28. when we can- we can

Dear T,

Words feel useless, the more they come out.

I hope this will be the last letter I write to you like this, but who knows when I can stop?

I am waiting for you to leave now still, when you’re ready. I don’t have the strength to do it myself just yet. There are many ways to say goodbye and none of them neat and tidy. So it is easy, I don’t mind that you come to me to breathe in my ear one more time. I am happy for this indulgence though I am surprised you choose to take part. I am surprised you use the same lies as me after all, the way I kiss X on his neck, saying sorry, on his mouth, begging sorry, pushing my body onto him in cringing apology, it is the same way you murmur uneasily that the last thing you want is to make this any harder for me. It doesn’t matter what we say or don’t say, it is easy. I have a whole lifetime to adjust to afterwards when you are gone and I am nothing if I cannot adjust. I hope only that you know what you are doing, on my side, I know perfectly, my choice, I’m waiting once more to be a body against yours, craning my whole body over your cock to fuck you one more time, I am listening, just one more time, for you, and then you’ve cum and so have I, I’ve done it for me, but also for you, shy and proud and relieved and laughing and moaning out my undulating after-shocks, and you’re sighing, muttering your post-orgasm nonsense, murmuring…babe…babe…and I feel, for a moment again, free, and I don’t care that you have to leave soon after, because I feel, for a moment again, perfect.

Think of me when you can.

Love,
Learn

the one?

because i could be the one. i would make u laugh, i'd always smile, i'd believe
in you, listen to you, talk to you, i'd hold you, i'd set you free and if things
were bad i'd make sure you pull through, i'd try to enjoy every second i had
with you, i'd offer u gum, i'd find sexual innuendo in anything, i'd always
answer if u called at 2 am, i'd play videogames with u and kick ur ass, i can
probably eat more then you (and enjoy it more too), i'd travel the world with
you, i'd speak to u in french, we'd go for walks, we'd count the stars, u could
be urself around me, i'd mudwrestle with u if u like, or we could just sit here
in my room on my bed and think of what to do next and that'd be cool too

I have not changed much since you first contacted me, after reading my ad, close to five years ago.

I have started using capitals and full words. And my words do come with more difficulty than they did back then, stiff with the starch of interweaved experiences. I have stopped bubbling and babbling smoothly like a decorative fountain. I have remained dry for long stretches, rumbling deep, sometimes a geyser, sometimes a carefully structured dam.

I am still quiet. I am still sweet with a dark side. I still navel-gaze.
But I suddenly have opinions to express. And I suddenly feel graceful in my awkwardness, and comfortable in my darkness.

We’ve already played our video-games, and I decidedly did not kick your ass. I’ve spoken to you in french, and we’ve gone for walks and counted stars, and I do pick up the phone when you call at 2 am, though not every time.

I am still always in the mood, baby, but now I begin to know what for. We have cum together sneaky location after location, across oceans, in bathrooms, in stairwells, in cars and basements and on futons covered with dark sheets. I’ve felt a little more alive, and you’ve said you have felt a little more whole.

I’ve pressed a phone to my ear and listened to only you, and tried to talk. I’ve occasionally made you laugh. I have whispered my fantasies into words, dark and secret and scary, not because they’re about sex, but because they’re about me.

I’ve learnt to appreciate a real striptease, and how we have slowly and hesitatingly revealed our desires, rushing forward and covering back, and captured each other in brief glimpses aching month after month. And I’ve been amazed by how there is still so much for us to take off.

I’ve met many since I’ve met you, some of them indirectly through you. I’ve admired many. I’ve felt scarily the same as some. I’ve felt unique. I’ve felt transcendent. I’ve given up my first man to a friend. I’ve hooked up randomly. I’ve sold a blowjob for a cuddle. I’ve let a man watch me cum while he played his guitar one lonely middle of the night. I’ve spilled naked photos and insinuations and emotions to others. I’ve shared my closest thoughts. I’ve become suddenly awfully and wonderfully and carelessly open, hooked into everyone, guts hanging out, corny heart on sleeve. I’ve felt like I am not enough, like I am larger than life, like I just might be perfectly okay.

I have had more courage that I thought possible. Like when I watched you fuck her. Like when I told you how I always thought you would always be in my life in some form or shape. (It surprised me with how quickly and fervently you said you felt the same.)

I haven’t had courage enough. I still pick up the phone with a cool what’s up, and I still accommodate your lack of love for me every day with a shrug and a quick bye when you need to go.

I have had the pleasure of taking you into my body. I have had the pain of not knowing you. I have held you. I have set you free. Things have been bad, and I could not make sure you pulled through. But I waited, and stayed, and you did. As did I.
We have felt lonely in each other's presence. I have discovered this to be an experience more genuine than most. I have found it strangely intimate and comforting. I have found it bound me to you.

I have found a friend who could always make me smile, laugh, cry, hurt, cum and pull my hair out.

I’ve found no definitions for love, and I have felt love’s flavour tingeing everything I taste, everywhere I go.

I have learnt you can stop trusting someone and still love them, and I know there is another one out there with you now, doing just that for you too. This has been my tightest knot of learning, and one of the few I wish I could undo.

I have been angry with you. Angry with how you left me feeling unhinged, thrown into chaos. Angry with how you tried to disappear me when I was not convenient. Angry with how I cannot seem to leave and angry with how you make me willingly hurt another.

I have hated you for your lack of courage, for settling for less, for trampling dreams.

I have ached for how you’ve decided to live with someone who you deny of the self I crave - your sprawling, complex, organic, live self. How you damp your harmonics and synthesize a voice that is almost but never quite like yourself.

I’ve felt that you choose to make a farce of yourself just when it should count the most and I am appalled at the waste and it makes me want to kick you, hard.

I have understood you. Sometimes.

We have worn out and shone back up. We have worn each other like masochistic badges, each displaying the other’s strength of spirit, just by grace of still being pinned in the same spot.

You have stayed with your girlfriend. I have stayed alone. We have stayed fucking, and we have stayed friends.. We have stayed, and we have stayed and we have stayed and not known what this constancy could ever mean, except maybe that it made us feel secure.

I have not changed much since you first contacted me. My room’s still messy. I still scribble poems, even if they’re now on word documents. I still want to travel the world and mud-wrestle. I still find sexual innuendo in everything.

I've tried to enjoy every second, whatever has been given. And I still want you here on my bed, in my room, thinking of what next we could do.

valentine redux (final)

It was only one month after that night that the two of them got together.

It just kind of happened, he told me far afterwards. Just a week or so ago.

I cringed, hoping he would not continue. He did not. It is sad that I had to ask, that he could not tell me in passing, the next time I asked him what’s new. He said he had wanted to tell me in person. In person? To do what? To watch my face change? In person? Can you believe he doesn’t realize what little dignity that would have left me with?

Can you believe too that I found a frozen, sad smile on my face when he said it? Can you believe I was almost happy for him? I know he was in love before I asked him anyways. The ex who told me he would never get over me. I knew deep down he was lying to himself. I knew at the time that he was still too afraid to give in to his own recovery. He finally proved me right.

The success is bittersweet, at best. Right then, I remembered how we first started, the rush. I thought of him starting again and it twisted like lime. I thought of him like this again, and I must have brushed against some glimmer of his repressed excitement, some possibility of a happy future. Because strangest thing, I smiled. I smiled and it hurt.

Yes, I know, I said. It always does.

She tells me things still, the way she always did.

I want to get married soon, she tells me.

I don’t know what to do for Valentine’s.

You find someone when you least expect it.

I know he is important to you.

I hope this will not affect us much

I wanted you to bring it up first because I was afraid you would hate me.

I tell her no, I don’t, though it would be simpler to. I tell her I’m just lonely.

She knows that it’s hard for me. I am so deep in this daytime drama I have spun myself into with us three, needlessly, inevitably. It is just that I do not do well with rules, limitations, distances. My choice. The world of typed chat makes this damningly easier, allows all of us to blurt these truths to each other.

I tell her, I wish he wasn’t my ex, so I could be properly happy for you. I know how much she has cared about him, wanted him. She has told me as much.

At least I’m not that bitch girlfriend, she says. My girlfriends tell me, how can you stand her even talking to your man? But I’m secure about him. I trust him.

I notice she doesn’t say, I trust you. She doesn’t know about his birthday night, but she’s heard of another close time from both sides. She didn’t like me much then but she figured out that it was between me and him and it goes both ways. She too knows how these things go.

She has struggled so hard to see this from my point of view. I respect her for trying. I know she accepts me because she accepts him. I know how much pain she has had in her life and how much she deserves a guy who will be decent to her. I know too how much she is like me sometimes, the parts of me that I happen to like.

I realize how hard it must be to have me around now at all. I do appreciate but I wish she wouldn’t speak of her man and that she didn’t have to exist and I didn’t have to know her. Still I cannot bring myself to any kind of hate. I just smile. Adjust, I think to myself. Adjust, adjust, adjust, whatever way works for you.

I think that I will walk away from both of them for now, to breathe. I don’t really care what anyone thinks, who else I have to stop seeing to do it, and how increasingly lonely I will have to be for a while to achieve this break. Well, I care, but there is no other way I can take.

I tell you instead, weak but brief, because I cannot be bothered to feign cheerfulness and can’t be bothered to lie about my lack of cheer either. Also... because I want to tell you.

You tell me too that he will always be important to me. It is important, you type to me in your characteristic broken bursts of speech, pausing quickly in between, to stay positive about him... so you don’t feel empty... dealing with exes is tough.. complicated.. but it will empower you....help you see yourself more clearly- a woman who established herself in the context of a relationship but then grew beyond it

I tell you little, yet you use your experience to orate like a Hallmark card, like a TV psychologist, like a self-help book. It seems banal, yet somehow it comes across sincere. I feel strangely understood. I thank you and I joke that this is why I let you do all the talking. (I wish I could give you comfort like this.)

.....and his moving on comes likely in part from the strength of character you shared and gave to him...

Strength. Right. Looking back though, I have shown moments of strength against my moments of weakness. He has too. We have done our best. I think of the times I wanted to scream how much I missed him, I think of how I wanted to support him and couldn’t and left him to her instead. Asked her how he was doing. At least I never asked for him back, even when every fiber of me just wanted to crawl back into this. I never said, let’s try this again, even at my most lonely. I knew I could never pull through with it. And I told him always the only trite thing I could think of saying: we are going to be okay.

Ugh. This is my sappy valentine address.

I’m waiting for the relief to kick in. I think to myself it is only one last time. Everything before this was just training. One last time to be stupid about this, to pretend the nightmare times over this past year will end and to pretend his face smiling next to hers in a photo, their heads nearly touching, is something I can wake up from. So I can find him once again close, lying peaceful under the crook of his arm. Find us again taking turns licking my thin cum off his fingers, like scientists comparing curious notes, sitting on opposite ends of the library because we can’t concentrate when in each other’s view, wiping our tears, writing each other sugary emails, walking through that park across that icy bridge to his car, hiding behind the shelving in my lab with his cock in my mouth. Knowing we have each other, in this mesh of sex and love, whenever, always.

I tell myself one last time to curl up under blankets and cry. No regrets, just cry.

And actually, yeah, it's not too bad at all.

You are kind not to laugh at me. You know I’m new at this.

If anyone knows why Blogger swallows my spaces and displays code from time to time.. lemme know, will ya? Thanks.

valentine redux (part II)

We went back to the hotel room at the end of the night, me, my ex, her and another friend. We had planned the stay because none of us were going to drive like this, and it was cheaper than cab fare home. Foolish perhaps.

We were all exhausted. I was half-blind by then. First to reach the bathroom, I hummed and focused on taking off my shirt, my pants, my bra. I fumbled into my flannel pajamas. I felt the strange contrast: bundled up so cozy and safe, with this ragged raw need still speeding through me. I stepped out, took off my bright red necklace, lay it on the dresser and crashed onto the hotel bed, mumbling a goodnight to all. My horniness tirelessly glowed inside my tired body as my eyes drifted closed. I felt wistful, this something inside I couldn’t throw aside, couldn’t give away, couldn’t possibly keep. I was already falling asleep...

He crashed next to me. She crashed next to him. My other friend crashed on the couch. The plan had been that my ex would sleep on the floor and us girls would get the bed. But we were all too tired to notice.

I woke up to his hands on my breasts. Or it is the next thing I remember. I think he may have been stroking my legs before but I can’t fully recall. His hands were undeniably grabbing my breasts though, underneath my flannels. His fingers were hungry, the way they always seem to me. He was squeezing urgently, trying to take in all of the feel. I was pushed past the size of his palms that night, swollen and ready.

I was responding groggily, sighing, trying to make sense of what was occurring, but not really wanting to. I knew I should feel taken advantage of. I was just wet. I didn’t care. Maybe because I knew him, I felt no danger. I didn’t care that we were no longer together. I didn’t care that I was only barely maintaining consciousness. Truth is, I wanted him to do whatever the hell he wanted to me. I needed to be right there for him, be his desire’s slut- or maybe my own. It felt right to be underneath his fingers, just like that, with no conflict. All for him.

I pushed my ass back and tried to be quiet.

He pushed down my bottoms and panties at the same time, without question. I lifted up my hips so he could do it.

She was right there on the bed with us. His girlfriend she may not have been then, but all three of us knew that she liked him enough to be hurt by this. And I actually liked her quite a bit too. I did not want to ruin our friendship. I knew he didn’t want to either. But we couldn’t stop.

Too bad he wanted to fuck me. I felt only a tiny flicker of pride. I meant no harm, I just wanted. Still so bad. We knew it was bad, I could feel it in the pound of my ears. We knew this shouldn’t be happening. We knew it would.

The risk we were taking was just exciting us further. My ass was bare underneath the shared blankets, the flannel wrapped around the bottom of my thighs. He pushed his index finger in to my cunt, without hesitation. I parted my legs slightly to accommodate him. I was drowsily and wonderfully wet, savoring this blurry dream. Everything so dark and heavy and waiting to be broken.

He began to push awkwardly, hurting me despite my wetness, his nails scraping onto my walls. I moved slowly backwards onto him. I placed my hands on my clit and found his fingers there too, and we pushed like this together, buzzing achingly on me.

This was not enough for him. He wanted to do more. He couldn’t stop. I could feel with a thrill just how much he had pent up inside.

He placed his knuckle on my asshole and pushed, not really going in, just pushed.

Then he pushed, he coaxed, and he whispered in my ear. Which was strange because he never used to whisper in my ear when we were together. He rarely spoke in bed as far as I can remember. But he whispered in my ear right then, so quietly, so viciously. Yes, in your ass, you always liked it. I did. Did he think I cared? That tight burn. He was hurting me and I was glad for the numb of the alcohol. I wanted it, I pushed back even more so that he could really stick it in. God I felt so used and filled, I just wanted him to go on and on and on.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The mind fuck was overwhelming. I came quietly, without warning, holding my edge of the blanket to my body and burying my shattered head into it, curling my neck down and sighing.

He did not seem to notice, though my whole body was limp. I realized suddenly his fingers rubbing ineffectually against my clit, the feeling like flopping rubber, annoying, not allowing me to take my orgasm in.

I thought of you right then. I hadn’t until that point, but with this one slip, and with the urgency released, I was aching for you all of a sudden. I wished for a moment that I had cum instead under your hands. I know, I know it was horrid, but now that I had cum, my heartbeat still racing, I wanted nothing of him. I did not want to fuck him at all. I wanted your cock inside me, now. I imagined the dirty changing beat, the stretch, the build.

God, maybe I had just used him. I did not care right then.

His fingers were still doing their strange and familiar shuffle. I wanted to cum again. I was hot and twisted again, now that I had thought of you. I did not feel like what he was doing was going to work. I held his hand and tried to control his rhythm, but he was having none of it. If anything it was making him jerkier. I just wanted to cum again, ruthless. I flipped finally onto my stomach, keeping his hand underneath and grabbing onto it so that it was still. I ground quietly and slowly onto his fingers, using my weight. He tried to move again, throwing my build off. I stopped again, cruel, waited until he was still to start moving again.

He understood finally. He stayed motionless, snuggling half his body closer onto me and he waited, puffing slightly. I closed my eyes, sunk my face into the pillow and ground slowly. And ground and ground myself to incineration, the burn spreading onto his fist. I knew it was coming, and I knew this time he would not miss it. I clenched and shuddered hard against his hand. I tried hard not to scream out and still an mmgh escaped.

She stirred, huffed, did not wake up.

Her stirring worried me and my interest was dropping per second. I was shivering lazily from my cum, heart pounding. Clarity struck again and I realized I was stuck in this bed now with my ex and the erection I knew he had. I felt I should reciprocate. I tried to tell myself he had done little. I still felt I should do something. I touched first. He felt good, hard and throbbing under my palm, but I just wanted to run away. I readjusted my pajamas and slipped my head under the blankets.

I tried for a moment, angling my neck and parting my lips on his shaft, feeling the heat. But I realized quickly that I really didn’t care anymore. I was bored already. Screw it, I thought, I don’t owe him a thing, I didn’t ask him to fucking touch me. I had been willing to just sleep.

My cock-sucking lacks at best but now, drunk, my head throbbing, dizzy, I felt despicable, motivated only out of pity, trying not to move the blanket too much so she would not see. It was about unsexy as could be, even with him pulsing eagerly in my mouth. The smell anyways always slightly off. All I could think of-- now that I had cum, twice too-- was how she would take it if she saw us now. While he could have easily feigned sleep before, there was no other way of explaining why my head should be where it is now. What would she see? The bitch posing as her friend, seducing him, him giving in to me? Who gets the blame?, I wanted to ask her, fighting her already in my head, defending myself, like she had found out already. Which one of us should have had more control? Me, because I had chosen to end it? Me, because I’m the girl? Me, whether I was the one to start or the one to respond? Me, because I shouldn’t have had so much to drink? Me, because I shouldn’t be here in this room at all? Whom will you forgive first? Will you?

Now I cared about her and didn’t care about him. I hadn’t asked for this damn it. Had I?

I resurfaced from out of the blankets slowly.

I’m sorry, I whispered in his ear. I can’t. She’s.. going to see.

And I’m tired and drunk, I admitted.

I was firm, though I knew him well, knew he wouldn’t dream of pushing. We both knew, anyways, the double bind we were both in, with her on the bed.

It’s okay, he said. I know.

We paused, breathing.

He got up to go to the washroom. I knew it was for relief from the blood pounding in his cock, the cum aching in his balls and I felt a twinge of guilt again. Only a twinge though. I blurringly pictured him over the toilet seat, viciously jerking until it spurted viscous from his head, the way I’ve seen often. It was a detached image, neither hot not repulsive, just a distant memory, bobbing in and out of my spinning sleepy head. It seemed a long time before I heard him washing his hands.

He lay back down on his back between me and her. I turned towards him and looked at his profile. The flashing lights from the downtown buildings outside bounced off his ample nose and lips, navy in the dark. He turned towards me. I knew I must have that same apology in my eyes. We were resigned, brought again to what had long passed in the face of how little this had just been.

We could not even feel bitter. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, unable to look at him any longer. I was cold so I pulled the blankets behind my neck. He reached for my arm and squeezed. I’m going to sleep now, I whispered to him, tender and final. Yeah, he said. Me too. Tired.

I turned my back to him and closed my eyes to sleep, trying to forget, trying to feel some kind of regret.

valentine redux (part I)

There are moments that I know I should regret, if nothing but for their sheer stupidity, but I can’t.

I think of my red necklace when I think of that night. The way it sparkled right at my throat like blood.

It was my ex’s birthday and I was horny. Premenstrually so. In translation, insanely so. I remember my dark jeans and my crispy white buttoned shirt cinched right at my waist with a wide black belt. Black bra. One could catch glimpses of it, slight hint of recurring waves of modest cleavage, every now and then as I danced.

I didn’t know he was looking at me. Actually, honestly, I felt like everyone was. I knew this couldn’t be true. I bared hardly any skin, other than the occasionally forming plunge of my shirt. There was that crimson at my naked throat I suppose. But I am not the skilled, seductive dancer type, let’s get real.

Inside though was that feeling again. I was stalking. I was feeding off every glance. Yes, closer, yes, the more I felt them, the more they felt me, they more I felt them. I was growing inside like this, just this lust accruing through the night. Everybody was a body, and every eye wanted a fuck.

He told me later, what was funny was even my brother was trying to rub up on you. I knew. So were his friends. I wouldn’t do it to him, though. Not with them. I laughed, smiled at them all, moved away politely.

I didn’t know he had noticed. He hardly looked my way. He was dancing on the other side with his girl friend who was not his girlfriend, not then. He and I were not ignoring each other. Our paths were simply not intersecting.

The setup. Looking at it now, I guess it was perfect.

I got up on the crowded platform for the third time of the night, my blood rich and skinny with tequila by then. The man behind me had been on the platform the whole night. He placed his dark hands around my waist, pulling my back gently to him. I liked him. I had watched him dance. I could tell somehow that he was there for the music, the way he moved his frame to a private beat in his head. I hesitated and then pushed back against him. We were together for a moment like this, two complete strangers. I had guessed him correctly. His hands, they did not roam, they did not demand more. He simply moved, so that I had to move the same way. My back was warm against him. In my sideways glance I could see him mouthing the words, and I laughed and sang along too. He loosened his arms a little wider to let me move more freely. I liked the non-committal look on his face, still inside his head, I was just a body for him to feel it more, to move against. I liked too that he left it to me, that I could push more if I wanted, turn around and press to him, angle my hips a little more towards his swaying body. I could feel that he might respond, if I wanted. This choice was his tease in my mind. It made me hot.

He told me later, saw you dancing with that random guy too. I did not know he noticed.

I did not really dare to go much farther with this stranger. With a last smile at him, I stepped down to go get another drink. The man gave a slight nod towards me, never skipping a beat. He simply moved to dance in another direction, as I had expected.

Do you think my ex was relieved at my choice?

there

not really a poem.. just easier to think this way...


i was there where you were
right then
helping

insulating wires
in your studio
and counting to ten
i was the sound-check
in your basement


i was there where you were
right then
sharing

i massaged your aching
piano hands
in exchange for
letting my cold feet
suck the warmth
from under your knees


i was there where you were
right there
right then
holding

i listened to your chest
as you spoke to the ceiling

you were weary and
wondering what to change
in what direction
and how much more to give

you were alone
so i did not speak

you squeezed my shoulder
as i was
frazzled and penniless
diseased and resigned

i was content too
i scratched your chest
up and down
and you laughed quietly
at the strange gesture
and i thought of cats
and spoke foolishly
of cats again
of being one
of the touch of
strangers on your
belly
and your cat yawned
on the floor
and you said nothing
to this vapid thought


you had a hard-on
and i placed my palm
on your jeans
my fingers searching out
the rib of your head
and we stayed casually
like this
it was just a hello
plus some
palpitations
and i tucked this away
smiling, thinking of how
you came to me on all fours
growling, as i stood with my back
against the styrofoam soundproofing
your head level
with my cunt
and how
you gave it
an open muah
-just to greet again-
through my jeans
soaked with city air
and bus seats
and how i was shy in your
thrust of familarity



later you fucked me
for ten minutes
in your bedroom
carefully, my panties
came off perfunctorily,
and i stuck my fingers in
rapidly, in grim preparation,
so that your cock could
venture out from your briefs
into me like a prudent periscope

the spiderlegs of viruses
real and alive
dead and imagined
crawldanced in our heads
and bound our
hands away from
where they were needed
and i clasped your
one arm to my chest
like a shield
to ward me from
evil
and sighed
and i could not believe
this was real

i could not believe i
was opened again
after all these months,
barely moist
and too tight, unprepared
and i couldn't commit
to this short time
and i couldn't commit
to your caution
i imagined the world away
and i waited, but it didn't happen
and i waited, clenched, tight, and you
murmured to let you in, and it
hurt and you asked me if it hurt
but i said no, because i didn't care
i just wanted you there
right then

during, i hated you
for not losing control, and i
knew neither of us would cum
and i tried to suck you in, flexed
i had thoughts of slapping you
as you pulled out and you apologized
and it was okay, the violence gone, and after
i was tender and happy again and far afterwards
i hated me for not caring
what might happen to you during

you went to the bathroom
i heard you splish splash
your cock clean
the only smell on my fingers
was rubber and i got up and got dressed
and we found each other in the hallway
and we found ourselves in a hug
and i felt so heavy, so happy
in your arms

later as i sat alone on your couch
i sneaked a kiss on the crown of
your moody cat and
he bumped his nose back
unexpectedly onto me
his whispers perked up
like a beaming
wizened old man
and he put a paw on my lap
uncertainly
making to sit there
only to pounce off abruptly
when you walked back in



i was there where you were
right there
right then
tasting

my mouth
my fingers
my nose
all plastered
into you, stifled
and hot,
right at your seam
with her

her salt
mixed with you
on my tongue

a confused flavour
she rode you harder
than i ever did, sucked you
deeper and better
than i ever could
you groaned praise like i had
never heard
this young little thing
and i pulled her hair away from
her face to watch her
and you winked at me
when the strands slipped forward again,
mouthing words i did
not understand

you had kissed my forehead
dutifully, tenderly,
protectively before you
left the room to get her

you started
her with long kisses,
just the long tongue-filled
kisses you never offered me,
just when i had stopped thinking
of this, this is how you started

you hardly knew her
and i watched, frozen,
trying to shake the nightmare
so the dream could begin,
and the dream would
begin, my body was pressed on your back
where you had put me
and i waited, swallowing,
determined not to move

you said later
when i asked, that you guess
you could do it because it was casual
enough with her and i thought of my lips
on him that time, hard and wet and sucking,
strange and easy and hot,
and i hated how much i wanted
to believe you, how easily i rationalized
and i hated
why i should even care

but i do not know
what made you
not even try with me...
was it the caring
or the not caring
when it comes to me?
i do not understand
either alternative
is hard to think
about

i think you do not kiss me because
you are kind and you know me
you see me see you
you see me be with you
right there
right then
right here
right now
writing you

you know me enough not to pull
me any further in
then you want
no more
no less
you ask for nothing
and you reject to take
everything and
you know in your kiss
with me, you would take just this

in the end,
gently, firmly,
you decline

you say no thank you, in a way i cannot
if you think me still
around to change your
mind, change your mind
it is not that, it is simply that i cannot
there is no no inside when it comes to you
i take any chance i get
i cannot
(yet)

we took turns taking off our clothes
you helped her peel off her jeans,
saying let's take off your socks too,
as cute as they are,
then it was my turn, and i did not
look at either of you, pushed it all
down quickly without your help,
i sat on the bed half-naked
i felt strange for not feeling strange
my bras and panties were the same
as those ten minutes on your bed
and it was my only tiny weak
wink in your direction
as you had said that you liked
them very much
she had the same lingerie on
as in her black and white photo
except turquoise, pretty,
i should not have been thinking
of clothes, but it was not
for very long that i did,
mostly i felt odd for feeling
proud, and i was in casual
like for my exposed skin

she looked tiny on you
you looked
a hefty brute
her ass a curvy heart on your lap
and she was quiet just humming
now and then

you lay together
your hand waved backwards
towards stunned me, mouth still on her,
motioning to join, so i breathed
and did

her body reclined
was tempting
a lush sweet
little feast
she looked falsely familiar
i felt no momentous occasion
i was like the teenage
boy and i felt like my ex and
i wanted to squeeze her breasts

you told me to take off
her bra, that she liked that
but i did not give a damn for what you told me
she liked right then; i just curved my fingers underneath
and pulled the two bits of lacy cloth aside
to touch and i felt bold, and i forgot, for
one second, you

i do not think
you liked this much
but then,
i'm not sure if she did either
she felt like soft sugary goodness
in my palms, all that skin, but
she hardly changed at all
i did not know who she hummed for
so quiet, body so limp,
taking it in
i was like that horny teenage boy, unsure,
i did not know why i was there for her
i wish i knew her apart from you
and my interest dipped its head
slightly down


you fucked
her for minute after minute after minute
until i threatened to really get bored
i do not remember how you entered
her; it seemed too fast, too sudden to take in
but i liked how your ass looked on top of
her; you were in the smoky motel mirror too
you looked the part
the part of the man
i wanted to be fucked by

i wanted to be obscene
i think i wanted to violate you
i pulled your hair instead
i did not care how this felt
for you
i just needed something to hold
on to

sometimes
you looked at me
and moved to kiss me too,
short and hard,
i did not want it,
not now, not with
those lips turned inexplicably free,
and i wanted to push you
down and do it properly,
your breath was
warm and your
taste straw-bland
with a whiff
of sweet


sometimes
we held hands


sometimes
i did not know
whose leg i was
rubbing my panties
on or whose hands
were on my nipples

and every time i was
on all fours with my
ass in your view,
you slapped it and
she giggled, surprised,
and i moaned like
i was complaining

still later all i cared
was how it felt for you
put my hand just so for you

her, for you,
i wanted to break down
just enough to know how to
touch so that she dripped
more for you, even make her cum for you
my head my thoughts anything
all focused on honeying
your fuck, my hands all over
both your skins and
the sweetness of this docility
began to overwhelm,
the grandness of this humility...
to put what i found myself watching
at sole helm of my actions,
it was just so sweeping and compelling,
i would have done anything
anything, you understand?

(maybe why i am the one
who suggested this to you,
thinking of the giddiness of the saccharine
surrender i felt that time at your house,
when your cock was out and you were behind me
and i knew simply that you were not going to push inside,
not when like this; but only so close
and true to this real edge,
did i feel a peace

i was strong, you know,
and i did not collapse
or cry or die...
seemed to come close and then
didn't...)

it was hard to look at you
when you did not look at me,
absorbed in your in and out,
and i could not look
away; it was hard to be looked at
by you, the way you caught
my eyes

your eyes looked
the way eyes do when they are
trying to convey a thought
telepathically,
focused and intense
-no accidental
personal exposure with you-
i knew what you were trying to tell me,
i want to fuck you now
i want to right now
i hid away, i looked to the mattress
i bit my lips and half-frowned
with my finger inside her
my cunt in my throat with that look
i worried about my nails instead
and i wondered at her feel
the strange angle and not knowing
which way to go more in
and you pushed me near your ear
you murmured to me see, see
how good it feels and then you
pushed me even closer and so quiet
she could not hear
i want to fuck your brains out now
i want you to know
and your tongue thrust into
my listening

i was happy
but this duplicity
now that we were three
made me uneasy

hapless and reckless
inside her
your cock
got larger than i
thought possible,
larger than i even
managed to muster a picture
of when inside

but right then, with my head twisted
sideways, my stomach was placed
against hers in a cross,
i saw the veins of your cock
sticking out
from inside of her,
every contour
defined,
with the skin pulled back
so taut

so rigid
i couldn't believe how much...
my favorite part of you:
your last stretch
my one hand fisted around your
base and i
felt for your balls
but it was all just pushing to
your buried head bit by bit
as you got ready
you were so thick
so hard
god i remembered
your last stretch
and i sunk my head
in the bed
and she moaned
and i could not keep
my hands there
any longer
to feel the drip
i could hardly
keep balance
i cried out
i barely
heard you


later you put your
right index and third
fingers inside me
your left ones in her
my arm was near her arm
side by side
i resisted first
and then i felt
that warm delicious
streak inside, in your
carelessly confident push,
too sudden,
after all this, so
quickly to come to this,
i tried to fight it but
i was squishing already

i was loud, i did not care
i wanted her, you, world to hear
she got louder too, more
than before, i felt that
she was an echo of
me and i felt bad
to think this

and you said
there we go,
the way you always do
now in front of her
your fingers in her
your fingers in me
you looked at me
you said my name
you counted from ten
you told me when



i came so hard
i came so hard
i came so hard




after i felt tired
and friendly
you left the room
discreetly
to wash your hands
you told us not to go
anywhere
and i muttered that i did
not think we could move anyhow
and she giggled
her simple mmhhmPH,
her strange instant switching into
a channel of pure hilarity

i was alone with her
i lifted my head
and put my hand on her hair
gently, wanting her to
be more real, and i asked her,
grammar unheeding,
are you good?
i felt condescending,
like a big sister,
and she giggled
that mmhmmPH
again, saying yeah,
saying
i've never had sex
in a motel...

you came back, asking if there
was room for you
she laughed and said
we're done with you
and it occurs to me now
how pathetic that i never
could even joke
that i
was
done
with
you

you lay between us
and you asked me if i felt
better now and i just laughed,
she giggled, my chest did those
odd shudders and flutters
i always get afterwards

when asked how that was,
she chirped only
i'd do that again
and i envied her this
decision
though i knew when it came down to it
i would too

(i probably will)


when asked how that was,
i said
it was... cool, quietly
and you felt the need to explain to her
that i was like a computer,
slow and complex to process,
only to spit out pages
and pages of brilliance later
she laughed
i felt a bit mocked
i felt a bit pleased


you held my thigh as we lay there
you squeezed the flesh hard
as we all exchanged
pleasantries,
you twisted me in a series of hard
pinches, short long long short,
and i knew this code
i knew what you were trying to say,
i want to fuck you still
i want to fuck you now

i did not respond, did not
move
it was hard to believe
it was over, that
we had done it
and i'm sorry, but a
part of me was relieved
that i had somewhere to
go, would not have
to lie around after sex
for very long, it's just that we
hardly ever
have alone
and i'm sorry, a part of me
was thinking of where my belongings
were and what time it was,
and i'm sorry, a part of
me was not with you,
right there,
right then

i could not see what
your other hand was doing

keeping up

Hello!

I'm still around.

Since I've last posted, I've started on meds, my mother has come to live with me, I've tried to finish my project and now have three weeks left if I want to graduate, I've applied to teacher's colleges and thought endlessly about why I want to be a teacher, I've hoped that I am sure, I've felt myself fall more and more into a tender blender with T, I've had sex with him but not fully fulfilling cause we had to be so careful, I've watched him fuck another woman very recently, too recently for me to even talk about, but I want to, I've been hopelessly rude to the kind reader who left a comment on my last post and I want her to know that it touched me and it was what I have hoped for here when I started off, that this blog would hold together somehow as a whole, that I would come across naturally in the build of my erratic scrawl, not just in the flash of any one post, and it made me happy too because I have done just that with so many writers here, just stopped everything and read and read their archives, I have wanted to talk more about dealing with HPV but I am tired of the topic, of this mark on my life, and I have been ashamed of not finishing Jericho's interview after he took so much time and put so much thought into it, but I figured I'd be more ashamed to post a haphazard answer, and there is something in his questions that feels like I'd have to spend a lifetime answering, and I have neglected my darling gracious Justine, and I have wanted to send kisses Anna's way and and I have missed you all so and I've wanted to get back here, to just return to this world and write because there is much to say, to work out, and I want to change my template and put up all the links for the places that I am reading, which I have been wanting to do for over 6 months now, but I am a procrastinator,and there is no time, no proper time at all, and I think maybe it is a sign that I feel healthier, that I can put this aside a bit when I have to, but I miss it, I really really do.

I predict that I will have to continue to take this break, but I want to be back by around January, if not sooner.. we'll see. For now, living.

Love and kisses to anyone reading!

me just bored

me

world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world world

T

me world sex world worlD sex world worlD worLD sex world worlD worLD woRLD wORLD WORLD

methesis-meapplications-mejobsearch-mework-mehouse memom-methreesome-meeaitchpeevee-mehim-meyou-melove-medeath

panicpaininchest





\/

panicpaininchest -----> me <------- data-blogger-escaped-div="div" data-blogger-escaped-panicpaininchest="panicpaininchest">

/\

panicpaininchest



me doesnotequal sleep



me

tear me

no tear me

tear me no tear

me tear me no tear

me tear me no tear me

tear me no tear me tear

me no tear me tea me

no tear me tear me

no tear me





me <--> world

me <--------------> world

me <----------------------------------------------------------> world

me <-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------> world

silence silence silence

s silence i silence s l e me i

n l

c e

e n

silence

silence c

e



s il e n c e s i l e n c e s i l e n c e

s- i- l- e- n- c- e

poof!

T tells me he has been talking to a girl online for some time.

It is different from the other girls he has met online. She is mentioned separately. In a clause of her own. In a whole new tone.

She’s from *insert a city from the tiny country I grew up in*. Well, but she’s traveled around a bit in other countries. She is just.. has ...the sweetest, sexiest... I’ve ever.. I mean.. wow. And picture after picture, I couldn’t believe it was her. Some candid too. But just so real too, not, you know, perfect. Just so...yeah.


He sounds quite smitten.

That her and I have lived in the same place makes me laugh. It is an unnecessary twist in the story. For her to share even the smallest thread of me makes me strangely happy. (breaks my heart)

I should show you photos, he says. I almost don’t want to. Hell, it’ll probably turn you into a lesbian. You’re gonna forget about me. Feel kinda jealous. I mean... she’s just... so much prettier than me.

We laugh.

Yes, well, I reply. I don’t think I’m going to be the one talking to her so...

I am laughing (crying) inside at this attempt of his to make light of the facts. I know he is trying to voice my own jealous fear in his round-about way, consciously or not.

How... insensitively sensitive.

The idea of this casting off of someone for another is not a pretty one to bring up.

As much as I knew that is how it would likely be.

Maybe I have waited too long to write this and now need to jump to conclusions.

But like I've said, it doesn’t matter, her, another, now, later.

And it is not like I will be replaced, no. It is worse.

A replacment I could try and chalk up to a general restlessness, out of my hands.

But no, she will probably be given what I have never been offered, whether I wanted it or not.

(sometimes i did, sometimes i didn’t)

(sometimes love wanted naught. but then sometimes I could never love you enough if I couldn’t love the way you loved me too.)

(there is no real bond without it. in limerence , you’re just a strainer for the kinds of loves-- the ones that have an actual flow the way you know deep-down they should--to slip away. everything falls in, welcome, everything falls out, gone. you’re left holding nothing in the end. you’re left fingering the now drying debris fondly.)

(convoluted, forced metaphor for such an obvious thing)

(really i haven’t a clue. )


Thing is I know he would not do it abruptly, cruelly. No, he would be smooth. There would be a morphing, a thoughtful pause in between, phase out me, phase in her. He is probably even doing it now already, easily.

Because the thing about charming people is... they know. They know how to do it.

It is a large responsibility, to know what effect you and your wants have on others. I know he knows this. Most prefer to remain clueless; it gives you more fuzzy freedom. And it is not manipulative or demeaning I think with him. I think he knows each person decides in the end what to do.

Just this weight to his interactions, an awareness of his own momentum.

If he told any lies, it was to be kind. I wonder if sometimes he lies to himself, is kind to himself, convinces himself what he feels is his duty is the same as how he really feels.

But only in small ways. Just in the way he will know when to call, when to apologize, when to ask how you feel, at what point to bring things up, what to hold back, what to tell, what to tweak first a little bit away from the truth then tune a little bit towards until the time is right, what best version of the story of his feelings to present, where to put the emphasis so it comes out just right.

He gets what he wants in the end. Nothing is truly denied. It is just that the picture is tidier. There is less drama along the way. Everyone comes out less scathed.

Am I the one like this?

I am being cynical I think. He is just cautious, cares. Actually it makes his occasional spontaneity all the more charming.

Even that he’s got down. (the bastard.)

What more can you ask from someone?

( a lot)

Yeah, it doesn’t make it that much better, does it?

(nope)

The way that it is done does not change certain things.

I want him to be happy. I know I mean it.

(if she turned out a freak there’d be relief.)

Maybe what I fear the most is to be forgotten.

Or the reasons why I might be.

But then I think, why does it matter? I’m me. I know who I am.

God damn. I know who I am.



(sometimes always too much, sometimes mostly never enough)

Sugasm #51

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u wanan cybr?

I hate technology.

I am fiddling with the microphone, speaking into it, but T just cannot hear me. He can see me through the web-cam, but he cannot hear me. We cannot figure out why.

I have worked up the courage to type to him just how horny I feel. How I am filled with an urge to just be mauled and fingered and fucked and kinda... used.

Kinda, because, well, you know... How used can it be, when I want this so bad?

”What are you going to do about it?” he wanted to know, when I told him how I felt.
“Just sit here and tell you about it apparently,” I quipped. We laughed.

Or um, lols were exchanged.

“Well no, I’m going to cum. Soon. Probably now.”
“I want to hear it then. A recording, maybe even a video with sound...I’m bossy today...”

But I want him to see me right then and there instead. And anyways, my video recording software does not work properly.

But then apparently, neither does my microphone. Or it’s his speakers. We’re still not sure. We finally decide to use the phone for sound instead.

We say hi again on the phone. I am shy all of a sudden. I have a black strappy cotton nightie on with a cartoon pink flower splashed in the middle. My breasts are swollen and round because I am about to get my period. My hair is in a bun, and my glasses are sliding off my nose.

“What are you thinkin?” I ask, a bit tritely, biding my time.
“Hmm? Oh, I am thinking.... I’m wondering why I can only see you up to your elbows. I am thinking that I need to see cunt.”

I breathe a nervous laugh.

“Maybe later,” I say, lowering my eyes, my voice dropping to a quiet whine.
“Sorry?”
“Nothing...” I have already moved to adjust the camera, grinning.
“Maybe later my ass,” he snarls.

I angle the camera down so it looks straight between my legs. I have black panties on. I feel very quiet. Just breathing. My joking demeanor gone. I get up so that my mid-section blocks the camera’s view, and slowly slide my panties down. I sit back down, but I cannot help pulling my knees up in front of me. I touch myself a little, as I think of where exactly to put the camera.

“I can’t see your face, hon.”
“Yes, I know... I ..”
“You need to move back.”
“Yes.”

I try to get it right for what seems like forever. I am so horny. I do not have any mind to move either my camera or myself properly. I do not want to reason it out and do it slowly. I just want to throttle my web-cam, give it a kick or two so that it does what I want. Now. The damn pivot of my web-cam is loose, and keeps jostling back and forth. He jokes about getting motion sickness. I joke that I could never be a live chat girl.

And then finally, in one simple maneuver that I should have been able to get all along, I am there. I am sitting on my creaky orange computer chair, a meter or so from my computer, and on my screen is me, from my head down to past my knees. If I part my knees, you can see into my legs.

“Is this good?” I ask, looking up.
“Yes,” he says. “Very good in fact.”

I smile.

Now if I could just part my knees. I am struck into dumb timidity by how it looks. It is not something I see every day: the little triangle of bare, shaved skin below my hiked-up nightie, that curious hint of a slit. I keep moving my hands in front, like a serpent-tricked looking for a figleaf or two. I wonder if it arouses him to see me struggling a bit like this.

“I... feel suddenly reluctant, to show you...my...cunt...” I confess.
“Why?” he questions, both concerned and amused.
“I dunno,” I say stubbornly, with an exaggerated, childish shrug.

He laughs.

It is a ridiculous time to want to be demure. I lift up my chin, and part my legs determinedly, stretching my back up. I seek out my clit with my fingers and sigh.

"Remember," he reminds me, "to tell me when you're going to cum."

"I can make you cum any time I want." he adds off-hand. "But today I want it up to you."

To that, I have nothing to say.

The heated tension between my thighs, waiting patiently throughout the technical and personal difficulties, begins to infuriate me. I want to shake it off into pieces, like a terrier with a chew toy. Just gneah, now, be gone. My fingers speed up, urgent. I groan. My image groans.

The screensaver comes up.

“Hmm.. screensaver's popped up... Do I want to see myself?” I ponder to him out loud.

“I don’t know, you tell me. Do you like to watch yourself?”

“I guess that’s a yes,” he says, as I lean towards the mouse to move it.

It is. I put my hand back. Now, now, now.

“I want to cum,” I pout, after a couple of minutes of frantic strokes and sighs.
“Cum then, babe. What’s stopping you?”

Good question. I go back to it. I begin to build, but too fast, not right, like my insides are coiling too loosely. Or like I’m running with a drink, spilling it all over the place. I am just about to get there, but it’s not quite the there that I want, and I force myself to pull back, stop, panting.

My mind races as I try to figure it out. Performance anxiety? Camera-shy? The position?

I figure I might as well try to finger myself instead. I slide a finger in, pleasant and smooth.

“Need to go slower,” I admit to T.
“Why?”
“I...lose ...some of it ...sometimes...when I go too fast. I don’t wanna-"

My finger has started to feel surprisingly good, good enough to forget about discussing the hows and whys. I slide smoothly in and out, my hand contorted like a rocker’s at a concert, blocking and unblocking my cunt in a lazy flow.

I begin to just explore, all over, at a relaxed pace. Taking my fingers out, stroking my cunt lips upwards to nudge my clit, moving back down in another wet stroke, pushing back into my hole, and then back out to begin again. I do this for a while. So does my image.

It looks rather hot. It feels rather good. I can hear T begin to breathe harder.

As I go on, my eyes avert inadvertently from the screen, only glancing occasionally to make sure I’m still there, still in his eyes. My lashes begin to flutter down. I keep the phone to my mouth, moaning at the sweet, sliding, shivering feel, so capturing.

I am conversely completely relaxed and utterly excited out of my brains.

I feel I am alone. I feel him watching me.

He is watching me as though I were alone. He is watching me be watched.

Like the path of an infinite Mobius strip, I find myself- through the one straight line of my actions- slipping amongst the many red-blue sides of loopy perspectives.

All past awkwardness seems to have disappeared. I am just so buoyant and free. I am pulled equally in all directions, my whole being bobbing up and down, as my hand moves still faster, in and out, in and out, in and out.

I am thinking about fucking him, but even in that, I am rolling back and forth, never fastening to a moment, yet entirely held in each and every one. He is the fantasy, his cock head engorged inside, dipping into my hole, his shaft as my hand, my hips sliding down to meet his thrust, greeted with our grunts at each end. And then I am the fantasy, the woman with the cock inside her, being fucked by him. I am the woman with her hand jammed up her cunt, fucking herself. I am the woman fucking herself as she thinks of being fucked by him. And then he is the fantasy, watching the woman fuck herself, perhaps knowing she is thinking of fucking him. And then I am the fantasy again, the woman beginning to lose it, as I groan harder and harder, and then he is, it is him all along, breathing along the whole while, it is all beginning to merge to its pointed end.

The force of my soaked fingers increases, and I slow again, lifting up my ass, long in, quick out, long in, quick out. I am moaning very loudly now. My cunt begins to stun me in every slippery thrust, like liquid electrocution.

I remember that I must tell him. I remember that the phone is still held tight to my ear and mouth. It is time, not time yet to tell him. I open my mouth to say it. I close it again. I am closer. I am hitting closer. I whimper. I must say it. I spit a letter out, ah, I pull back, mm. He is hearing me as I roll close and pull, aghm, roll closer and pull, roll closer and closer and closer, stutter a, stutter a and pull, the sweetest sensation, over and over, tighter and tighter, so close it hurts and then pull, goddamm goddamm, fuck, fuck, fuck, sohorriblywonderfullyclose, and then I must say it, finally, even if it is too soon, I do not think I will be able to speak at all soon. So I stammer it, mmgoingtocum, I let it out, and I let myself go, my neck stretches back, the back of my computer chair screeches with the weight of my back on it, hammering my fingers one or two more times in to me. I feel my cunt clench, my fingers suddenly sucked further back, like a trapdoor opening below my feet, and I- just-scream.

Split as I am in this alone and not-alone, it as though I have caught him alone too, as I have imagined before; I have caught him listening to a recording of mine, and I get to hear the way his cry breaks as soon as mine does in my final release. But then in catching him, he is not alone anymore either.

My hand and hips wriggle for some time, in, out, around, feeling my drenched insides shudder, sighing and laughing and gasping it off, before finally slouching limp.

My head sags down, weak. My knees bow out. I try hard to catch my breath. I hold my fingers inside me.

“.... so... soaked...” I whisper.

I foggily hear him telling me, lamenting to me, how much I have turned him on, how badly he would like to fuck me. If he could just fuck me, maybe it would be ok with a condom, so tempted to just fuck me, but he is still not sure. His voice is panicked, hard and cold and loud in protection of his vulnerable need. The extent of his arousal has overwhelmed him for just a second, his control slipped for just a second from under him. I feel pain and pleasure all at once, my heart leaping into my mouth.

He tells me he will call me in a few minutes; he needs to cool down just a bit first.

I know he does not like to stay with me when he is like this. I wish for a moment he would. I wish he would break completely. I wish I could goad him, take him just a little bit further, his ejaculate on his surprised fingers like a hormone-soaked teenager, the irreversible mess on his chair that would just not do. I can’t help it... I will always want that power too. I want him opened up to me and entrusted into my hands.

But I am flung like a knitted throw over my computer chair, unable to move or talk either. And I am happy.

I smile ruefully after he is gone. I know he will cum when he calls back, and I will too again, with him. I see my smile on the screen.

I wonder why my screensaver didn't come up again during.

I love technology.

Note: I have an interview with Jericho to finish and friends to write to, but I just thought this place needed a bit of a pick-me-up.

do it like they do on the discovery channel

Dear World (the one that is not enough),

I wish I were on some kinda mind-debiliating drugs so it'd feel more acceptable to be scratching my head all the time and saying 'Ahm just so confused'.

Ahm just so confused.

*reaches over for her rum milk punch spiced with cinnamon instead*

Does that count? Is a midnightcap excuse enough?

It's full moon time again goddamn.

Kind of time where I tell himI feel restless, pent-up. Like I could fuck for ten hours.

He types that he is sorry, and he feels my pain.

But tonight I woulda just preferred a longer time between the time for him to go and the bye , longer time between the bye and the going offline.

No matter.

My face is flushed, heat all around my eyes.

I act strong to feel strong and I feel weak for it.

Again with the strength thing?

I haven't cried in someone's arms in forever.

Nor have I let myself.


P.S. Nor do I have any clue what the title has to do with anything.

P.P.S. But I do know you and me baby we ain't nothing but mammals.

P.P.P.S. No, I wasn't drunk writing this. At least... not enough.

detached

Why am I telling this story backwards? Because I can. Because I need some kind of device to keep me writing at all.

(Sorry for lack of spaces between sentences, Blogger just keeps swallowing them and I can't figure out why

Afterwards, we sit side by side on another couch. His one hand is on my legs again, below my skirt. I finger the cold metal of his bracelet, complimenting him on it. He tells me where he got it from.

There are only a few minutes left to sit like this.

“It is too bad, you know…” I say, starting off brazen and losing ground fast, “…that we are all about the… pure.. fucking.”

“Well,” I hesitate, “at least, has always been like that for me, from the beginning…”

There is nostalgia in my voice and it embarrasses me.

“Yes, I know.” he mumbles. “It’s just.. something more intense …”

Neither of us bothers to finish our thoughts. He says it might not be insurmountable yet. It is too soon to decide.

I talk about my parents, about how they want me to leave here, want me to ‘find someone’. I’m not sure why this is what I bring up.

He says the pressure must be difficult but I shrug it off. I say I am used to it. I am. There is nothing more to say about it.

I know that once the excitement fades, the bitter after-taste of dissatisfaction awaits me. I do not actually see that there is any hope that we will ‘surmount’ this.

It doesn’t seem to matter right then. The flush of our bodies’ orgasms holds us siege, forced into relaxation.

I trail the icy braid of his bracelet with my scented fingers, round and round.

dessicated

I've talked of something like this before. I'm a Bitch err Dog: I can't help the obsession with the olfactory.

Hours later, entering a friend’s washroom, I swear I suddenly sense the scent of T’s cock in the air. And with it the secret, fresh memory of having just held it in my hands. Of having breathed onto it, taken it into my mouth, felt its warm skin on the wet inside of my bottom lip, heard it gurgle for a moment against my trapped tongue. Of having laid my body flat and rubbed it in my fist with his pushing body above me, let it spurt into my palm, wiped the residue off, brought the tip of my fingers to my nostrils to smell it still…

But not on my hands this time. In the air. Pervasive. Close to me.

Impossible.

Reaching over to turn on the tap, the scent only seems to intensify.

I spot the clump of roses and sprays of babies’ breath, dried, all in a pearly vase next to the sink.

I lean over near the wheat-colored, paper-curl edges of the rose petals and take a whiff.

It is not just my imagination; sweet with a uric edge, a note of his announces itself through the mix like a brass bell, clear and compelling. Cloying and concentrated.

Persistent and preserved.

tidbit

My mood is pretty low right now and it be draggin.

Sentences are draggin. And words are draggin. And spaces are draggin. And so on. I will drag out whatever comes to me, the way I guess I always do.

But your comments and e-mails were heaven-sent really. I've answered back below and I hope to get back to you privately soon too. Thank you again. It makes me feel so lucky to have you. I do not have too many I could share this with otherwise.

I meant to post again sooner, because I didn’t want anyone to come out of reading the last post thinking that an ASCUS diagnosis after a pap smear is some horrible calamity. It isn’t. It really, really isn’t. In the whole schema of life thingies, it is actually quite a minor life thingy. An itty bitty thingy even. But a thingy nonetheless.

(It is harder than I thought to write about life thingies as they are happening. That I used ‘thingy’ in four sentences right now should attest to that.)

I also meant to write up a short summary of cited facts I gathered about ASCUS and HPV, but I really don’t feel up for it now. I probably will later because I want to make a small contribution in this way for anyone who hits my site through a search engine. I’m discouraged by the ignorance I’ve encountered. Some from people I have tried to trust too: my doctor, the nurses, T.

Many of my angsty antics surrounding this are just me. It is just the same inner hell I take the steps down to, every so often, like a dutiful Dante. This has just been the lastlastlastlast straw in a general year-round feeling of coming close to something and then never reaching it. Of picking up and then losing it.

I am not really worried for my health because there is only so much I can do for it at this point. Cancer development from HPV, if that is what I have, is typically very slow, from 5-10 years. The most I can do is take better care of myself, eat a varied diet, exercise, keep stress levels down, continue getting my cervical cells monitored.

I am not doing a very good job of the low-stress thing right now. But it has begun to inspire me to do better in this respect. I have started to see a counselor again. There is a doctor I will see. I have changed my project to one I like better and though the lost time is stressful for me, I feel hopeful that it will be better, and it will get done. I have thought a lot about teaching and the more I think of it, the more it has excited me as a future career.

I have always known what a risky business this living, fucking, eating, drinkin thang is. My aunt from my mom’s side has struggled with breast cancer for years. People have died in accidents. Heart attacks and brain strokes. Floods and earthquakes. It’s all out there, I cannot pretend to fully understand why. Well I will get to that later.

No, what bugs me, and I know it is short-sighted of me, is T and I. I want to fuck him. The way the news came, right before a plan to meet him, has me caught up badly. I want to fuck him. I don’t want to talk about. I don’t want to weigh risks. I want to fuck him. I want this to continue for me. I want it. Want. Want. Want. I’ve wanted like this past the point where I can feel normal about it. I cannot even wax poetic-like about it anymore.

I’ve had to push this all back and give him the facts, and in my attempts not to sway him one way, especially the way I want, I’ve had to grit my teeth and not leave a thing out. I hate to say it, but it has really tested my morals in a strong way. I've done my best, I've told him over and over to go read about it himself.

I’ve had to ignore the voice in the back of my head that laughs at how I had to cancel plans with T once before the doctor’s call. How we could have fucked then but didn’t. How I probably got it from him anyways. How he probably has it anyways because it is so common. How he cannot get tested for it. How other girls before me might not have bothered to tell him about something like this. How even my doctor told me I had no obligation to tell him of it. How I had to research and ask about getting an actual DNA test done to confirm whether or not I have HPV at this current point in time, and how the doctor knew nothing of such a test. How he was staunchly against my taking it, since, in his words, it would open up a whole can of worms needlessly. How he also told me not to take on the responsibility of the world. How I've wished I hadn’t fucked N because it would have simplified my decisions. How I had to ask N about his partners and, as luck would have it, how he mentioned someone in his past who had a history with dysplasia. How even if I got it from my two times with N, T and I have already fucked once after that and he might have caught it already then.

I know these are irrelevant. I will be taking the test this week I think. I have to pay for it and I can ill-afford it right now. Then again, I can live off of my pantry for a while. It's been done before. Knowing for sure is a scary thing. That ASCUS can be caused by other things and is over-diagnosed is annoying. That a good chunk of the infected population will never have to know whether they have it or not- since they will not get the symptoms and healthcare does not screen for it- is annoying. But it does not change what I feel I should do, in light of this shadow of doubt. I feel obliged to inform him the best way I can. Since HPV is thought to often clear up on its own within 6 months to two years, I would probably get the test again in 6 months to see if this has been the case.

We were not sure whether to wait for the results or not for a while, in view of how common and usually harmless it is. He has a whole stretch of two weeks completely free, which happens to be exactly how long getting the results of the test will take. After that, he will only be free for a couple of hours here and there.

But talking to him this morning I felt that I want to wait. I would feel weird not to. We would at least know exactly what we we are dealing with. What kind of strain it is if it is present. And there is still a significant chance that I am clear, and that too would be good to know.

He admitted too that though a part of him wants to just forget about it, he knows it will still be hard to completely look past.

So we are still working out what to do after the test, if it comes back positive.

In a talk, he fucks my mouth, deep-throating me, keeping his fingers in my cunt. It is hot. His domination of me is very complete in that moment. I mewl and sigh and gasp as he drags it out, describing it down to the last detail. I am taken over once again in the sketch of his words, in the heat of his growing arousal. He keeps me at edge until his cum runs down the back of my throat. I scream when I cum, a high-pitched yelp, so edgy and frantic am I from waiting for him.

But later I wonder if this is the possibly less risky option he is thinking of, if I am tested positive. I wonder if he will ever fuck my cunt again. I wonder how long we can keep this up, with the thought of this risk in our minds. I wonder how I would feel if, Chaos forbid, something came up in his life related to this. How much of the responsibility I would feel, how much I should feel.

The decision to have sex had been a newly established one, but something that made me happy. Now we have to reexamine it, look again at where we stand. This too, I guess I will talk more of later.

I have felt horny and sexy, but then from time to time, when I am tired of trying to figure this out, I have wanted to give it all up. Sex seems pointless. It’s a bother. I am afraid of wanting something that I might not get for a long stretch of time. I wonder if I should move on. I think maybe this is just a direction my life needs to take for a while. Celibacy. Scary. Interesting. Scary.

But I miss fucking him so badly. I miss everything. I miss writing to him in a frenzy of lust. I miss feeling clean and excited and clapping and happy about this.

The most of what I felt in the hours after I found about it was a huge anger. Looking back on things I’ve written here, I realize I mention this kind of anger a lot. It surprises me that I haven’t noticed this fully. It turns out that I’m an angry girl. I don’t look it, I don’t act it. But I am.

I throw tantrums in my mind. Childish, whiny, useless ones. Fuckin world just fuckin work the fuckin way I want it to. I am angry because I’ve been trying to do my own thing, and I’ve been trying to fight a lifetime of sexual oppression , and there is a part of me inside that churlishly demand I be ‘rewarded’ for my efforts. That it be easy. That I be right. That I not be ‘punished’. I know the way this Chaos works, or rather I don’t, but sometimes I just want to be Master of it.
I am angry because it seems I have been fed great truths with little lies mixed in, and great lies with little truths in them, and the result has been one great big lie I am always having to unbraid and try to extricate reality from with shaky, uncertain tweezers.

I am angry because even knowing this, I cannot shake the "I told you so"s that taunt me always in the back of my mind.

A lifetime of sexual oppression is a cliché perhaps, and though I have not suffered any great harm to myself, it is still not something I can say with any levity.

I grew up in a country where, if not completely segregated, boys and girls had to sit on opposite sides of the classroom, where the principal peered from the classroom window and motioned for the gap in between the two sides to be opened just a little more, where the discipline supervisor questioned you if you sat alone talking with a boy for too long. Where some families did not let their daughters ride bikes for fear of tearing their hymens. Where you couldn’t walk down the street alone without being followed and taunted, usually by rich, privileged boys in their flashy four-wheel drives, who would not be tried no matter what they tried. Where being gawked at and leered at wherever you went was a matter of fact to be put up with, no matter who you were, no matter how you looked. Where rape was quite simply never mentioned in the papers. Where nipples on breast examination pamphlets and art books got slashed out with permanent black markers. Where the government blocked internet sites about how the female body worked. Where my male biology teacher smirked in the one class where sex did actually come up briefly. Where french kisses got cut out of movies.

(Picture, for your amusement, a Sound of Music where the Captain and Maria can't kiss; they look at each other all fuzzy-camera like under the moonlit tree and you feel tight inside and Maria has never been further from being a nun and then they do an odd shudder and it is over and you know what they've done and you are still tight inside and you will vaguely and wondefully imagine all that went on in this lapse as they go on to sing, "...perhaps I had a wicked childhood, perhaps I had a miserable youth, but somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, I must have had a moment of good...")

The way I sometimes like to put it to people who have grown up here is that I am a woman in her 20s who grew up in the 50s.

I’ve got to where I am by trying to do what’s moral to me and what's natural to me and what makes sense to me. I have tried to stay kind and keep an open mind. I hate that where I am is this.

You see, I haven’t wanted to write of this, my struggle right now with a sexually-transmitted infection, because I guess I already had a story in my head about how me and T would go and it was goddamn beautiful. Righteous even.

When that word comes up is when I know I must step back and start again. Look at the world, take the facts first, form a tentative belief, look for negations, reform the belief accordingly. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. There is of course a heart of belief you must start with first, and that is my question always to the world. What should I believe in first? What will send me the right way?

I have had thoughts on this but they are too convoluted for me to make full sense of. I thought I had a real inkling in a manic mind-torpedo of thought the first night after I found out. It started with whether viruses are alive or not, and just grew from there. I started looking up terms and ideas, and things began to connect from unanticpated directions until I wanted to throw up with excitement. I knew-- even that crazed night-- that I could never quite piece it together, but somehow or the other, something did emerge and it made me feel quite okay.

I must have worked myself into quite a frenzy, whatever it was. I was worn out and content when I went to bed that night. In my dream, I was in T’s arms. He held me to him gently. He was kissing me but it was in a flurry of comforting affection, rather than the passion of want. He wasn’t even kissing my face anyways, just the side of my shoulder where he held me tightly, big, sheltering, smacking kisses, muah, muah. Maybe later, he kept saying, maybe later. Overwhelmed with this shower of affection, just this wrapping weight of his regard and comfort, I beamed with gratitiude, my whole body relaxing. I woke up.

I woke up and it was morning and it was all lost. I had no such T. (Though he has comforted me somewhat since. As have greatly your comments.) But when I woke up then, I just had the paper where I had scribbled all the thoughts that had come my way the night before. I could not make head or tail of it. I felt hopeless and dejected again.

I still can’t understand really. Well, I can a little, but it doesn’t quite come together. Maybe I will bring up some of it later on.

But all that is important for now is that I realize I cannot pretty-up or ugly-down sex for you or for myself. I know those of you who read here are mostly my friends. I am glad for it. It is just the audience in my head I cannot shake off that jeers at me sometimes, the social conflicts that keeps me wanting to fight . I have to keep remembering. I don’t want to be anyone’s poster child. I am not an example. I am not a cause. I have no agenda but to learn.

It’s just a story. My story. If it does add to the overall puzzle, it’s not in as pat as a way as some might think.

Rant over.

How’s that for a tidbit?

and back

I’ve missed writing here. Well, I’ve missed the desire to write here.

I told myself I wouldn’t come back to write here until I went ahead and got at least three things done on my important-things-to-do-if-I’m-going-to-make-it-in-this-world list. I’ve done five, though one of them was not so significant. It was just doing my laundry.

Yeah I know. And there is still much more to go. But I did something productive at least. Five things even.

Still, getting back here is difficult.

Talk to me three weeks back and you would have talked to someone who felt, for a moment, cautiously happy. I had begun to figure out how I could sort my masters out. My family was all gone. T was on holiday but he had left me a promising and exciting message about how much he looked forward to his return. We had made clear our desire to meet and fuck once he got back. I was excited.

It’s been nearly six months since I’ve had sex. With plans on the horizon, the anticpation seemed a sweet pain in my life once again. Time seemed to come alive and stuff. I sang yearny songs. I hummed while naked in the mirror. I got the occasional body shiver. I smiled to myself. I waited.

A week later I got a call from the doctor. The pap smear from my physical had come back mildly abnormal. ASCUS to be precise. Atypical Squamous Cells of Undetermined Significance. Meaning: we haven’t the faintiest, but come back in six months and we’ll try and tell you.

ASCUS. These five letters have turned my plans-- and for some reason, my world in general-- topsy-turvy.

I have been through hell and back in these past two weeks. I mean both the hell and the back part. I have lost hope. I have felt filled with optimism. I have cried until my nose and lungs begged for reprieve. I have then blown my nose, taken a deep breath, paused for a moment thinking I’m done, and then gone right on crying. I have researched until my brain was black and blue with the constant punches of information from every corner. I have felt staunch and fine and calm and ready to deal with all that comes my way. I’ve wanted to do the right thing. I’ve wanted to weasel out and flake. I’ve been philosophical, I’ve been whiny. I’ve been mature and logical, and then I have wanted to be held in someone’s arms like a baby and scream. I have thought several times that I have come to major decisions in my life and views, and then they have seemed to all vaporize in the next moment’s caprice. You get the idea.

I have gone through these cycles sometimes over a couple of days, sometimes over a day, sometimes a couple of times over a day, sometimes within an hour.

I am not completely sure why this has elicited such a wide range of strong, rapidly fluctuating responses from me.

I’ve a lot to say on this, much to get out, to explain just why I’ve been so all over the place. But for now I just wanted to touch base again. I think I will feel less overwhelmed if I just let it out in as many tidbits as I need, whenever I can.

If anyone's still around, good thoughts are welcome.