. It can occur anytime and usually on the genitals or mouth. When an outbreak occurs, it usually looks like a lesion colored white or pink. Some colors vary depending on the person. It is highly contagious, and it can be pretty painful, but it’s not very life-threatening on the whole.
Many people hear this word and panic because it’s known as an Sexually Transmitted Disease (STI). However, it is most commonly passed through kissing, and very often it is passed from relatives kissing babies (so many people who have it, have had it from a young age). Many people with cold sores have had them all their lives, with a wide spectrum of frequency. According to the American Sexual Health Association, many folks never have recurrences! So if this is all herpes is, why is is it such a big deal to us?
Herpes Not-So-Basics
Herpes is a virus. I’d like to compare it to the Chicken Pox Virus. This is accurate in some ways and inaccurate in others. Most people get Chicken Pox somewhere in their lives. It’s highly contagious, and it’s hard to deal with in children because their scratching can lead to open wounds and infection. Once you have Chicken Pox, the virus will live in your body forever. Sometimes, it becomes active later (usually in older adults), and is then known as Shingles. Sometimes Shingles can pass to a new person, and the new person will have Chicken Pox (not shingles).
The biggest difference is that Chicken Pox isn’t awful, but Shingles is usually very painful, so the second occurrence is worse. With Herpes, usually the first outbreak is the most painful one, and the rest are fairly tame in comparison.
Herpes is like this virus. It can be passed on when there is a lesion present, but the odds of passing it on otherwise are quite low. In the same way that your skin protects your insides from other viruses, it protects the world from your viruses! It is possible to pass it between outbreaks, so it’s important to talk about it with partners and use barriers when mouth-to-genital contact happens, even if an outbreak isn’t present. Additionally, people who have Herpes can usually feel an outbreak forming, and know how to deal with it, as well as knowing to not be intimate during that time!
There are two types of herpes viruses. Simplex Type 1 prefers to inhabit the mouth and is usually the cause for oral herpes, which we call cold sores. If you have ever had a cold sore in your life, you have herpes! But that’s okay, and I’ll tell you why a little farther down. Simplex Type 2 prefers to live in the genitals and is usually the cause for genital herpes (including around the scrotum and anus). With this said, both types can be found anywhere, so don’t jump to conclusions about it!
A teddy bear sits on a sidewalk with a sign that says "Looking for a friend"
Image courtesy of

Here’s Why I’m Annoyed
Remember how I said it’s okay if you have Herpes? Here is why: 50-80% of the population does too. Why on earth is that range so large? Well the short answer is that many people are simply carriers. They have the virus present, but they don’t have symptoms so they wouldn’t know. As a result, we can’t get an accurate count of who has Herpes!
Additionally, in the battery of STI tests usually performed, Herpes is not one of them. It’s typically diagnosed by incident. If you have sores, talk to your doctor and get them identified. It’s uncommon to perform the swab test necessary to diagnose Herpes definitively.
So if it’s not tested and everyone has it, why is Herpes such a big deal? The short answer is lack of education. Since no one talks about what Herpes is (or isn’t), it’s very often assumed to be a life-threatening and awful STI. Since sex and STIs are so taboo, no one knows about them. And what happens when someone is diagnosed? Well, they are afraid. They feel like their love life is over.
So What Do We Do?
Here’s the first thing: Educate yourself. Herpes is so common that I’m sad I even have to keep talking about it like I do because no one knows about it. Stop talking about Herpes like it will end everything. It will not. I promise.
Get tested as soon as you feel something! If you do have it, talk about it. Recently, I told a potential playmate about my one cold sore (about 6 months ago). They were concerned, but I educated them and we still have regular dates scheduled, so it is okay!
Consider maybe not being a dick about cold sores. Odds are you have the virus and have passed it on. There’s a difference between being smart about sex and being alarmist. Condoms are good, and you can use them. But don’t make anyone feel shitty about it because they probably got it from a really young age.

Indigo Talks About Coffeeboarding

This post is intended as satire. Please accept it in the mischievous nature it’s intended. If you found it harmful in some way, please email me at to talk about it
9 out of 10
Pairs well with Bailey’s. What can I say, Irish cream and Coffee just go together.

A red coffee cup is tipped on a red plate. Beans spill artfully off the plate and onto the table.
Image courtesy of Pexels

Millennials are at it again, folx. What are they after this time? Our bathroom freedoms. What is nicer than sitting down for a poop that you know is going to take at least 15 minutes? So you pull out your bathroom reader, or a nice crossword and you start the process knowing you have 15 beautiful minutes of silence and peace while your grenades land in the porcelain princess. If it’s a particularly nasty one, you can even take an extra five minutes just for wiping.
Well, millennials are out there looking to ruin this 20 minute peace for all of us. It began with one cuppa’ on November 15th for our friend Nel Yema, or “N” as she likes to be called. It had been a rough night as she spent her sleep time working on some school work due the next morning. As a result, one cup was not enough to wake her up.
“I must have had three cups before leaving my apartment. It’s typical for me to have one there and that’s it, but it just wasn’t enough that day,” she recalls.
As she drove to work, it was clear that three would get her through an hour or two, but there was sure to be more coffee needed later. So around 11AM, just one hour after getting to her job at a local restaurant, she poured another cup, loading it with cream and sugar to get her through the lunch rush.
“I can’t really remember lunch that day. It was really busy, but I do remember asking for one refill in the middle of the rush. I had already had a lot, but I just needed more caffeine.”
For those of you counting at home, that’s 5 cups of coffee over about four hours. It is important to note that these cups were 16 ounces each. This adds up to 80 ounces of coffee before she got off work. After the lunch rush, N headed back home and felt the deep need to void her bowels. That’s when the coffee effect was truly appreciated.
“It was just so quick. I opened up twitter to talk about my crazy night of studying, but before I got to even the first word, I was done. I didn’t know what to do. I was so panicked, that I tried to wipe too quick and dropped my iPhone in the toilet! It was a disaster!”
The effect is familiar to most coffee drinkers: Coffee has a mild laxative nature to it, and it’s common for many people to have a regular schedule because they have coffee every morning. What people don’t know is that too much coffee can lead to the smoothest and fastest deification possible when consumed in excess. This has often been warned against by people who drink coffee. What they didn’t realize is how beneficial it can be.
A man stands in a bathroom mostly naked. There is toilet paper draped around the bathroom artfully. The photo is artistic and in sepia.
Image courtesy of Pexels

N started a movement (pun intended) when she went to the bathroom that day. What she didn’t realize was how quickly it would spread across the internet, taking Twitter and Tumblr by storm. The practice is now known as coffee-boarding, in reference to the waterboarding torture technique. (The name itself shows that millennials have no respect for veterans.) The practice includes having at least 40 ounces of coffee in no more than two hours. As a result, the bowels will move smoothly and quickly, reducing bathroom time to mere seconds before bustling onto the next bit of millennial whining they must get to.
Coffee-boarding is being swept up by college students primarily right now, but there have been some trends of young professionals downing the drink by gallons. Luce Stool is a 20-year-old college student who now coffee-boards three days awake so he can be awake for his morning classes and make it to afternoon classes with time to void his bowels. He says that coffee-boarding makes it possible for him to take 16 credits and have a weekend job without dropping any productivity.
“It’s like, saving my GPA right now. I’m so wired in the morning, I just jump out of bed. The only downside is that I have to go to Starbucks, and the coffee is so expensive. I don’t get a frequent customer discount for another three weeks.”
But is coffee-boarding healthy for you? Experts say “Why is this even a question? Of course it’s not.” But there is outrage at these comments from professionals everywhere who say they’ve coffee-boarding for months and experienced no side effects. Some even boast of losing weight due to this new habit.
And health effects aside, the printed book market is already suffering. The next industry appears to be bathroom readers, which have been in decline since the invention of toilet-texting in the early 2000s.
John Loo is an expert on bathroom readers. “They’re just gone. There ain’t no good ones anymore. I can’t even pull them up on my kindle now. I suppose I’ll just have to do the crossword instead. Even that’s getting harder since those damn millennials killed the newspapers.”
Even toilet-texting is in trouble from this new trend. Recent studies have shown a decline in people using their phones in the bathroom because there just isn’t time to text between sitting down and wiping. There’s a chance that already limited communication techniques used by today’s young people will fade away. After that, we may be reduced to having conversations on our couches or at our desks, which have been on the rise since coffee-boarding became popular.
Is this new trend here to stay, or is it just a fad? Only time will tell.
There is a cup of coffee on a table. It looks like the foam makes a crazy smiling face.
Image courtesy of Pexels