tell me

The morning of, mid-lazy-chat, he tells me.

-Man I want to fuck
-Me too
I want to fuck you :)
-GAME!

We laugh. Adult wants in juvenile words and smiles.



The afternoon of, he tells me.

- There might be a development.. Not sure, I’ll let you know

A development regarding our threesome venture that is. Interesting.


The night of, he tells me.

- I can’t wait to talk to you

I would call, but he says he has to make a really quick call first. And then right after, we start a three window chat again, with another possible girl. I am dizzy from possible girls, getting a bit weary, losing some steam. All beginning on the same hopeful note, all disappearing or screwing up in their own unique way.

My head is beginning to drop from sleepiness, it is late.

She has me on webcam and she’s telling me to smile. Says she likes my smile. She says she is turned on. She is after me, I realize. It is strange to feel a woman after me, hard to fully grasp and believe. And I admit it pleases me too, this whole new realm of possibility, it is difficult not to give into.

We flirt and banter. I am attracted to her, blonde with a sweet and naughty smile in her picture. But I find it hard to get truly excited about something that still feels kind of abstract.

She asks is sex with either of us seperately is an option. I think she asks me about with him, him about with me. We realise we've never fully discussed this. He wants to know what I think. He says he knows that I've had sex with someone else, but we've never really fully discussed my thoughts on him doing likewise.

I tell him that I do feel like if we set out to do this together then we should do it together, both ways. But that if afterwards it wants to move in another direction, then we can see.

-As long as I know really.. Know what I mean?

-Yes, absolutely

The conversation moves on.

T tells me that she isn’t talking to him at all, whereas she is chatting all the way with me. I know that this is not a good sign. It is getting awkward running the two conversations, trying to gauge the extent of her interest in T through my questions, trying to check in with T to see how it’s going.

She is asking of our sex lives, both of us now. T copypastes his answers to her. He tells her.

…she likes to be whispered in her ear…

..she likes to have me control her..

Me. That’s me. It makes me smile and tingle.

He tells her more.

-Too private babe?
-No .. I’m trying to tell her as much too
And.. mmm

Very mm. I’m shocked how arousing it is to have him tell another woman what he does to me. Especially because it really and truly is what he does. I love that he knows it. I love to have it exposed.

He tells me. Abruptly.

-I miss fucking you (L)
All these girls
Yes new
Yes exciting
But makes me want a deep one on one with you
Noone fucks the way we do

I smile, shamefully glad. I was feeling a bit like this too.

-Me too.. all this talk around and about, now it’s like, let’s fuck
And thanks (T).. you know I feel the same.. we’ll talk
-Soon?
-Yes
-Tonight?
-Definitely

He says she’s really not answering him at all. I’m trying to hold back on her advances without pushing her away. She’s asking me to flash her. Take off my top or something. I don’t really want to. Just too plain and random. I realize also that T is probably right, her sole focus is me. I do not have the energy to judge anymore. She’s apologizing because she can see my discomfort from my face. She seems nice enough still, so I tell her politely that I should go to bed, and we can talk later. He’s given up on getting an answer from her, tells me I can call, or if I want, to stay and webcam more with her. I tell him nah. She leaves, only saying bye to me. I shrug. So much for that.

I call.

He tells me.

(to be continued.. can’t seem to write short posts anymore..)

tense and turbid

Has it already been a week?

This was a fun time. Managed not to drop the camera in the bath, was pretty proud. There were many more photos with many more naked parts showing. But in the end my love affair with water won out.

My hips
moving perturbing
the liquid the surface
breaking over
washing me softly the shadows
swirling and
for a moment only

My thighs
stilled

Has it really been a week already?

I think I must come full cycle ever week, because I am a bit down again. A little mellow melancholy.

There've been developments with T and girl. Made me hot to hear of it, made me cum without touching myself. Then next day made me a little thoughtful. Then I tried to express these thoughts to him in an uncharacteristic blurt. He told me that he didn't want to seem insensitive, but there seemed to be a double standard in what I had just said. I said yes I knew, kind of. I knew the most secure and noble and consistent of thoughts it was not. I didn't think it was a big deal though, just a feeling, not fully justified, but still there.

Are confusions and contradictions double standards?, I thought to myself. Hmm. Did he mean one standard for him, and another standard for me? Or both for me, just for different situations. And then I didn't know what more to say. Just when I thought of what more I could say, after a long silence, he left.

I shouldn't be so mysterious about it but I am too wary of it and to weary overall to give the whole picture, and without the whole picture it makes no sense.

It was such a hot orgasm though. I hope I sort this out in my mind, so I can savor it more.

I have a weakness for unfinished conversations with any hint of conflict in them. They prey on my mind, put my life on hold until I can go finish them, bring them to some kind of resolution.

I know it is because I place everything on edges still and I need to stop. My thoughts, on the tenterhooks of maybes and whatifs, do not take well to even the slightest of nudges. Every connection I feel, I am always afraid will flip over on me.

And moments, they scare me most of all. Will I kill a good moment with an after-thought? Will I ruin it in retrospect?

Swaying and rocking. I know I should let go.

Slowly. I'm calm, mostly.

The strangest part is I am still unbearably horny. My arousal on edge too. I could place a hand right now and cum in less than a minute.

I need my cunt split by his cock, but this want feels rocky when he is even a little upset with me in any way.

I went to bed naked last night, which isn't very common for me. I just needed to lie down and feel my skin on my cold paisley-flowered sheets. I wanted the satisfaction of my nipples puffed up hard between my fingers. I stroked at my breasts and hips and stomach in drowsy comfort. And fell asleep.

I hope we get to talk today.

Hmm. Funny, he just came online... Here it goes.

Happy HNT!

stun

Quiet and content and resting.

Today I feel this burning need to write something achingly beautiful. Something just right, icy and glassed over and reflective. From the outside. Nothing necessarily really about myself. Just a striking turn of phrase, an image that hits a new spot.

It is hard to explain, this need. If I could just let it out.

Nothing comes out. I know it is because I am glad. Just dealing with life and glad. Bit of an overdose of reality for a girl who likes to occasionally get lost in her mind.

I did it better as a teenager, getting lost.

And as a child it was the norm, I never quite grasped that I was an actual participant in life. Sitting at the dinner table without venturing so much as a word. Content to just listen and process. Sometimes to stop listening. Deep waters run silently, my mom would say, to adults who complained that I was too quiet. I don’t know that I was deep really. Just loved to observe. I’m glad she understood it was part of my nature, didn’t push me too much to change. Maybe it would have helped me in my life, to come out of that shell, but maybe a little something was preserved inside that way too.

But I look at the words I used to put on pages.

(I used to put pencil to paper, rather than type. I miss that. )

I look at those old words. Beautiful, hopeful, meaningless.

Still that need. Reach inside, let it out, spin it and stun.

Still not quite there.

half nekkid, fully dissapointed...plus or minus one

I’ve only got ten minutes or so left in my time zone to consummate sooo, without any further ado, here’s my first HNT. From my brand new digicam. It's a sucky shot in terms of lighting and angle, but I didn't have much time.

It's my favorite new sweater, that aqua color again, soft and thin and stretchy, warm though, and belted at my hips. And when worn with no bra and panties, it sits and hugs my skinjust right, stops just enough to cover me barely, like a dress, but one that was not made to be seen with in public.

Well, except for here.

I needed to do something to distract from my incredibly sore dissapointment. Yes, you guessed it, my possible third is already beginning to flake her flakes. And it looks like even if it will still happen with her, it won’t be this weekend.

Woe is me. I’m surprised by how disappointed I felt when T told me about it late last night. (I must have jinxed myself with that last post) . For about 5 minutes, this was all I could type in response:

Blah…..
Blech…..
Gah..
Boo..
K I’m done now...
Merde!

Sometimes only French will do.

They should have support groups for people whose threesome hopes get dashed. Oh wait, there is, it’s called a SEX BLOG. Love that. Send a lil support my way.

Anyways, they’re not completely dashed. The search goes on. And she might just pull through.

I was excited about her the first time we chatted. She was very direct, asked me a series of good questions and I gave her my answers, and then she stopped and said,

I think we should do this.

I had been staring bleary-eyed at the screen, nervous, four windows of women going all at once, which was actually more than the total I had managed to chat with directly in my two weeks of trying. One was asking me to take off my shirt and I was declining politely, the other was saying so, you want to share your man, though I had just finished explaining that we were more like friends, and the other had sent me a picture and wanted to know what I thought, and I wasn’t feeling her too much, sorry, but she looked kind of scary, so I didn’t know what to say.

I left the three on ok terms, saying we should talk later, knowing my juggling was doing noone good.

And then focused on her, quiet but down-to-earth, simple, direct, and then, let’s do this, she says.

Yes, let’s. Something about her hit the spot. I rolled up my dropped jaw and stammered some kind of positive response, and ran to contact T as quickly as I could so she could talk to him. And they talked, and he said she seemed like a definite possibility, attractive enough, near perfect personality. I thought cool, this might really work.

I talked to her that night after she got back from work. She said she’d been distracted from work thinking about it the whole day. Said she thought about it all the way home. Said she was really horny for it, wanted it to happen now. We were webcamming and her face was there, distracted and closed, eyes brewing arousal shyly. And I was there with sideways lashes and a smile that just could not be wiped. We had both admitted to not being totally sure about how much we’d like to do with each other. Just a little touch and play. I’m attracted to you, she said, I feel really comfortable, feel like we’re on the same page. With him too. Said she just felt like getting naked right then and there. I smiled. I braved it, and asked her what it was about it that was getting her excited at the moment. You, she said. Seeing you naked. I could only grin further. I’d like to see you fully aroused I admitted, looking away. Is that strange? No, she said, we should talk, it’ll help us be more comfortable. We were both beginning to feel it. She leaned back and I could see the slight rise and drop of her chest, more than before. I was holding back a bit of my breath too. I didn’t want to go too far, wanted this to be something we all shared, especially the first time around. Knew it was time to go to bed anyway. So I left, saying again how excited I was about the possibility of doing this. She corrected me, said it was going to happen, not just a possibility.

I had dealt with the realities inside somehow before I could even begin to let myself be truly excited about this. For her, I think that night is when reality actually began to hit.

Because the next day she was completely different. Excitement completely gone. Said she hadn’t slept well. She was talking to T at the same time. She’s nervous, T told me. Try to reassure her. I understood why she would be. I was a little too, but only a little. I did my best. Offered her thinly veiled advice in the form of how I had eased some of my own apprehensions. I was trying to get her to voice what it might be that was worrying her. She didn’t want to talk about it too much. I suggested she might feel better if she continued to talk to us both separately for a little longer, get to know us each, rather than as an impenetrable pair. She didn’t want any of it. Short answers. I don’t want to talk, let’s just do it, she said. We set a date. T and I felt a bit uneasy, but I figured, well, maybe she was just having a moment.

I could imagine her worries. I know that out of the three of us, she is the one in the most difficult position. She doesn’t know either of us. Him and I have already fucked. What if I don’t want her there? What if when faced with a real woman she doesn’t want anything to do with it at all? What if she doesn’t really like T? What if T isn’t attracted enough to her? What if my being there makes it worse? What if she becomes the outsider, rejected?

That she had these concerns I can understand. That she didn’t want to talk about them too much I can also understand. I mean, we all know about me and talking. But I feel like she could have gone about it a better way. We set the date on Monday, didn’t hear until yesterday that she couldn’t do Saturday like we had planned. Or Sunday. No explanation. No apology. No indication if she did actually want to set another date, or if she wanted out. What exactly were we supposed to do? We could reassure her only so much, she had to come into it positive and enthused and quite obviously with no pressure.

But we did talk today. Finally got her to say something about the things holding her back. They were pretty much the ones I had guessed. We were talking in three separate windows again, me and him, him and her, me and her. I was finding it awkward a bit, the balance, how much of each other’s conversation to report and all that. But it was ok all in all. T told me that he suggested that he meet with her first finally, and that she seemed a lot more open to that. I agreed, said it sounded like a good idea. I won’t fuck her, he joked. I know, I said. If it’s only me she’s after, I’ll quelch it, he said. Does quelch mean stop?, he asked as an afterthought. I laughed, because I got this image of him splashing her with a glass of water, the way you quelch a bubbling reaction in organic chemistry. No wait, I think that’s queNching. And yes I think quelch does mean stop. And in any case, yes, I knew that he had no hidden aim in wanting to meet her. Think it will help, he said, I can be pretty charming. I've noticed, I said.

I messaged her, told her that T had just told me, and said it sounded like a good way to make her feel comfortable. How do you feel about it?, she asked timidly. Told her I understood her point of view , and I did think it will help her. And if you guys are not a couple, she dot dotted. I reassured her we were not. Told her not to worry and that really it’s not going to work unless the two of them were attracted to each other. And if we are, she said, then we’ll do it. Definitely. I do want to do this, she affirmed.

Definitely, hmm, I’ve heard that one before. But I will give her benefit of doubt.

Secretly I feel like: yes, yes please, can you two please decide if you’re going to hit it off, quickly, so we can just get it on??? But I'll relax.

Wonder where this security and confidence regarding this venture is stemming from. I’m still afraid a little, I could never deny that. But I keep questioning it, poking at it, expecting it to crumble, and it just doesn’t. The only weird part of all this is that I don’t feel weird, really. Maybe my little adventure with N has given me this perspective. Maybe waxing on about my intense moments with T has given me that security. Because I guess I’ve started to see finally my sex with T as an objective reality, as something that actually exists and is good and that won’t be threatened easily. I’ve felt it. I’ve had it. Even if the sex ends for some reason, we’ve had a great run. And we’ve been mostly open and good to each other as friends, so I don’t see that changing overnight. Really, I can think of no better circumstance, no better person to try something like this with. More importantly, it’s corny, but things are finally starting to settle inside about myself.

I come into this sexy and horny, I get out this sexy and horny, no matter how it goes.

Amen.

And happy nearly belated HNT! Thanks Osbasso.



(ed. note: I'm amused that someone found this entry by asking 'what does quelch mean?' As it turns out, the word quelch does not exist. The word T was looking for was 'squelch', as in trample down and squish and supress. 'Quell 'and 'quench' are possible, but to me, slightly milder and friendlier synonyms, so we can see the confusion. I was right about 'quench' being the word used for adding cold water to reactions though. Sorry, I'm a word geek and dictionary.com makes for hours of amusement. And also, I'd hate to misinform.)

plus one

And now for something completely different.

I can’t wait anymore. I’m so behind in what’s been going on. But I realized this morning that I can’t wait anymore to share my excitement here.

So put behind the angst with me for a second, put aside the confusions, know that despite a slight relapse yesterday, my head has been clearer than it has been in a long time.

So here it is, if all goes well, drum roll please…….. I will be having myself a threesome this weekend.

*sound of champagne popping* (for starters..)

Oh I do be excited. You know I’ve talked about it quite a number of times before. If I have time and I feel like it, I'll post more on how it came about. Just because I think it's interesting, not something you really hear about, those important little details on the mechanics of an operation of this sort.

I woke up one morning and all my doubts and apprehensions about it had just packed and moved away, without really bothering to tell me why. Or still there, but with a personality transplant, complacent and ineffectual and personable doubts. Doubts that say, hey we got you covered, you’ve done your part, you’ve thought it out, you know it’s fine, go, go have your fun now, you sexy, horny bitch. Cause my doubts got attitude.

So I put my heart and energy into my search, and found someone who’s willing and appropriate, and hopefully she won’t flake out and we’ll do it.

This very weekend, wow. Me. T. A woman we will have met an hour or so before.

So much to be excited about, so much that will be new. Intimacy with a near stranger. A woman. The thought of a naked, hopefully aroused woman in my proximity. Seeing T with another woman. Me, my hands on another woman, her back. I want my hands on her back most of all somehow, the heat from it. I want her doggy-style and close, I want to be crouching near her, touching, pulling her hair out of her face to see her clenched up and cumming. I’ve seen her face and it’s crazy but I like the heavy look of her eyelids, makes me want to see them get even heavier, watch her pupils start to lose focus. I want to see T’s face as he does it, embroiled in double want, tried and untried. I hope he does it, he’s not sure, says it depends on how she turns out, and I understand, but I hope he fucks her. Yes, that is the strangest part of all. Want to see him do it. Want an outside glimpse. No a study. Want to see his cock spreading a cunt other than my own.

Want to be fucked right after, want her to watch us, still gasping, want her to see how quickly he can make me cum when he wants to. I’ll be so far gone at that point anyways. Could explode upon his first entry anyways at that point probably.

And the looks, I keep trying to imagine the looks, insane. Furtive glances between each other? Or just staring at it all unabashedly, in challenge?

I want to do it all. I want her breasts dangling in my peripheral vision, I want her legs spread within touching distance, I want to reach out for his hard cock and find her hand there. I want my tongue in different places. Imagine placing your mouth in the spot where two bodies join. Between heaving torsos. Even just between an arm on an arm, delicious. Or imagine that mouth and you’re part of the two. Just as good.

I want to see her pleasured by him, want that envy and lust, want him to deny me it, torture me with it. I want to egg both of them along with nothing more than my moans, unable to keep my hands off of myself. Or maybe I’ll help a little more, maybe in that moment I’ll just have to reach over and place a tentative finger on her clit, looking at her face to see if she wants me there, and I can picture just flashing a questioning look at T too in the moment when I start to stroke at her a little bit, so new, so familiar. Or maybe a gentle hand on his balls, or a hand on the part of his cock that’s just outside her cunt, like I’ve done before with him and me. Do you think he could reach over and slide a finger inside my wet right then? I think I’ll never want his smooth, thrusting cock as much as in that moment.

I picture her under me when he fucks me finally, I picture me on all fours too because it matches my mood, supported on my palms, just in her reach. And my breasts tear-dropping near her breasts, every time my body starts to sag and sway with the force of his cock in me, grazing her soft, rounded body every time I dip a little, moaning, looking away from her face, turning my neck to the side, almost shy in my arousal at first, laughing, being held by my hair so I have to look straight, and she can't escape either, doesn't want to, caged in my pillars for arms, T is doing the stretch stretch stretch thing with his cock again, his extra little push and surge towards the end, me just giving way no problem, until I start to cum, loud, start to cum, and T is cumming too again with me, hard and loud with me, everything that’s built up right there inside me, more insane then I’ve ever seen or felt him, her eyes there, I hope her hands everywhere, on herself, on me, on him, aroused again, if not cumming too, me releasing so hard and intense I am dying, then sinking with gentle lost abandon on to her, wet on her, my face in the pillow near where her head is, T still groaning hovering above us.

And think of the beginning, before all that, just think of all that raw rough pure sex lust suddenly pervading a room, there on his bed. Think of that meet beforehand. Think of how we’re going to feel going back to his place, if it works out. Think of how it might start. Think of the clothes coming off, and just the absolute excitement of that pushing and echoing of everyone’s arousal in an exponential cresecendo.

Put aside your fears for me. I know this might not be how it turns out at all. I know of awkwardness, sore dissapointment, being left out, not cooperating, feeling insecure.

I know, but I can’t seem to feel any of that anymore. Sex and fear sometimes inside each other anyhow, in the kernel of the other, to enjoy as a whole once you let go.

I want so much that just a little taste of any of it would make me happy. So many other
scenarios to want. And still the things I’ll want that will catch me by surprise.

I want this. So badly. Can you believe that this is me too?

I want her there. I want him there.

I’ll be there.

Wish me luck and lust and orgasms and naked skin and wanton sounds a plenty.

truth- part II

The truth is X kissed me first, though I didn’t stop him.

I was crying already between kisses for what I wasn’t stopping him from doing. I was sobbing, and we were clinging between kisses for comfort, except there was no comfort from each other, no escape, and oh but it was a drunken mess.

It’s ok.. it’s ok.. we’re always going to miss each other a little.. it’s ok to feel like this sometimes, I tried to whisper in his ear before we started.

He gulped and said, I’ve missed you more than just a little.

And planted a kiss on my lips.

I kissed back.

Don’t stop kissing me, I stuttered.

If we stopped kissing, then what? Stay together? Never see each other again? What would we do in the minutes after we stopped kissing?

Bite, pull, tug, lie down on top of each other, kiss.

I’m going to kiss you forever, he bumbled. I swear that’s what he said. I would have laughed if it hadn’t twisted so much.

Just kiss.

The truth is too, I tugged off his shirt first, and all I had thoughts for was to have his skin close to me, to just cozy into it again. The skin I used to joke should be patented. The skin I used to joke I wanted to keep in my pocket at all times. His golden velvet.

I had this half-formed idea that I could crawl into that again and forget.

The truth is my shirt came off too, and my one nipple had already escaped from my bra, and he placed his tongue on that one nipple. His tongue stickings sideways comically out of his mouth. And he licked. And it was familiar, and I remembered this familiarity and I felt.. strange.

And the ugliest truth is he started to take off my pants, and I started to feel… queasy. And it was separate from the alcohol that was making my stomach still churn. He tugged them down, and then my panties. His familiar fingers on my clit. There was some pleasure. But my heart was breaking for him, for us, and I knew I didn’t actually want him there. Not fully. And he buried his mouth inside me, his eyes lost inwards with concentration, and I felt a tingle, but not fully. And somewhere between one lick and the next, I felt myself start to grow silent, inside and out, and it hit me that I was just waiting, abandoned to him, resigned. Realised that I just wanted to cum, but only because at least then this would be over. And this made me sad.

And he came up after I finally gave some kind of moan, and he lay by my side.. And I said sorry, sorry I couldn’t feel that ..completely.. too much .. pain. And it was true, my whole left side was pounding with the nightmare of it.

And this time I was really bawling, really in earnest, really drunken, inebriated, snotty, gaspy, sobbing, and he was holding and saying shh don’t, don’t, don’t-don’t-don’t.

He’s seen me cry like this too many times. And it didn’t feel good anymore his comfort.

It’s what I don’t want to understand, that he could do nothing really wrong, and I could still sit there and feel like I could not take it.


I knew after all the crying was over, my responsibility in this. I knew the drink was no excuse. I knew this was the worst I could have let happen.

I would understand it all better afterwards, in a couple of days, as he would finally sit and confess. And he would tell me how he’d fallen apart after we ended, and how he still woke up in the mornings and wanted to cry because he couldn’t believe that we were really not together. This is what he actually said. And it was so hard to hear, so hard to know I hurt him. He’d never shown a thing, and I didn’t want to believe. And a stoic part of me thought, why why why do you tell me this now, when I’ve finally distanced myself from you?

The truth is I still don’t fully understand why X and I ended.

Things die, but never do, die enough to not stay, but not enough to not remember. Things start to hinge off, maybe even fall off, but always eternal crumbs on your fingers, always a little corner of your life’s desire owned by its fingers.

(I’m sorry, so sorry)

The only thing that I can really say wore me out about him were things like his ‘ummm ok’ and his ‘sure whatever you say’ and his ‘weirdo’. None of it said cruelly, maybe almost affectionately, but something in it there that was hard to hear day by day. Can I confess something too? He rarely said or showed me anything that made me too excited either.

I came out of my depression all funny anyways. All restless. All confined. I needed out, out from everything. So I did it. And I started to pull my life back together. And I started to go and do the things I’ve wanted to. I started to un-grey.

And the truth is I did not fall apart.

I’ve missed him. I’ve wanted his companionship. I’ve been unable to believe it myself sometimes. But I did it.

How did you deal with it?, he would ask me during that talk. I just did, I thought. I had it easier, it was my choice, it was my loss to swallow.. It was nothing I would allow myself to mourn. There are some things you can’t grasp enough to mourn enough anyways. Mourn enough for what, to do what to myself, to bring back what?

What a cold bitch I’ve become, I thought.

He tells me I'm his best friend, the only one who knew him the most, the only one he ever talked to , and I think, you just haven't learned to open up.

He tells me that his feelings will never ever change for me and I will always be his one. And I think, yes it will, and no I won’t. People change, pass through. The heart is big. I’m just a fading stretch mark. You love, you lose, you love again. Time heals all. And all that jazz.

He knows it too, deep down, that’s the thing. He’s just afraid.

Is this cynical? What if this marble feeling I wrote about really is me turning ugly, me turning away from life? Am I the cruel girl who’ll turn this sweet man bitter? Have I become bitter myself?

(There was a girl who met every boy like an ocean she could jump into.. )

It seems empty sometimes. My ‘victory’ these past 6 months. All my desires and hopes, my cock smells and cunt aches, my writing, my piano, everything I’ve learnt, everything I’ve wanted to know about, everything I’ve enjoyed. The strength, the pains that have begun to only go down to a certain point. That this part you can’t touch might actually exist. All these thoughts and ramblings. Not just the sex , but all of this I’ve lived, I’ve yearned for, so hard to define, this childhood dream everyone has that their life won’t just..be. What if I am putting myself out on a limb, branching off from my family, my friends, questioning and poking away at everything I’ve known, everything I’ve never dared to know… for nothing?

What if it’s time to grow up? What if I’m growing up all wrong?

What if this is all shallow and inconsequential? And I am actually getting further and further away, and this blog is just a testimony to this?

Sometimes I feel a fraud. Delusionary, not visionary. Cynic, not searcher. Greedy, not joyful. What if nothing will ever be enough for me?

(And how much of what I search for do I deserve anyways? Well-rounded, they say, really just not pointed enough, really just rolling down whatever hill comes my way. What have I got? No calling. No inspiration. Nothing. Just this scattered mind and the day after tomorrow. )

And I’m wondering if this was actually the best of what I was going to get. That I’d been given a real true-blue love, someone who would have stayed by my side. But I was just blind to it. Ungrateful.

Somewhere was a man crying because he thought he’d found the one. And then the one had just walked away.

He would have done it all for her. And she had thrown it all away.

For what?

What’s gone is gone, my X. I know my sorry is not enough. I know it hurts. Hurts me too but not enough to stay. I know I can’t help you with this. I know we’ll be ok. I know all the phrases for us.

And I know what we’ll call that night. I know how it goes.

Closure.

abridged

So it turns out that I’m posting what I’m about to post (you'll see it above soon) on Valentine’s Day, though I wrote it 10 days ago or so. Only appropriate I suppose.

My last three years I spent my Valentine’s Day with X. It does not make me sad so much directly. It’s a day meant to remind lovers to stop and celebrate each other, and what they have together, if they don’t already. It does not follow that non-lovers should non-celebrate on that day. We got every day of the year to do that, if we really wanted to. :)

Still, it does bring back memories. Good ones, the 3-course dinner he cooked me, the cards, the long, endless kisses. Not all of them good, because a day like that’s bound to set you up for disappointment. Like when he wanted to watch hockey on TV our first Valentine’s. ‘What does it matter so long as we’re together?’ Then there was me, always secretly wanting to spend our Valentine’s having as much sex as we could. Or at least pushing our raunch envelope a little further. I think this embarrassed him sometimes… He told me once that though he enjoyed it, I was trying too hard. Sigh. He did have a point I suppose. Last year's Valentine’s was the hardest in a way, just four months or so before our end. He came over and I rented sappy movies and made chicken parmesan scallopini, and spaghetti with a fabulous tomato and fresh basil sauce, and salad, and breadsticks, all from scratch, with white wine. But I forgot I didn’t own a corkscrew so he spent half an hour trying to open it with a knife, as the food went cold. And not to be daunted, we poured through a sieve and clinked to us, ignoring the little cork pieces still floating inside my whiskey glasses, since I didn’t own any wine goblets either. And then we watched some MegRyan puke fest. Strangely he was always more into the chicky flickies than me. I wanted to go with the sinful and Jolie one. And halfway through, I could not bear it anymore and laid a blanket on the floor and had him sit next to me. And we made out. Haven't 'made out' in so long. And his eyes wandered to the TV screen between kisses and pieces of clothes. And when we were done, I’ll never forget, he joked in his own slangy way, ‘Unecessary, interrupting the movie like that.’

Yes, yes I suppose it was. I tried too hard, I really did. I knew it wasn’t about the sex and the lingerie and the declarations and the dinners and the wine. (Love and sex always blurring lines for me I guess.) Tried so hard to feel a depth I couldn’t feel. Covered it up. Whereas he felt secure and deep already in it, with barely any need to try at all. Except his cards, always heartfelt and simple in what he wrote. And then I stopped trying altogether. And yet still a certain sweetness to those days. And then my depression got so much worse in the following month, trying to figure us out, watching us die, watching me die. I never did return those movies, thought about it, but couldn’t get the energy to pull through. Stopping to remember to actually do it, to take the bus, to walk into the store, face a face, come back, so exhausting. And I would try to kill myself, only my third time in two years, wow typing that out not so fun, though X only knows of one and not this last one either, noone knows, a lonely ambulance ride, hey another bill I haven't paid come to think of it, a nightmare ten hour wait in an emergency room, because wanting to kill yourself is not as life-threatening as some ironically, I was fine, had puked most of it up anyways, the nausea unbearable, just didn't want to go back home, even the crisis team sounded better than home, and I would go home, and I would exist for a week, I would call my sister, I would take a break from X, a break from school, and my mom would come to live with me, to take care of me for three months, try this medication, try that medication, slowly coming alive, slowly feeling like actually doing something, anything, talking with T during this break, erotic stories and puns, finally meeting with him once at the mall, though X knew, and then meeting with T a second time in a lonely park in the middle of the night, because I was feeling so restless as to be insane, I blame it on la lune, head on T’s lap on a bench in a public park with winding creek, fully lit by a full moon, not dark at all, with his sheepskin jacket on me because it was cold, we played word games but nothing else, not jumping him though I wanted to, and then the sun came up and we parted, and it felt just right, sounds romantic but it wasn’t at all, because a backdrop does not a romance make, I was learning already, but just right, just friendly enough, and then my last meeting with my X before he became my X, how I just did not want him there anymore despite all our efforts, both of us, and he could sense it as much as me. And then our end. And then T, and then this blog. You may ask if T took me away from X. I think he was a catalyst in bringing the rolling, dying, sighing inertia of me and X to an end, yes. I left X behind when I finally felt better, yes. Were you going to ask that too? Funny that that’s my whole repetitious story really.. Pages and pages of it saved on my computer, unsifted, but now condensed into this paragraph.

Time compresses memories, easy, polished, bite-sized bytes for you and me.

And of course, I forgot about those rentals altogether, and just this last month, I had to pay their cost in full, plus late fees, plus a big black mark on my credit record. For a bunch of usesless Valentine’s Day DVDs, except for the Jolie one, but even that I can’t bring myself to watch. A little karmic payback from X.

Ah yes, memories. Don’t be fooled, it’s not the day that bothers me.

One last memory coming with him here: a celebration of a non-love, a non-celebration of a love.

(Because already in this posthumous dragging intro, I’ve contradicted myself. And will continue to throughout.)

truth - part I

I've decided to put this up finally. It's about X. Something very exciting and out there could be coming up in my life with T, and I really feel like I need this up before I can talk about the new. The song verse here is not mine obviously, but I'm trying to avoid getting direct hits from direct searches for the song, so I won't reference it. I know X is thinking of this song. I'll probably put the whole post away soon...



You’re driving me home. It’s the kind of night where it is difficult to be anything more than the music you’re playing in your car.

When you try your best but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse

I’m sick with drink, and I’ve inclined my car seat all the way back. You drive upright while I glide along the black ground.

Streetlights roll around in orange fuzzy balls. Shiny whiskers of oncoming cars reach out, caress my face and scutter off.

I’m humming along. I could talk but I won’t.

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

I could look at you but I don’t.

I start to sing along quietly but clearly. So dulled and still. I know this sweet sad cadence can’t be me. I echo off the car doors and meld in to the song, lost.

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Your hand has been in my hands this whole time, on my lap. We could forget that it’s there, but we don’t.

And high up above or down below
When you’re too in love to let it go

I follow the edges of your smooth fingernails. We flex our fingers, and then you’re clasped between my webs. I’m fluttering with hints of squeezes. You flutter back.

We could shatter this, but we won’t.

But if you never try you’ll never know
Just what you’re worth

You’re feeling along my knuckles.

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Your hand is hungry in my hands.

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And I…

I don’t cry, though I will later, once we reach home and we start to kiss. And kiss and kiss and kiss.

Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I…

Yes, I suppose life is like this too, I suppose this too we will do.

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

(...to be continued)

snow

I got out of class late tonight, 9 o’clock.

Bear with me here. I feel an incredibly sappy ramble coming on.

It’s easier to write about these things than the actual events that are writhing and breaking and splintering through in my life. Later, I tell myself. Later, after it’s all settled. Maybe forgotten so I won’t have to write at all. Some parts written but too damn messy and unresolved to want to see put here.

(Sometimes I imagine X will find this blog, and he will think, but wasn’t this the time when we, when I, and then she, so then we….didn’t she want to stop to write about that? Didn’t she feel that pain at all? He’d put his hand through this X-shaped hole here, puzzled.)

Later, later… after it’s all over. Let me have a moment.

So I got out of class late tonight, like I do every time this day of the week. Got out at 9 o’clock on the dot, so I knew I had just missed the bus.

So I was in no rush. A half hour to kill.

It had just begun to snow again.

It was the kind of snow that dawdled on its way down, so you knew you should too.

Like the same snow that had whipped and cut at your cheeks, the same snow that had crackled and rustled all nasty in your ear through the fake-fur lined hood of your polar-bear coat, had suddenly decided to stop and just…make friends. Let you watch.

Quiet, so you knew you should be too.

I put my hood back down around my neck, let the large, friendly crumbs settle on my hair.

Looked at the closest bus stop…decided to walk to the next one.

I watched my feet for a bit as I tread through the glistening ground. Just enough to give my boots the lightest crunch. None of this ugly slipping business.

I noticed these little dark grey dots flit and sway across the white sheet of the pavement, right where I was about to step. The next time the spots began to jump around again, I looked up. The splay of the streetlight held a crystal spray of white against black sky.

The shadows of snowflakes, I realized. Cool, I thought, looking back at the dancing black on white ground. It's like a negative.

I looked down at my shoulder where flakes rested politely, having meandered down from the sky, unbroken and sparse. Actually delicate and lacey and glassy,…cool. The way you thought snowflakes were supposed to be when you folded your construction paper turned square and started to snip snip little holes with your safety scissors. (Cept I was always a screw-up and would snip snip along the wrong fold. And end up with diamonds and triangles.. lotsa lotsa triangles.. Oh and that one blunt solid kinda.. polygonish.. thing. .)

I kept walking. All the trees were torn down the middle, like masked mimes, one face somber, the other cheeky with whipped cream. Bushes were dripping with thick swirls of it, just downs of it. Snow you think you can pick up and shake like woven fabric.

And everything just shining, twinkling, reflecting off the edges of cut faces, yellow and blue.

I was non-chalantly ‘cool’ing in my head all over, but really I wanted to be like: OHMAGOD LOOK EVERYBODY, EES A WINTA WONDALAND!! (And yes, I'd say it with exactly that accent too.)

I kept it to myself. Campus was so dead anyways. Only the few odd people who put up with late night classes like me. Or maybe there were more of us around, and I just couldn’t hear. Snow really does muffle all. And greys really are kinda muted on a night like this.

And then I started to hear this ding-ding-ding sound behind me, sweet and clear, even through the muffle. Ding-ding-ding. I’m thinking a truck or something. Ding-ding-ding. Car alarm? I turn around and.. it's a train.

A freakin honest to goodness train.

That forgotten steel railtrack running right at the edge of the campus actually had a train on it.

You see, I’ve seen that track every day for two years, and I have never, ever seen a train on it.

And not just any old train. Old, rickety, lots of bits and pieces cargo train. Choo-choo train. Clang-clang-clang train. You get the idea.

I stopped to watch. It cut through the mesh of drifting snow slowly, all exposed, all dingalinging still, shiny lights shining grandly all over its metal. And then it turned round the bend of the tracks and was gone. I’m thinking.. . hallucination?.

Just when I thought it could get no cornier, I came to this little shortcut I always walk though to cut round the corner of the big old engineering building. There’s this big old striking sprawling black maple tree behind that building there that never disappoints. Well only black now cos it’s winter.

I adopted the tree this past fall when, while cutting through in a rush to catch the bus, it made me stop dead in my tracks. It had shed nearly every leaf it had, leaving a golden dark brown net of crooked branches capturing blue sky. Every single leaf that had fallen was this bright bright yellow, and every square inch of the ground was covered with it, not a peek of soil coming through, and then the sun came though and they all just sunshined, amber and opal, and I was like… holy crap.

I had a holy crap moment again right there under my tree tonight. I stepped off the pavement, and stepped onto the path, sunk my feet into the freshly piled up snow. And it was up past the top of my boots, staining my jeans. And I swear to you it was what you always imagined snow to be like growing up in a country with no snow. Five years here now and I hadn’t felt snow quite like that. There were giddy mounds of it, completely light and feathery. It stroked and powdered with every glide of my leg. I floated through.

I got to the end of the path, to the very corner of the building. Trapped between a boulder at my feet and the outside wall off the building at my back. Light from the building on the boulder, thick spider web of my tree above. And what was only muffled before went completely silent. Completely, there’s not a soul here but you, silent. And I looked down at the boulder. These ridged cubes of sparkle dazzle snow had patterned across the rock, having woven though the arrangment of branches above. Water crystals had layered themselves on top of the stone in jagged little towers. And because I’m a geek, a part of me couldn't help but think of all the different phases of ice. And of hydrogen-bonded networks. Except like never seen before. Like brittle equations had suddenly unmasked a tender face. So I bent down to take a closer look. Camera, camera, camera, I was thinking. And though I didn’t want to ruin it, I just had to reach my ungloved hand out and stick my fingers in carefully. And it just collapsed again, like when I was walking, except this time onto my bare skin. And I know you don’t believe me. I know you’re rolling your eyes already because I’ve taken this so far. But it was perfect. Just so perfect . This cold, dusty, soft caress of perfection. Not wet. Not sticky. Perfect.

Looking into skies outside from plane windows, and clouds, really literally clouds, on the ground, all this time. Who knew?

I told you it was corny.

his smell, my dysfunction

Have I told you he has the sweetest smell? Well he does. Or his cock does, to be precise.

It must be his diet. Health-conscious, all organic, fruits and nuts, careful him. I am more of an onion garlic chili spice kinda gal. I know how I smell, salt and sour and metal and bitter and ammonia and sweet and pungent all at once. I’m no walk in the garden. I change all the time. I smell and taste exactly like me.

I smell him all the time, like I’ve smelled no other. Those times I described sitting on top of him. Or I can think of one strident time when I was on my back and he was hovering over me. Right when he starts to get aroused, and his eyes shut a bit, or his head pushes forward a bit out of its skin, I start to sense it. I feel like a freak because I can smell it so stongly, yet I wonder if I am imagining it. But then I’ve always had a sensitive nose. I am hit with whiffs of it and I know it’s real, though impossible to describe...

(..make me faint
frankincense
with a butterscotch
drunken lick
twist,
chocolate it ain’t
but pheremone caramel
poison,
fill me myrrh,
musky fucky,
keep it coming,
sweet
and
never sour
you...)

I wonder how weird it would be if I gave in to my impulse to lean over, right in the middle of the action, and really take a deep breath of it in.

His redolence. His fragrance. His aroma. His essence.

Language fails me here, it really does. I think of the other language I know, and there is a word that is used for a smell that is pleasing. Except when you say it, it means delicious, mmm, ohhh ,oof, let me smell that again. No other word really comes as close in my mind.

I have not talked yet of the last time I was at his house and I finally tasted him in my mouth. It is a shame that I was distracted with the fact that I had my first date with N right afterwards. And that as per my usual when I visit him, I had just finished a paper the night before, was running on 5 hours of sleep, had all my Christmas shopping to do right afterwards, a lunch date with N, dinner with X and other friends, as well as my city to get back to, so I could pack my suitcases and clean the house, so I could then get back to his city and catch my flight the next day. (It never rains, but it pours, or rather clawing cats and barking dogs suddenly decide to make their debut from large gaping holes in the sky.)

Maybe as a result of this, it was the only visit where I felt a bit dysfunctional and lost with him.

He was still sleeping anyways when I arrived, it was so early. He had had a late night too. He’d got up earlier to leave the door unlocked for me. I felt shy and a stranger again at his bedroom door, unwilling to disrupt his sleep. I helloed at the threshold. Aren’t you going to come in?, he asked. Yes, oh, wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, I said. Well, yes, sorry, come in, he mumbled. I felt silly and walked in.

Did I take off my pants before I lay down on his bed? I forget. I remember he was cold from having just woken up. He drowsily told me he had a strange desire never there before, to have me licking and teasing all over his body, playing whichever way I wanted. Actually he'd told me this already once over the phone a long while back but I decided not to remind him of it. My mouth was dry. I’d always wanted to do this and now was the time. As I started, he reassured me that it was not about a performance on my part, that it was just to watch me enjoy myself.

He felt like this amazon valley of choice underneath me, and he was still cold so he was pulling the comforter over us, and over my lost head. I was so tentative you know. I was so awkward. Thick mats of my hair kept finding its way to my mouth, and I was getting annoyed, because I did not like the sensation. And it was annoying to hold it back with one hand and he wasn't holding it back for me. I was so distracted. And trapped under the sheets. It’s ok, have fun with it, he said, the feel of your hair and me in your mouth, it’s fun. I’m not sure why I could not fully. Just distracted I guess. I've been told I might have ADD. Do you think it's true maybe? It would certainly explain my writing. Maybe even parts of my life. Though not really my childhood. I thought we were all a bit like this.

But he had this very white clammy skin my teeth just slid off, I wanted to suck into it and pull up but it wouldn’t quite give way. It was smooth and clear like glass. Like butter you forgot to take out of the freezer. I don’t know what it was. I didn’t want to feel him fully I think. Maybe what it was? Or he didn’t want it? I was so very close. Tip of my tongue on his nipples, this I liked, little kisses I opted for finally which I liked, I liked it all, but why couldn’t I just give in?

Then he started to emanate his fabulous smell again. And I put my hand on the down of his stomach and groaned. Do I tell him now how good he smells? Shh. I started to move down bit by bit and stopped. Is there something else you want to do, he asked sleepily, heaving gently. Uhuh, I said. Say it out loud, he said. Feels good to say things out loud. He's right, but I didn’t feel like talking that day. His cock, his scent, thisclose to my lips. This, I said. And put my mouth around his cock for a brief moment. And took out and licked soft. My mouth was exploding with his flavor. And the thrill of having done it. He sighed and breathed.

I won’t get fully hard, he said. It’s ok, I said. No I mean, on purpose, for you, he answered. Oh, I said sheepishly. I realized I had no desire to give him a full-blown blowjob. I wanted to have him in my mouth, and I wanted to lick and hold wherever and whenever I felt. But no real desire to build and build him slowly, to ride him with my mouth and take him deep in as he lengthened. Not like with X, and afterwards with N. There was just this unusual fetish for his taste and I was unsure how to express it. I breathed all close around his head, nearly but never quite closing my mouth around him. I started to lick along his shaft, strings of yummy syrupy yes he was, smooth and satin. Wish my mouth hadn’t been so dry. My fingers were moving down to his ass where his balls started, stroking. This intimacy felt strange, you know, I’ve never fully touched him, only fucked. His head was poking out further and further and he was sharply sensitive to touch, and asked that I keep his skin pulled up and around his head to avoid pain as I sucked. Which was new. So I tried to do this, while still stroking at his base, and I was moving my head, and he was helping me, and oh I hate to say it but selfish me, really I just wanted to taste.

Not that I wasn’t turned on. I had unwittingly clamped my legs around his one thigh, his hairs tickling on me, as I started to grind against, and he groaned and pushed his thigh up to meet me, feeling a bit of my wet.

I realized what he meant about not becoming fully hard because the longer he got the more I felt like I was covering no ground. I used to love taking X into my throat past my gag so I was close to his balls. And I had no troubles with N. They were sizeable enough. But I was befuddled now as to how I would possibly get the right angle if I were to want to push down further with him. Dangled headfirst from a crane maybe? Was there enough neck for that? It made me want to laugh a bit.

Oh but I was distracted and silly and trying to adjust, and all I really wanted was him tasty in my mouth for a minute or two, so I stopped finally, tired, and sorried. And he pulled me up and said it was ok, and I kissed his torso for a minute or two longer, before he put his cock inside between my legs, my cunt finally filled and we fucked. And it was as good as ever.

And later on, after we had slept for a bit, he asked a bit about N, this mysterious date of mine. And I told him, but was kind of vague and curt because I didn't know what to say, and well, you know the rest.

We should try the first part again some better time I suppose, when I am more relaxed, if we feel like it. It’s a shame I couldn’t enjoy more thoroughly what I had been looking forward to so.

I wanted to write about it (even though there are much more important things to write about), because I realized I have made mention of our every single encounter here, phone, writing and real, if not fully, then at least in passing.

So here, for the record books, was that last one.

And I do so like and miss his smell.