30 March 2009

If I Could Call You...

...what would I say?

Tonight, my love, tonight I would softly cry into your ear on the other end of the line. I would open my mouth to say something profound and spirited but, chances are, nothing would spill past my lips. I would think a lot, as I usually do, and wish I could say everything and nothing at all.

I would say to you, with a bitter tone, that maybe you're better off. Maybe you are better off that I didn't stay with you. Maybe you don't know how lucky you are that I am not physically in your life. Maybe you are better off just wanting to fuck me instead of love me. Or should I even flatter myself with the idea that you have love for me within your heart?

My love, I can't sleep. My passions drain the beauty from the world for me. I need constant reassurance. An embrace and words whispered, that I will be okay or that I am beautiful or that I have intriguing things to say. I have anxiety and bitten nails that I hide from you. I don't need a doctor to tell me that I slowly move to a depressive beat.

My love, I remember a time when I felt alive in the cold winter air. My eyes would look up to the star-filled sky and I would breathe deeply, cold air and car exhaust. Snowflakes seemed beautiful. The crunch of autumn leaves under my feet inspired me. I fell in love with flowers and sad songs and every letter I wrote with a leaky pen. I wish you knew me then. We would have walked for hours until we found the perfect pile of colored leaves to jump in, to fall in, to laugh in. I would have written you love letters on coffee shop napkins and cleverly placed them in your pocket when you weren't looking.

Now he says, in half concern, that everyday with me is like a funeral. I am oppressive. I have, always, a dark cloud that surrounds me.

It is terribly difficult to admit that this is who I am: I am someone who has depression and anxiety. I am someone who cries a lot when I am happy and when I am sad. I am someone who lives with a lot of guilt for no reason. I am someone who can't be confined to a nine-to-five world. I am someone who is constantly tired because my mind does not shut off at night. I am someone who feels terribly lonely in my not-so-new-anymore city. I am someone who over-thinks, is gloomy, and is mentally fatigued. I am someone who has a hard time committing and I am someone who hasn't gone dancing in five years. I am someone who hasn't worn heels in five years because I am someone who is awkward and clumsy and always the tallest person in the room. I am someone who secretly made happy by the attention of males and I am someone who is invisible to them in this city. I am someone shallow enough to want to call you when I am like this.

And clearly, I am someone who can be quite the drama queen when I want to be.

When the tears dry, I accept who I am: I am someone who keeps a hidden stack of love letters tied up with a red ribbon. I am someone who falls in love with words on paper and the scent of stationary. I am someone who enjoys learning even though the process for me is difficult and long. I am someone with a big heart and a head-full of dreams. I am someone who has the kindness of a stranger. I am someone who is curious and grateful and accepting. I am someone who is surrounded by dusty books and stolen pens and beautiful smiles and delicious stories. And as much as I sound like a dusty self-help book, and despite the lack of sleep and dancing and high heels and catcalls from strange men in my life, I am someone who is beautiful.

I am also someone who is turned on by tall, brown-eyed men with hairy chests. God, do I adore a hairy chest. This city is full of short men with beards and long scarves. And this post has officially turned into a bizarre personals advertisement.

You know who you are. After all these confessions, do you feel glad that I did not stay? Relieved? Would you still fuck me? Would you still considered me one of your best lovers even though we have not touched?

No, you don't have to answer my questions. I need something to think about when I am falling asleep at night.

29 March 2009

Spring Fever and Dirty Little Smiles

The claws of spring are tearing at my clothes. My knees are weak and my desire is strong. I lick my lips and that dirty little smile appears on my face once again. That smirk goes unrecognized to most people. It creeps up on my face when I hear a delicious sentence, when I remember what I nicknamed my old vibrator (I believe I purposely forget just so I can smile in such a way when I least expect it), when I stand on my balcony to watch the neighbor do manual labor, and those moments when I really should be concentrating on work but, instead, I am imagining being thrown over my desk and fucked by you. Mm, the smell of sweat and cum and stationary. Speaking of that dirty little smile....

Sometimes, I pretend that my hands are your hands. Sometimes in bed all alone with my legs spread open wide under a sea of blankets, sometimes in my living room while I look out the window as I wear a short skirt and lean over the sofa. Added bonus if my neighbor just so happens to walk by - insert another dirty smile here.

When I sit down to write my fantasies of you, I lose my concentration. I long to write something perfect and expressive but I'm weak. I've written and deleted words only to write and delete again. My legs ache and my breath is shallow. I will just say what's on my mind and cast aside the story.

~ I like to imagine my hands are yours (but warmer).
~ I like to undress slowly, imagining your fingers are unbuttoning buttons and unzipping zippers. You should know that the art of undress is something that both excites me and frightens me.
~ I like to lift my head up and imagine what your eyes would look like when you are undressing me. I like to think that they are raw and intense and dominant.
~ You let my sweater fall to the floor and your hands explore. They are gentle, they are fierce, they are rough. You're handling me carefully and carelessly. You pull at my hair and let my black bra fall to the floor and you spin me around so that my back arches to your chest. You bite at my neck, you lick at my flesh, your hands slip my skirt off.
~ We are in the shower. Your fingers are playing with my nipples. My nipples are hard between your fingers. Your mouth is near mine but you don't kiss me. We can feel each others breathe. You roll my nipples between your fingers slowly, you pull at them, you pinch. I gasp and smile. We are wet.
~ You take a step back and watch me. My fingers are rubbing my clit as yours play with my nipples still. I masterbate while you watch. I let you lick my fingers. With the taste of me on your lips, we kiss. You kiss me everywhere. Your mouth sucks on my nipples, your teeth and tongue drive me mad.
~ And then you fuck me. You take control of the situation and put me in my place. Your cock is beautiful and hard and it fills me up. You have me against the wall of the shower. And you just fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me. Your body slams against mine, your nails dig into my flesh, your hand pulls at my wet hair, and you feel so amazing inside of me. My body grinds towards yours as you restrain my wrists. I try to break free of you but you are stronger than I am and you tighten your grip.
~ You push me to my knees, as water falls on us. I take your cock in my mouth. You're hard. You taste like I imagine. My tongue swirls around your head, as I work my mouth up and down your shaft. My hand strokes your balls. And you moan. It's your one weak moment.
~ You regain control by pulling and pushing at my hair to take you deeper in my mouth. You watch me with your cock in my mouth. I watch you moan with parted lips and a devilish smile and half shut eyes.
~ I moan with your cock in my mouth, wanting to taste your cum. You pull out from my mouth while I'm still on my knees. And you cum. You cum all over my tits. I rub it into my skin, over my hard nipples.
~I taste a little from your cock with the tip of my tongue as I smile that dirty little smile.

I exhale.
I will re-read this and imagine my hands are yours. Just so you know.
Insert dirty little smile here.

Missed Connection (clearly, you do not read your local Craigslist)

Not a missed connection, but a terribly sad case of bad timing. I'm afraid there is no category for that, my love.

There are so many things I long to say to you but distance and fear and circumstance always stood in my path.

I miss you. I miss the fear I felt every time you looked into my eyes over hot cups of coffee or when you stood behind me at work. I miss the thought that I could feel you breathing down my neck and watching, with curious eyes, over my every move. I miss your embrace as we waited for my bus, snowflakes dancing around us. I miss your voice, your playfulness, your smell. I smile at the thought of mall court grilled cheese picnics.

When I am not happy, I selfishly want to run to you and find shelter in your strong arms. There are days when I want to call you in tears and be reassured by your soft voice but I cannot. It wouldn't be right or fair. When I fall asleep, I wonder what your body would feel like, sleeping against mine. Would your skin taste as good as you smell? Where would our first kiss be? To be crude and delicious, how would you fuck me?

As long as I can see you in the back of my mind, as long as I can feel love for you in my heart - and I will always love you in a strange faraway way, and as long as I could still feel the back of your finger caressing my arm - dizzying and knee-weakening and arousing - when I turned away to say goodbye...

You are always with me.