Suddenly Sexy Irish

Confessional

I want to slam you against the wall, jerk your head back to expose that creamy swath of neck, and leave a bite-mark trail that winds around and around your chest. I want to pull your hair because it hurts so good for you and kiss the underside of your tiny, shell-like ears. I'll tie you up with the bedsheets that I've ripped and blindfold you for good measure. Turn the lights off. Blow hot air in skinny streams down your pale stomach and around your throbbing cock. I will lick and suck and nip. Bruise your lips and make you bleed. Swallow every moan you groan, rake my nails down your back.

You'll let me desecrate you.

Bits

Bits taken from Creative Nonfiction:


I never wanted to lose my virginity in a loving, stable relationship with a boyfriend. And no, I didn’t want to lose it after marriage. In fact, I threw away my maidenhead with a boy I barely knew one night over Spring Break in the later semester of my junior year, on the living room floor of a friend’s house between three and six in the morning. I wasn’t completely sober either. When I tell my friends this (or anyone who wishes to know), the expression on their faces is a hybrid of incredulity and pity, as if I had been tricked into that situation and taken advantage of like all good girls who unfortunately find themselves mixed up with the wrong people.

Don’t let this quiet, wholesome girl façade fool you. That night happened exactly the way I had planned it to. The boy was a friend of a friend, a 22 year-old biochemistry major I knew for all of five hours, and the entire encounter—while playful and breathless—had a current of cool detachment running underneath our movements. It didn’t hurt—that surprised me, I’ll admit that much—but we kissed each other with glazed eyes that did not truly meet until the end of the fact. The next day, he gave me a perfunctory hug, and we parted on neutral-friendly terms. My one-night stand replaced the movie ideal of a high school prom night deflowering on scented sheets to a soft rock soundtrack.

I never treated my virginity as a gift. It wasn’t a trophy, a prize to be won, or a pot of gold at the end of the sexy rainbow. It was a thorn in my side for twenty years, a personal nuisance that made me vicariously live through the details of other friends’ tales as they gestured obscenely and giggled behind their hands while I could only cock my head to the side and wonder. I had read all about sex; I was obsessed with the horizontal tango: books, stories, videos, pictures, online erotica—by the age of eighteen, I was a sex aficionado in all but practice. I wanted to be the female Casanova, bedding beautiful people by day and/or night, but my “purity”—and the misogynistic myth surrounding it—stood in the way of my wet dreams.

On the drive home, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles shone white. I was finally free.

Business Time

I need to get laid.

Stat.

When My Own Words Fail Me

I didn't know how to voice how I feel about my orientation (and my views on love and sex) so I found an excerpt from open of my favorite books instead:

"I enjoyed beauty in all its forms, fair and dark, curved and hard, spiced or pleasing. I should sample all of the delights of the world. And there were so many. It almost staggered me sometimes, how many forms of beauty there were. I saw it in the broad shoulders of a guardsman, in the handsome dark face of a young doctor from Elephantine, in the lissome movement of a eunuch dancer, in the knowing gravity of Masters of Sciences from the Museum old enough to be my grandsires. Each, in their turn, looked aside at me, and I felt their eyes following me.

There were women too who caught my eye. I saw it in the quiet girls with a way of moving that suggested depths of sensuality they had not yet plumbed, or the way some women tossed their heads, beads on the ends of their braids clicking against the smooth honey of their necks.

With all of this beauty put before [me], how could one not sample a little of each?"

Yes, No, Maybe So

I want to.

No, I don't want to.

I want to.

No, I don't want to.

I want to.

No no no no nononono--

YES. Fucking YES.

How about both? How about I fuck you and not fuck you? Can that happen? Sure, it can: I'll explain it away with theoretical physics.

PROBLEM SOLVED.

Ugh, not really.

I NEED SOMEONE BETTER. LIKE A WHOLE LOT.

That Which Has No Life

More upcoming Dragon Age 2 playthroughs:

1. James, Sarcastic Blood Mage, friendmance with Anders

2. Robin, Aggressive Sword & Shield Warrior, rivalmance with Merrill

3. Noah, Diplomatic Archer Rogue, friendmance with Fenris

This time, all dudes. Projected starting point? January 2012.

AW YEEEAAHH----

P.S. Justin Bates, your girlfriend looks very boring. You should've given Micaela a chance.

Too Old For Teenage Ennui

Utopos

It's been a year or so since I've seriously thought about you. I'm not sure why you decided to show up in my dream last night. Some highlights then:

- we got cockblocked a few times by my female roommates

- I still don't know if the setting was supposed to be alternative universe!Midd college or unknown!grad school

- there was shower fucking. with no door. in front of the roommates while they ignored the sexy spectacle. idefk

- my dorm room/suite/apartment looked fabulous. Like a Manhattan apartment in the '60s. i want to live there someday.

- there was talking, and not just obligatory-small-talk-before-sex talking either. we were talking, and there were smiles and hand-holding and...feelings? it was all very reuniony-after-a-long-time. pretty sure this is how I want to write my thomas/elizabeth short story XD

Dammit, Old Man. Are you some kind of warning? Are you trying to tell me something? "Don't fuck Diane Lane, fuck someone amazing like me"?

I'm trying to resist, man. It's hard.

He's Diane Lane and I'm Olivier Martinez

You have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend. You don't have a child, but still. Girlfriend. You're Diane Lane.

And I'm the super suave (HAR), super smooth (HAR), super handsome (FUCK YEAH) foreigner (LOOK I'M ASIAN) who leads you down the road to temptation.

Weeeell, in the movie your wife murders me with a snowglobe that she had given you as a gift and then you gave to ME as a gift--hahahahaha. Then you try to turn her in.

Hmm maybe Unfaithful isn't quiet my life yet.

JUST WAIT THOUGH 8D

Walt Disney Confessions

The Existence of Paradoxes

My parents will never accept the part of me that loves both women and men.

My parents will never take the things I say seriously.

My parents will never acknowledge the fact that I'll turn 21 in November and become a fully fledged adult with legitimate opinions and life views.

~~~~~

My parents are my support system and my rock.