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.

and i feel my finger on your trigger...

you're fucking sexy. i hope you know this as i walk behind you to class. i am undressing you slowly but completely with my eyes. i am not concentrating on the people pushing past me or the smoke that's burning my eyes. i can't take them off you. the confidence that floats off your back leaves a hazy trail that i greedily follow. i think about the way that your skin would feel, just skin on skin...your legs tangled with mine and my face in your neck, under your hair. the nice thing about you. the fantastic thing about you is that i don't need alcohol or any kind of fake high when i think about you or talk to you, i get it naturally.
you get me, naturally.
vulnerability used to come easily. i used to wear it all out. yee haw. gung ho. now i dole it out in small portions. the rations are bare. just like oregon trail. i liked to make my oregon men and women suffer. i would ration them and see their need and desperation but i controlled the game. when it's in my hands i turn the chaos button to max. that's what makes it exciting. desperate anxious excited ready. i need to feel these extremes.
it's the same in sex. i need the extremes, nothing mediocre, or it's not worth the effort. we have to push past that finish line and keep going. raise the bar. i need to feel in all levels on the chart. all over the map. make me speak in tongues. god, i'd love to.
you make me speak in illegible, incoherent phrases, pieced together in a madman sort of way.
"you say catastrophe, i say fuck yes"

Passion is sweetest when split strand by strand

Blaming myself is much easier than trying to sort out my thoughts and fight a case against someone else. I'll take the blame if it comes with you. All of you. Wrapped up in the sweetness, ripeness of sex. Sex resonates from your body. Your voice drips with it, clogging up my throat and making it hard to form words. I want to be all the words in the universe. I want to twist my sentences to make them worth your while.
If this wasn't a sex blog would i spend so much time talking about sex? Probably. But this is a very very useful excuse. I think about it all the time. I think that is natural. So i will not feel bad.
Strangers that walk into the library make me think of sex. The girl with her legs crossed in a skirt in health services makes my stomach tighten, i clear my throat. When the girl at the library dropped the books I'd just checked out to her, my mouth formed a smirk and i felt myself whipping up those inappropriate thoughts immediately after she bent down to retrieve them. Sexuality is beautiful and dangerous. It's possible, i suppose, to spend too much time thinking about it...I have yet to find serious harm in this, though.
Having sex with a stranger in the elevator. Think about that. Think about walking into the elevator, looking for the number of the floor that you are traveling to and then lean back against the wall. Your eyes start at the bottom first. You look as innocent as you possibly can and let your eyes travel up their legs and linger over their midsection. Where the stomach ends and the bottom half begins. You linger here and you wonder. Think of possibilities, what would happen if your fingers touched her skin. What sounds she would make and the rhythm of breaths that she would switch to. It's nice to have that power over someone. And nice to let someone have that power over you once in awhile. But then what if she looks at you and you can see the wanting, the desire screaming from her eyes, her mouth and her palms. She flips her palms face down and smiles, averting eyes. Then your eyes meet and a smile is exchanged and heartbeats are too quick to even keep track of. You move a step closer and then you've got it. Sex with a total stranger and all the while you're hoping that there aren't too many stops between the orgasm and the 17th floor.
word.
Sex opens a big, glass, airtight jar. Yikes.

It was morning, the air smelt of lemons

I know you better than you think i do. I want you more than you're aware. Unexplored possibilities are the best because there's that chance that it could end up being so much more incredible than you even imagined. My fingers itch when i keep them away from my phone. I've caught your bluff and I can see into you now. Further than before and the catastrophic brain fucking that is going on is almost too much. And i know that you might never give in to it but in case you do i continue my eye fucking and clever quips via phone. i get a pain in the center lower space of my stomach. i can feel desire shaking at my gut and penetrating my muscles, contaminating my blood. it rises to my face and makes me blush, my hands fall to my sides and i am unsure. i know that i want you and i know that things are never as easy as they may seem when spoken. i feel sex all over me when i hear your voice. that is rather unique. silly.

"I decided to look around the place and began by going to a stall to buy some bread. The young woman behind the stall was unsmiling, though I smiled a good deal. Eventually she said, 'what you're doing is illegal. you should stop it'
'What's illegal?'
'Falling in love with me'
'I'm not falling in love with you'
'Why are you smiling then?'
Before I could answer she pulled out a book and looked under 'S' in the index. She read out loud: 'Smiling in one of the earliest signs of love. If someone smiles at you, be sure they have another intention'
'I'm very sorry,' I said, my teeth in a straight line."
(sexing the cherry)

An Incident Report Gone Wrong

feminine symmetry. let's explore that, chillins. the symmetry of a woman's body is astoundingly imperfect. the asymmetrical rough unbalanced curves that make up your curves and spaces and shadows is what i love most. feeling down the back, over the knees, under her neck. when two women have sex it is an adventure that they are both willing to undergo. sex with men for myself was never this. no exploration, chance. it was all understood. but not to me. i didn't understand. i couldn't see the beauty in it.
i find beauty in the ups and downs and bumps and creases and crevices that cover you. in an instant i can see what will happen if you and i were to end up beneath a set of sheets. a look across the room. eye contact means a lot more than we pretend it does.
have you been taking your vitamins? keeping to that strict regimen that keeps you looking like that? sturdy, straight back. up and down. muscles curve around your arms, making patterns that i can feel when they press against my back (but only when you are holding me tight).

the thinking gut

i am buzzing electric. my therapist says i'm like a wild animal. meant for the jungle. my heightened sense of awareness. my cringe at every touch, clench at every broken twig. i am prepared for/expecting the worst.