I'm Back

“Can I kiss you?”

I blink once, twice, then one more time at Catarina Campbell’s wide, toothy smile looking up at me. Her tiny hands shift impatiently on my hips, and we move to the side to let someone wiggle by. Outside the space between us, the DJ is still spinning the tables, and the crush of partygoers hasn’t budged from the dance floor. Two girls to my right accidentally slosh their drinks on each other. How could no one have heard her? She fairly shouted it into my ear. Suddenly, I want to go around the room, shaking people’s shoulders, Did you hear that? Did you hear what she just asked me?

Instead, I spot a door on the other end of the room and look back at her. She watches me, waiting. Has she always been waiting and I simply never knew or stopped to consider? I swallow. “Can we go somewhere else?”

Catarina winks and nods, unaware of the warring factions inside my head, and takes my hand as she weaves us in and out of the crowd, dodging drinks and people. We pass a couple on the couch, a couple against the wall, friends chatting at the open bar. Not one of them has noticed us and said something, or barred the door, or pinched me. I’m not dreaming this time. My heart zooms up to my throat and lodges itself there for the remainder of the evening.

The door opens onto a screen porch overlooking the back yard, but there’s nothing to see but the top of her dark head that bobs up and down as she laughs and pulls me to a single wicker chair in the corner. My limbs are loose and limber and flail everywhere when I flop down on the chair. Eyes widen as she looms above me, grinning, and swings a brown leg over my own pair to make herself comfortable on my lap. She weighs nothing, but I feel every press of skin and clothing against me. My mouth has sealed itself shut, but I don’t need it because I imagine that my face is saying everything that needs to be said.

Hands cupping my face, she murmurs something I can’t quite catch because my ears have stopped working. The techno-trance filters through the walls in a muffled series of thump thump thumps, matching the rhythm in my chest. What am I stalling for? My breaths start to come out shallow and quick. This is a joke. She doesn’t want me, just another warm body. This is going to end like all the other parties and late nights, like all the other times where I’ve danced with her and talked to her and brushed my fingers over the bare patch of skin above her pants that her shirt didn’t cover, and ultimately crawled back to my dorm room alone because I couldn’t bring myself to go one step further and—

Catarina leans forward and kisses my inner monologue away.

Connaisseur

A woman is more than her breasts and ass. She has beautiful hair, curly or straight or kinky or short or long or all of the above. There's her carefully crafted nose and perfectly formed lips with even, white teeth or slightly crooked teeth with a small gap in the middle. There are her eyes: heavy-lidded, wide, sooty-lashed, slanted, sleepy. Her chin that juts out or recedes back into her face. The alluring collarbone. Her delicate, solid wrists. The elegantly tapered, cutely shortened fingers on her smooth, callused hands. The rising, falling planes of her stomach that dips down, down below. Her shoulder blades. The dimple in the small of her back. The wide swath of skin sliding over her hips and thighs to bunch and scrunch into the darkened swirls of her knees. Her sturdy, weak ankles. Toes. Little, waggling, long, prehensile toes.

How dare you look at her and filter out all these delectable features? How dare you blot out those other equally important treasures until all that's left in your mind are a pair of fucking breasts and an ass and vagina? What kind of philistine are you?

People like you don't deserve to have a woman give you the time of day.

Fabulosity

Lady Marmalade, Verse 1

Mia mia mia mia mia mia

Mia with her cafe au lait skin

Mie with her tightly coiled curls

Mia with her long rounded nose

Mia with her small dark eyes

Mia with arms and legs and hands and breasts and feet and and and

Ooooh boy I've got a new one this semester.

Same

God, these people. And I have to listen to their drivel for another year.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Spinaround

Take me back. I want to go back.

Accelerated Reader

On my to-read list:

- Invisible Man

- A Game of Thrones (and maybe the rest of the series gasp)

- Room

- Annie on my Mind

- The Well of Loneliness

Cycling

So school starts again in exactly one week.

Fuck.

It's The Heat

I had a sex dream. You were in it. I was on top, reverse-cowgirling like my life depended on it, and just as I was thisclose to getting my happy ending, my mother opens the door.

I...really don't know how to interpret sex dream #23943456.

Also, I would rather it be someone else than you. We've already established that there's zero chemistry between us in real life. What's the deal, mang?

Callbacks

So the past 3 dreams have included the ex, which is both surprising and unsurprising, because his regular appearances in my night-wanderings mean that I'm yearning for the past--times were easier, simpler, under my control, blah lah. But it's still surprising because it's him of all people that represents the whole Nostalgia angle. Why him? It's not as if our time together was life-altering and full of randy couple nonsense.

This reminds me, I need to keep up with my written dream journal. Or maybe I just have too many of these things to keep up with.