i wrote you letters, i wrote you volumes.

i have never been so happy with the idea of uncertainty.
i am, though. i feel like i can make choices without second and third and fourth guessing them. i'm living how i want to and not letting anyone change that. last night i smoked in my new room in my new house and drank good beer. by the time the others had gone to sleep i was left in my room to watch a bad ben stiller movie. it was time, way past, to go to sleep. i couldn't. i felt the serious need to feel something. my body was slightly buzzing with the need to feel someone else, feel delicious waves of sex and crests of lips.
this didn't happen, obviously. i went to sleep and woke up to my own bed. comfortable. in my own room. new.change.sleep.wait.come.let.fall.turn.stop.
the library is the best place to write blog entries. the things that you never let yourself think about all come up and spill out my fingertips onto the keyboard.
the rise, the fall. you play, you win. you play, you win, you play, you lose.
it's the playing that matters.

athanatos--metaxu--thnatos and repeat.

i love the bite marks and scratches you leave on my skin. i love them just as much as the kisses, soft and calm against my anxious skin, stretched too tight. the painful marks that remain on my skin are like leftovers. when i wake up in the morning and sit on the porch, drinking my coffee and smoking a cigarette, i press my fingertips to the sensitive spots and smile, remembering your touch.
i walk down the sidewalk and can laugh inside my head because i know that i had more orgasms last night than the woman driving her kids to school or the men shuffling down the road with their hands clutching newspapers. and they have no idea. how exciting.
the sex. this sex. all of the sex that i discuss is never specific. no two acts of sex are ever the same, but they certainly carry similar characteristics and leave the same imprints on my mind and behind my eyelids the next day.
that's why i can imagine what it would be like to fuck without ever having done so. i can imagine the basic concepts and i can anticipate and think inappropriately about what could happen. always endless possibilities. the muscles in my legs tense up when i think too hard. the grin on my face becomes a little bit silly when i imagine these things. the patrons who walk by the desk could probably guess, they've all been there before.
hawt.

There Will be Pleasure and There Will be Pain.

In 6th grade i found myself mingling amongst the more popular crowd on the "knights" team. Our grade was separated into the "knights" and the "dragons". Within the knights, i must admit, i was considered to be pretty damn fly. Anyways, that year was the year for coed parties. We still used invitations and only invited select people. I was always the loud one at parties, making scenes by doing "crazy" acts to prove how hardcore i was. One friday night we were all gathered at Nick Philbrick's party for his 12th or 13th birthday...i don't remember. His birthday wish list was short, three things. He wanted either beer, cigarettes or condoms. Being the rebel of the group, he was expected to ask for such dangerous things. I stole three beers from my dad and wrapped them in tinfoil. Come to think of it, i'd never do that now, my father would undoubtedly notice...which he probably did and didn't say anything. How strange.
During the party we were gathered in Nick's room playing spin the bottle. Suddenly his brother and brother's friend who were four or five years older than us appeared in the doorway. His brother's friend, who i will call dbag, looked around the room and made eye contact with me. This was odd because I was a very unsexual girl. I hadn't developed as quickly as most and was rarely noticed for anything other than my peculiar sense of humor. He told me to come to the bathroom so he could tell me a secret. I followed him in and he locked the door. It was at this moment that i realized how sick i felt. My stomach tightened and my breathing was a little shallow. I was a very confused prepubescent girl. He told me that I shouldn't hang out with someone like Nick, he told me that Nick was gay (the biggest insult i knew at that point). I didn't laugh or meet his gaze. He reached towards me and pulled on my shirt, just slightly. Then his fingers touched the button on my jeans, pulling me towards him, just slightly.
I could hear my friends knocking and making jokes and I felt my head get a little spinny and i grabbed the door handle, my hand slipping with the sweat. I then realized it was locked, unlocked it and burst out of the room. No one seemed alarmed, they were all making jokes. I felt silly for acting so afraid and quickly pushed the sick embarrassed guilt down my throat and stomach. I remember getting in the car with my mom at the end of the party and immediately breaking down in tears.
I blamed myself. For making such a big deal. For rushing out without knowing what he wanted. For wearing shorts for the first time in several years. I told myself that it was the shorts that did it. I still very rarely wear them. The strange thing is, i know i told my mom about what happened but i cannot remember anything that she said. I remember that I felt angry at her for downplaying it and i felt the need to justify how upset i was. I remember very little except for the feelings that dbag instilled in me that night. I remember trying to blame him in therapy for my distrust and sometimes total fear of strange men.
All i feel now is anger. Not at myself. At him and my friends and my mom and society and the fucked up ideals that our society holds so dearly.
I never thought that I'd be feeling the exact same awful feelings, almost ten years later. That night that it was crashing thunder and screaming lightening, i remembered dbag. I remembered the guilt that i felt. So young and so incredibly unaware. Unaware that this was merely a rite of passage that one in four women will have to go through in life. They could be 8 or 21 or 45 years old.
Anger and frustration makes it hard to type. Coherently.