einstien, that pesky jew, put forth the idea that energy never never dies. it doesn't begin or end, it simply transforms or flows elsewhere.
people... tend to be too egotistical for that, wanting hard limits, or absolutes, closure...finite answers.
relationships...have beginnings, ends...boundaries, rules.
things are measured in time, or cost, or valued by effort required to get them, or rarity.
and so on and so forth.
with that heap of useless nonsense in mind i find myself contemplating the change in the status of one of my longest standing friends.
prefaced by the fact... that i have few friends. i know few people... and fewer among those i'd consider friends, and fewer still among those, are probably actual friends... and precious few amoung those... i think matter one way or another.
one thing i can pin point about myself... is this fact though. i hate to be left out... or actually feel alone. i've tended to have... all through my life. one... person. or maybe a very small number of people... that i tend to truly care for. and normally those people are designated through some expression of particular empathy towards me... as it regards to... i dunno "being there" for me.
probably a result of having moved around a lot as a kid. i classify people pretty harshly as useful, or useless. as anyone who's moved around a lot, learned quick that people come and go pretty easily. even as an adult... having moved and somewhat settled in new york city. it's similiar... people in nyc. come and go. they don't make it. leave. or move on... or whatever. even people who stay... nyc has a horrible habit of breeding residents who you can't really count on. making new friends is nearly pointless... as so many people are caught up in their shit, even if you're friends with them... it's blatantly obvious that your bullshit takes the back burner. even casual promises that require no effort to make good on... tend to be difficult for people up here.
so... with me. painting myself as this giant asshole, who hates everyone, and doesn't care... it's odd to then shift and say i'm sad i'm losing one of my best friends.
but...even losing is a dumb word to use. basically my friend is leaving the city.
and while i'm sure i'll "communicate" with him while he's gone elsewhere, and maybe see him every once and awhile. it will be odd not having him in my life. as we've been friends for maybe the last 20 yrs of it.
i try and think back on our friendship... see the "why" of it. i apply my somewhat retarded mode of thinking to it and come up with all manner of excuses. ...from him being a life raft friend i jumped to after my last good friend evaporated... to more mushy musings of mutual interest and humor that developed over the years.
i think of the things i know about this person. the presumptions and animosity that only long and deep caring for a person can breed. my hatred for some of his quirks... and endless patience for his bullshit. ...and recognize, that while... i must have my list of things i dislike, i'm sure i give plenty of ammo to his list of "hates" about me.
and find it odd how the mind slips into the habit of tabulating a thing. how even as i type ...lists, and columns of pros and cons... and competitive valuations between him and i in terms of our friendship materialize. how i try to group together his thoughts and make assumptions as to their motivations, and alongside that... list of our accomplishments, and moments as friends... trying to find some simplistic measure of the quality of our friendship.
safe to say... you can not do that. or... it cheapens the thing. people are never one thing. i tend to believe in duplicity in all things. and especially when it comes to people. you have to accept this. that for every fault, their is a virtue. for every thing you love about someone, there's probably something you hate. and hopefully... you can be wise enough to realize that it's not a matter of balancing out. or... the good outweighing the bad. but that... to truly be friends with someone. you have to open up yourself to accepting their duplicity. and not jumping to idea that bad is bad.
that... it simply is.
it also helps to be easy going and open minded. and not be a pussy when it comes to a sense of humor. life is pretty fucked up. people who can't take a joke, or laugh at themselves are worthless. and as i get older... i think even. people who can't mobilize themselves towards self-appeasement at worthless.
one thing i think i'll miss most about my friend, is our long established pattern of ridiculing one another when we're being self pitying.
the list of things i'll miss are long mind you. and at this point in my life, it's improbable i'll have another friend like him. and at it's simplest.
it's just sad to lose him.
but...such is life. what can you do. ... i've had other people ask. if "i'll be ok" when he's gone. and in any way that matters... sure. i'll be fine.
but there will be a hole. a gap... a missing part of me. made by giving so much of myself to a person for so long. and as i assume... for him there will also be that gap. a bit of himself that isn't the same...
i only hope i don't fall into some trap of constantly referring back to him in relation to others. like how people sometimes do with nostalgia. ...like high school football people who quantify their lives from their glory days... or college friends who reminisce about school as if it fucking matters to anyone outside that sphere.
i simply hope... that. he remains my friend. that einstein is right. that nothing goes away... just changes. that lame paraphrasing of theories by dead jew physicists keep me from missing him too much.
i'm sure i'll do my best not to show it. and sling a grumpy fuck you to anyone who attempts to console me at the impending loss of my friend. but on thinking of the long list of things we've done... good and bad. fun and annoying. it's impossible not to put tremendous value to something of such breadth and longevity.
hopefully we can both go our separate ways... the different paths that life has set before us. and draw on the strength of that past friendship. to find others. or... at the least tolerate the useless bullshit of lesser friends.
knowing that such a good friend is out there somewhere. and that the only real difference, is that time will stretch between any ocasion to see each other. but...ya figure, if you're gonna buy into albert's nonsense on energy, ya may as well tag along with his thoughts on time being relative.
i'll miss ya man.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
lonliness equates to horny
it never fails, i'm home in virginia, and i'm up late... for no reason. and of all the things that could keep a person awake. i tend to drift down memory lane, with a perverts lean towards missed opportunities.
now that means little, and says even less.
and recently, a woman, who has probably put up with entirely too much of my bullshit called me out on being the type that comes calling when i'm lonley and then disappears when i'm not. which, i sadly proved true... without even really meaning to. ...as, i basically ignored her, once i wasn't lonely anymore.
but... i am a shit. and i do get lonley. or maybe lonely isn't the word.
there should be some sort of word that acurately encompasses that state of mind at the wee hours of the morning where a person is beset by severe yet fleeting bouts of introspection.
dipshit just doesn't seem to sit right.
but more often than not... there's typically an element of perv to late night introspection. as if somewhere along the line the urge to masturbate before getting to bed was funneled into thinking about the missed opportunities in life, and or things you wish you had done, or done differently. or not done at all. and bingo. you're stuck between being horny, and hating yourself, and not at all about to get to bed.
but what's the point... i really don't know what this post is about. and should really be getting to bed.
am way to side tracked by the aforementioned crap to put forth anything profound, or even remotely entertaining... yeah.
so... yup. done
now that means little, and says even less.
and recently, a woman, who has probably put up with entirely too much of my bullshit called me out on being the type that comes calling when i'm lonley and then disappears when i'm not. which, i sadly proved true... without even really meaning to. ...as, i basically ignored her, once i wasn't lonely anymore.
but... i am a shit. and i do get lonley. or maybe lonely isn't the word.
there should be some sort of word that acurately encompasses that state of mind at the wee hours of the morning where a person is beset by severe yet fleeting bouts of introspection.
dipshit just doesn't seem to sit right.
but more often than not... there's typically an element of perv to late night introspection. as if somewhere along the line the urge to masturbate before getting to bed was funneled into thinking about the missed opportunities in life, and or things you wish you had done, or done differently. or not done at all. and bingo. you're stuck between being horny, and hating yourself, and not at all about to get to bed.
but what's the point... i really don't know what this post is about. and should really be getting to bed.
am way to side tracked by the aforementioned crap to put forth anything profound, or even remotely entertaining... yeah.
so... yup. done
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Night Sounds
the body wants rest, but the mind gets in the way.
any other night, the feel of sheets, the warmth of the bed. a nice
soft pillow is more than enough to lull me to sleep.
stranger still because i'm tired, body is weak and achy, feet hurt,
back is sore, mind is tired... just slip off. just slip off. ...should be easy.
noise from down the hall. the light beneath the door brings sounds of
roommates that don't know what it is to work a regular job.
less clothes, more comfortable, nice warm quilt.
wrapping myself in its embrace, trying to relax.
open up my ears to the sounds of the city, mechanical sounds, horns,
dog barking, the whistle of wind through the back alley, the flap of
a plastic tarp in the building across the way.
just when i'm ready to fall asleep a new sound enters the mix.
at first faintly heard. almost discounted for TV, it's timber is
unmistakable, and the ears reach for it even though i want to go to
bed.
it comes and goes, that's the worst part. muffled through walls it's
disjointed and ghostly. wafting through space to connect in little
bursts.
it's the sounds of a woman in pleasure. and that makes it worse.
it's close... and real.
your mind fills in the blanks, draws on experience to imagine the
scene. is she playing with herself. or getting fucked.
what does she look like. feel like, it's utterly unavoidable to dwell on it.
so i give in.
and listen. silencing my self, laying perfectly still, tuning out
the noise from down the hall to focus on the sweet sounds coming from
somewhere else.
my roommates don't even know. in the far hall, playing video games,
they couldn't possibly hear.
and as more sounds, and a discernible pattern of rising pleasure hit
my senses, i can't help but touch myself.
now the quilt is too much, as heat from my body warms me up to the
point of distraction. kicking it off, it slides off the end of the
bed. crumpling in a low jumble on the floor.
the sheet even. normally a perfectly simple and comforting thing,
chafes and is cumbersome. the slight popping noise as my hand jerking
my dick, hitting the sheets, is distracting.
i don't want to loose any of the sounds from her.
her voice is so sweet. low, and cloying. she wants whatever someone
is giving to her. hungry for it.
i sigh when she sighs, i ride the waves of her sound like piece of
driftwood. Ebbing and flowing with her. rolling in the sounds of her
delight.
She peaks... and a sharp note of release breaks the night air. Soft
moans of a come down. But there's still a charge in the air. She
isn't done, because I am not done.
And soon again the noises return. Nothing from her partner. Once the
rapid sounds of bodies colliding, but no sound from her suitor. only
her. Wallowing in the pleasure his cock provides.
Each moan, and rise of noise. the soft cursing, the "oh"s and "ah"s
she makes, I put myself into each one.
Soon noticing that I to am making the same noises on my side of the wall.
unbeknownst to me, i've arched my hips, thrusting my cock into the
air... working it with reckless abandon.
my cock is hard, and eager, it's tired to. but wants the release i
share with this mystery woman. Her voice laying tracks in my mind.
Tracing a path to climax.
i let slip a pitiful moan, long and deep. of wanting and desire,
she answers with another orgasm of her own.
short huffy grunts replace my moan, frustrated and alone i agonize in
my situation, relegated to listening to others. I roll in bed, and
grind myself into the mattress. wanting release, hating the sleazy levels i'll stoop to... but aware her sounds have died off.
angry, i focus on myself, wallowing in my torment and need for
pleasure. somewhere in the exchange i've gotten the lube, and i'm a
wet mess, making sloppy sounds, slippery over myself. Playing with
myself with shameful abandon. Moans, Groans... my turn to make noise.
...and then a knock?!?
i freeze... maybe my roommates?
no, wasn't a door knock, or even a door sound, or wooden sound, was
the sound of tapping on a wall.
another quick pair of knocks. low thuds, nearly at the level of my bed.
"more" was the word that i heard.
and with that. resumed my play. The sounds of a hand sliding over a
lubricated cock, sounding shockingly loud all of a sudden.
slippery sounds. no idea if she could hear. now my mind was frantic,
trying to rethink how loud i had been.
"louder" came her voice. I was terrified for being caught. but still
incredibly horny.
and now... her sounds again. she was playing alongside me.
was a sweet combination, we again matched rhythms. my moans met
hers... i made mine louder, directing them toward the wall.
and i felt myself build towards cumming.
she was well charged. and seemed to build faster. and i stroked my
cock with furious speed. squeezing and stroking it as fast as my
muscles would go.
i heard her words. "i'm cumming" ...followed by a cascade of sweet
moaning sighs.
On nearly her last one, i lost it...i quick seep of warmth through my
balls. up the length of my cock... and i came.
cum gushing forth from my cock. hot streams of lust splashing against me.
I nearly screamed a moan at her. clenching my teeth and sounding a
deep noise. and as my custom, laughed as the wetness and creamy
slick feel of my dick brought a chuckle to my lips.
deep full laughter, i gave to her.
and in reply, heard cute little giggles as a response.
...hoped you liked the story
any other night, the feel of sheets, the warmth of the bed. a nice
soft pillow is more than enough to lull me to sleep.
stranger still because i'm tired, body is weak and achy, feet hurt,
back is sore, mind is tired... just slip off. just slip off. ...should be easy.
noise from down the hall. the light beneath the door brings sounds of
roommates that don't know what it is to work a regular job.
less clothes, more comfortable, nice warm quilt.
wrapping myself in its embrace, trying to relax.
open up my ears to the sounds of the city, mechanical sounds, horns,
dog barking, the whistle of wind through the back alley, the flap of
a plastic tarp in the building across the way.
just when i'm ready to fall asleep a new sound enters the mix.
at first faintly heard. almost discounted for TV, it's timber is
unmistakable, and the ears reach for it even though i want to go to
bed.
it comes and goes, that's the worst part. muffled through walls it's
disjointed and ghostly. wafting through space to connect in little
bursts.
it's the sounds of a woman in pleasure. and that makes it worse.
it's close... and real.
your mind fills in the blanks, draws on experience to imagine the
scene. is she playing with herself. or getting fucked.
what does she look like. feel like, it's utterly unavoidable to dwell on it.
so i give in.
and listen. silencing my self, laying perfectly still, tuning out
the noise from down the hall to focus on the sweet sounds coming from
somewhere else.
my roommates don't even know. in the far hall, playing video games,
they couldn't possibly hear.
and as more sounds, and a discernible pattern of rising pleasure hit
my senses, i can't help but touch myself.
now the quilt is too much, as heat from my body warms me up to the
point of distraction. kicking it off, it slides off the end of the
bed. crumpling in a low jumble on the floor.
the sheet even. normally a perfectly simple and comforting thing,
chafes and is cumbersome. the slight popping noise as my hand jerking
my dick, hitting the sheets, is distracting.
i don't want to loose any of the sounds from her.
her voice is so sweet. low, and cloying. she wants whatever someone
is giving to her. hungry for it.
i sigh when she sighs, i ride the waves of her sound like piece of
driftwood. Ebbing and flowing with her. rolling in the sounds of her
delight.
She peaks... and a sharp note of release breaks the night air. Soft
moans of a come down. But there's still a charge in the air. She
isn't done, because I am not done.
And soon again the noises return. Nothing from her partner. Once the
rapid sounds of bodies colliding, but no sound from her suitor. only
her. Wallowing in the pleasure his cock provides.
Each moan, and rise of noise. the soft cursing, the "oh"s and "ah"s
she makes, I put myself into each one.
Soon noticing that I to am making the same noises on my side of the wall.
unbeknownst to me, i've arched my hips, thrusting my cock into the
air... working it with reckless abandon.
my cock is hard, and eager, it's tired to. but wants the release i
share with this mystery woman. Her voice laying tracks in my mind.
Tracing a path to climax.
i let slip a pitiful moan, long and deep. of wanting and desire,
she answers with another orgasm of her own.
short huffy grunts replace my moan, frustrated and alone i agonize in
my situation, relegated to listening to others. I roll in bed, and
grind myself into the mattress. wanting release, hating the sleazy levels i'll stoop to... but aware her sounds have died off.
angry, i focus on myself, wallowing in my torment and need for
pleasure. somewhere in the exchange i've gotten the lube, and i'm a
wet mess, making sloppy sounds, slippery over myself. Playing with
myself with shameful abandon. Moans, Groans... my turn to make noise.
...and then a knock?!?
i freeze... maybe my roommates?
no, wasn't a door knock, or even a door sound, or wooden sound, was
the sound of tapping on a wall.
another quick pair of knocks. low thuds, nearly at the level of my bed.
"more" was the word that i heard.
and with that. resumed my play. The sounds of a hand sliding over a
lubricated cock, sounding shockingly loud all of a sudden.
slippery sounds. no idea if she could hear. now my mind was frantic,
trying to rethink how loud i had been.
"louder" came her voice. I was terrified for being caught. but still
incredibly horny.
and now... her sounds again. she was playing alongside me.
was a sweet combination, we again matched rhythms. my moans met
hers... i made mine louder, directing them toward the wall.
and i felt myself build towards cumming.
she was well charged. and seemed to build faster. and i stroked my
cock with furious speed. squeezing and stroking it as fast as my
muscles would go.
i heard her words. "i'm cumming" ...followed by a cascade of sweet
moaning sighs.
On nearly her last one, i lost it...i quick seep of warmth through my
balls. up the length of my cock... and i came.
cum gushing forth from my cock. hot streams of lust splashing against me.
I nearly screamed a moan at her. clenching my teeth and sounding a
deep noise. and as my custom, laughed as the wetness and creamy
slick feel of my dick brought a chuckle to my lips.
deep full laughter, i gave to her.
and in reply, heard cute little giggles as a response.
...hoped you liked the story
Saturday, January 17, 2009
books are sexy
just a random thought i had.
sitting in my room. coming down from a mildly satisfying wank.
i like my books. i finally got some shelves on the wall several months back, and have nearly filled them all with books i've read, or soon plan to read.
and i like to be a bit cunty about books. how they looks. i'm a whore for hard back books. i like that they're taller, more formal looking. I sometimes cringe when a book in hard back has a really tacky or garish jacket cover... or if the inside binding/stock of the book is some really retarded color scheme. And so forces you to keep the dust cover on ...because the actual book is dumb looking.
I tend to read a lot of the same kinds of books. mainly horror, sci fi, fantasy, and then a smattering of "old master" type books. I love story books. Can be as complex as you like... but i really enjoy the simple art of a story. More modern books, and especially emotional horseshit novels where nothing really happens kind of piss me off.
And i don't mind character novels. where the book... is mainly the journey or ...world through one central character's eyes. but i want that book to still go somewhere or do something. doesn't have to be good vs evil. or something lame like that. but i want there to be a beginning... a problem. some struggle.. and some sort of resolution. the story within can use any gimmick or technique it wants. but i want that arc. the classic story arc.
i've been trying to branch out into more contemporary reading. but i always walk blindly into some novel... that's supposed to be so good. and then is just meandering emotional horse shit with no story.
family dramas. or modern, emotional detachment crap. or metaphorical pretense supposedly to mean something or other. i get it. you're new, and not constrained by the tired cliches of story writing. your books suck though.
and i've also struggled to find good stories written by female authors. which i think just might be a hard wired macho pric thing. that i don't empathise with a woman author. and can't see the differing perspective as to... what constitutes the story for a woman. So i dunno.
i find women who read sexy. I like a woman with books on her shelf. the subtle examination aspect. being laid bare by what you read.
although i like my books, i'm sure they paint a fairly one sided picture of me. although if you take the time to examine them. there are some quirky gems admist the stephen king and dorky sci fi/fantasy books.
i like looking at a woman's books. to see what she reads. to gauge our compatibility. What does a woman draw pleasure from...through reading. what books to her are good stories. How many of the proto typical chic books does she display.
in nyc a lot of people read on the subway. it's like built in down time. and if you're lucky enough to get a seat, or nimble enough to read standing. it's the perfect time to read.
i like sneaking a glance at what people are reading. like watching a woman's eyes glide over the words. the absentminded and elegant turn of a page. sometimes a smile will break on their face. or their eyes will light up. I wonder what they just read.
something merely funny. or personally affectual. something naughty, something cruel and mean that they secretly identify with, some triumph of some hero or herorine?
it goes to the core of what books are.
tiny secrets trapped within the pages. to get at it, you simply have to devote the time to reading.
and once you have it. it's yours. the memory, the story, the creative imaginative flights of fancy, the dream of another world. the cold reality of the current one. someone's story. some expression of another person...
and you share that with anyone else who's read the book as well.
erotic writing is a bit trickier. in so much that it's hard to find anything worth reading. more "serious" authors will use flowery tricks to hide the smut in pretty words. older books were probably forced to do this for societal norms to accept. modern books do it to not appear cheap and smutty.
the actual smut can also be tricky. i mean, there's romance novels a plenty. but that's mainly a genre for bored house wives. that caters specifically to the cliches women respond to.
erotica. which can be interesting, but tends to be very specific. and so sometimes misses it's mark.
i tend to read very erotic things, into simpler books. or see aspects of kink in characters from classic novels.
the submissive, the dominant, the compulsive, the obcessive.
i tried to make the case once, that Mary Shelly, clearly wanted a nice hard fucking. because her character dr frankenstien was so madly obcessed, and a driven individual, that the only real underlying will for the author was a sexual desire to be totally the focus of such a person. and her expression of such internal debate was the monster. who desperately wanted acceptance, and love... and yet had violent power and whatnot.
that's the kinda thing i'll dwell on. the motivations that are unsaid. probably... way way off base. but i still sometimes twist my mind on that sort of crap.
...so. i'm beginning to ramble.
i can't say too terribly much more, aside from the simple statement. that books are sexy. and reading is something people should do. find the time. find a book. if you know people who read. ask for suggestions. take a chance on genre's you don't think you'd like.
you'll be the richer for the attempt.
hope you liked the story.
sitting in my room. coming down from a mildly satisfying wank.
i like my books. i finally got some shelves on the wall several months back, and have nearly filled them all with books i've read, or soon plan to read.
and i like to be a bit cunty about books. how they looks. i'm a whore for hard back books. i like that they're taller, more formal looking. I sometimes cringe when a book in hard back has a really tacky or garish jacket cover... or if the inside binding/stock of the book is some really retarded color scheme. And so forces you to keep the dust cover on ...because the actual book is dumb looking.
I tend to read a lot of the same kinds of books. mainly horror, sci fi, fantasy, and then a smattering of "old master" type books. I love story books. Can be as complex as you like... but i really enjoy the simple art of a story. More modern books, and especially emotional horseshit novels where nothing really happens kind of piss me off.
And i don't mind character novels. where the book... is mainly the journey or ...world through one central character's eyes. but i want that book to still go somewhere or do something. doesn't have to be good vs evil. or something lame like that. but i want there to be a beginning... a problem. some struggle.. and some sort of resolution. the story within can use any gimmick or technique it wants. but i want that arc. the classic story arc.
i've been trying to branch out into more contemporary reading. but i always walk blindly into some novel... that's supposed to be so good. and then is just meandering emotional horse shit with no story.
family dramas. or modern, emotional detachment crap. or metaphorical pretense supposedly to mean something or other. i get it. you're new, and not constrained by the tired cliches of story writing. your books suck though.
and i've also struggled to find good stories written by female authors. which i think just might be a hard wired macho pric thing. that i don't empathise with a woman author. and can't see the differing perspective as to... what constitutes the story for a woman. So i dunno.
i find women who read sexy. I like a woman with books on her shelf. the subtle examination aspect. being laid bare by what you read.
although i like my books, i'm sure they paint a fairly one sided picture of me. although if you take the time to examine them. there are some quirky gems admist the stephen king and dorky sci fi/fantasy books.
i like looking at a woman's books. to see what she reads. to gauge our compatibility. What does a woman draw pleasure from...through reading. what books to her are good stories. How many of the proto typical chic books does she display.
in nyc a lot of people read on the subway. it's like built in down time. and if you're lucky enough to get a seat, or nimble enough to read standing. it's the perfect time to read.
i like sneaking a glance at what people are reading. like watching a woman's eyes glide over the words. the absentminded and elegant turn of a page. sometimes a smile will break on their face. or their eyes will light up. I wonder what they just read.
something merely funny. or personally affectual. something naughty, something cruel and mean that they secretly identify with, some triumph of some hero or herorine?
it goes to the core of what books are.
tiny secrets trapped within the pages. to get at it, you simply have to devote the time to reading.
and once you have it. it's yours. the memory, the story, the creative imaginative flights of fancy, the dream of another world. the cold reality of the current one. someone's story. some expression of another person...
and you share that with anyone else who's read the book as well.
erotic writing is a bit trickier. in so much that it's hard to find anything worth reading. more "serious" authors will use flowery tricks to hide the smut in pretty words. older books were probably forced to do this for societal norms to accept. modern books do it to not appear cheap and smutty.
the actual smut can also be tricky. i mean, there's romance novels a plenty. but that's mainly a genre for bored house wives. that caters specifically to the cliches women respond to.
erotica. which can be interesting, but tends to be very specific. and so sometimes misses it's mark.
i tend to read very erotic things, into simpler books. or see aspects of kink in characters from classic novels.
the submissive, the dominant, the compulsive, the obcessive.
i tried to make the case once, that Mary Shelly, clearly wanted a nice hard fucking. because her character dr frankenstien was so madly obcessed, and a driven individual, that the only real underlying will for the author was a sexual desire to be totally the focus of such a person. and her expression of such internal debate was the monster. who desperately wanted acceptance, and love... and yet had violent power and whatnot.
that's the kinda thing i'll dwell on. the motivations that are unsaid. probably... way way off base. but i still sometimes twist my mind on that sort of crap.
...so. i'm beginning to ramble.
i can't say too terribly much more, aside from the simple statement. that books are sexy. and reading is something people should do. find the time. find a book. if you know people who read. ask for suggestions. take a chance on genre's you don't think you'd like.
you'll be the richer for the attempt.
hope you liked the story.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Contemplating Limits
As it is, i've stumbled onto someone willing to play games.
Her new dare, to test my submissiveness is for me to wear women's underwear.
Something I personally have no interest, or erotic feelings toward. On the contrary, this idea of "sissy sub" or femme or what have you I find fairly annoying.
I understand the drive, the aspect of control, or domination of a man by making him wear absurd or gender bending attire. Force him into the role women sometimes are expected to assume.
But to me it triggers an anger response. Or being fucked with. Which is the only reason i'm even mildly considering it.
That... that anger response, and submitting, or sublimating it may be the gateway to the erotic nature of the kink.
Bigger trouble, honestly may be trying to acquire frilly panties that fit my big ass. But i'm sure that'd only be a mild obstacle, so i'm trying not to base my objection solely on that.
Is it something I want to do? no...not really.
but the idea is to submit and give control to another woman. let her dominate or otherwise dictate my behavior irregardless of my wants or opinion.
If it pleases my mistress, shouldn't i conform to her wishes. And let my shame, or uncomfortably show. Maybe that's what she wants. Maybe that's the drive on her end.
So the question becomes, is this something that i won't do. or just something I don't want to do... and as that, a test of my willingness to serve.
Ultimately it's an internal struggle, once done it's done. And in my head I've already started to deconstruct the entire thing. Underwear... and personifying it with gender attributes is stupid. It's fabric. It means nothing. Even if it's obviously so in society, in actuality it's all just clothing. To take it's power away is to view it as simply that.
but then that's just a cheap rationalization... i'd still be wearing women's underwear.
the anger response is actually interesting as well. It playing into this unresolved aspect I have with my submissive nature. Where... i want to be controlled or dominated, and yet view most women as weak. In the limited experience I've had with dominant women, the method in which they express power is through posture or pretense. I'm dominant because I say I am, dress a certain way, speak a certain way, etc etc etc. and Sexually it just translates into being bossy.
The question may be... why does a dominant woman feel the need to feminize a man in order to establish control over him. ie... if she has to lay him low, that means, he was high to begin with.
The semantics don't work in her favor.
I tend to view mental aspects of control as lesser. Maybe that's a macho pric thing to say. But honestly. You can't control someone's mind, or perspective.
It rings as a metaphysical impossibility... a lie.
Doms who want to dictate what their subs can say, who they can talk to... when they can please themselves, or try and control their naughty thoughts. It all seems a very thin game.
Where the sub must then choose to participate. And i'd say...very heavily. Play along.
But if, on the other hand... you tie someone up. Or bind their genitals in some chastity device. then you do control them. The sub is vulnerable and dependant on their master for nearly everything. Explicitly sexual aspects, but also... the trust that eventually they'd be let out. for fear of thirst/hunger/injury.
but even that... i dunno.
the aspect of laying deathly still, to willingly go into bondage... seems boring. The only reason you're imobile and prone is that you chose to let someone tie you up. Which i'm sure lends to ever more artful and interesting bondage. but is it really an expression of submission, or more to the point... are you really "dominating" someone if they have to let you tie them up?
I think about these things as the practicalities of BDSM play. And maybe i'm ignorant. I'd assume forcible play.. or rape scenes may be more agressive. But then you add this conotation of "rape" ...is there a line between wanting to be fucked, and yet resisting the restraint?
in the wide world of sexuality i imagine there is.
but closer to home. i have to decide if i want to go shopping for underpants.
Her new dare, to test my submissiveness is for me to wear women's underwear.
Something I personally have no interest, or erotic feelings toward. On the contrary, this idea of "sissy sub" or femme or what have you I find fairly annoying.
I understand the drive, the aspect of control, or domination of a man by making him wear absurd or gender bending attire. Force him into the role women sometimes are expected to assume.
But to me it triggers an anger response. Or being fucked with. Which is the only reason i'm even mildly considering it.
That... that anger response, and submitting, or sublimating it may be the gateway to the erotic nature of the kink.
Bigger trouble, honestly may be trying to acquire frilly panties that fit my big ass. But i'm sure that'd only be a mild obstacle, so i'm trying not to base my objection solely on that.
Is it something I want to do? no...not really.
but the idea is to submit and give control to another woman. let her dominate or otherwise dictate my behavior irregardless of my wants or opinion.
If it pleases my mistress, shouldn't i conform to her wishes. And let my shame, or uncomfortably show. Maybe that's what she wants. Maybe that's the drive on her end.
So the question becomes, is this something that i won't do. or just something I don't want to do... and as that, a test of my willingness to serve.
Ultimately it's an internal struggle, once done it's done. And in my head I've already started to deconstruct the entire thing. Underwear... and personifying it with gender attributes is stupid. It's fabric. It means nothing. Even if it's obviously so in society, in actuality it's all just clothing. To take it's power away is to view it as simply that.
but then that's just a cheap rationalization... i'd still be wearing women's underwear.
the anger response is actually interesting as well. It playing into this unresolved aspect I have with my submissive nature. Where... i want to be controlled or dominated, and yet view most women as weak. In the limited experience I've had with dominant women, the method in which they express power is through posture or pretense. I'm dominant because I say I am, dress a certain way, speak a certain way, etc etc etc. and Sexually it just translates into being bossy.
The question may be... why does a dominant woman feel the need to feminize a man in order to establish control over him. ie... if she has to lay him low, that means, he was high to begin with.
The semantics don't work in her favor.
I tend to view mental aspects of control as lesser. Maybe that's a macho pric thing to say. But honestly. You can't control someone's mind, or perspective.
It rings as a metaphysical impossibility... a lie.
Doms who want to dictate what their subs can say, who they can talk to... when they can please themselves, or try and control their naughty thoughts. It all seems a very thin game.
Where the sub must then choose to participate. And i'd say...very heavily. Play along.
But if, on the other hand... you tie someone up. Or bind their genitals in some chastity device. then you do control them. The sub is vulnerable and dependant on their master for nearly everything. Explicitly sexual aspects, but also... the trust that eventually they'd be let out. for fear of thirst/hunger/injury.
but even that... i dunno.
the aspect of laying deathly still, to willingly go into bondage... seems boring. The only reason you're imobile and prone is that you chose to let someone tie you up. Which i'm sure lends to ever more artful and interesting bondage. but is it really an expression of submission, or more to the point... are you really "dominating" someone if they have to let you tie them up?
I think about these things as the practicalities of BDSM play. And maybe i'm ignorant. I'd assume forcible play.. or rape scenes may be more agressive. But then you add this conotation of "rape" ...is there a line between wanting to be fucked, and yet resisting the restraint?
in the wide world of sexuality i imagine there is.
but closer to home. i have to decide if i want to go shopping for underpants.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Cindy
I've put off writing this entry for some time now. It's only when I realize i fill up most of this thing with primarily fictional nonsense that I realize there are some actual pieces to the puzzle of me.
The trick is always, how do you quantify something that's tangible. Avoid the pitfalls of ego, or self doubt to accurately relay something that was formative in your life.
Maybe start at the beginning? and try and explain it out from there? yeah... why not.
Cindy,
i met her in a video game. How corny is that. The story is actually kind of sweet. And important that it laid the groundwork for a lot of the oddness of this story.
MMORPGs are games where you log in with people from all over the world. And strangely. most often play the game alone. Sure...real live people swirl around you. but like in real life, most people are caught up in their own thing.
I love these games. Because, sometimes there's a chance to make lasting connections, with total strangers within the fantasy dork context i love to play in.
Me and a good friend of mine used to play these together. His archetype for himself was always the dark mage... i always preferred the large club wielding brute.
The character I was playing at the time i met Cindy, was just that. A club wielding brute. And her character was a healing mage. In an area where the monsters hit hard and swarmed, it was easy to be overun, and the retreat point was towards the exit. Where sometimes mages sat, giving out "buffs" or heals, or other support spells. Cindy was there. And I'd come running around the corner with a half dozen monsters on my tail. make a stand, and by her help... actually pull through.
Greatful for the assist. I gave her a rare magic key... which was one of the primary loot rewards of the dungeon.
She thanked me... and off i went again.
Only to be back moments later... with my char near death, and in need of magic. She obliged my sillyness and healed/buffed me again. I gave her another key.
This routine went on for awhile. Until We both needed a break, and left the dungeon to chat.
She was amused at my tendency to fetch keys for her as I had taken it upon myself to fetch them for her.
After that first chance meeting. We became friends in the game. Meeting up. Teaming up. Generally just enjoying the game.
I picked up hints that she liked my servile nature. And i think she realized i was somewhat of a perv when she met my mage named "Sybian" ...yeah, that sybian.
So there is as dorky a first encounter/budding friendship as you could possibly orchestrate. but in a certain regard. that's who i am. I'm a dork. And on some levels. Extend that idealized self of me...into some of these games i play.
Was also during that game, the first time i lied to her.
Most often in online games you don't assume any women actually play them. there's even a term for it: G.I.R.L (guys in real life). so. the off chance you meet an actual gal. Respectfulness would dictate not being some pig headed ass to them.
So when we were idily talking about ourselves. a/s/l etc. I mentioned i was married. It seemed like an easier way to seem non threatening. And really a tiny white lie. As no one really expects virtual friendships to last.
Least i didn't. Maybe that was my bigger first mistake. Not genuinely respecting the friendship we'd forged. But I didn't think twice then. I entirely expected to sooner or later lose touch with her. As people do in those sorts of games.
But instead of that, our friendship only grew.
as now, i was then, a horribly babbling mess. You get me talking... i talk forever. I love words, details, the mintuae of things. I'm caught up in the worthlessness of semantics, and the underlying nothingness of things.
Our conversations, were friendly, and sometimes flirty. And then grew a bit naughty. Then were regularly about subjects that were adult.
All the while she'd tease and tempt me. I think banking on the fact that i was "married" to give her the confidence to play with me.
All the while, I was trying to think of someway to untangle the lie i had cast.
I remember she wanted to talk. And I always had to have some reason not to be able to. Somewhat because she was much older than me. And at the time, I was still living with my parents. but also, because I couldn't face the farce of the relationship.
I'm a good liar, because i don't care. But i have a hard time breaking someone's trust if i have it. And will go ever deeper into lies or convolution to maintain the illusion i think someone wants.
I found her attractive. I gravitated towards her presence. Her age, and knowledge. Also her kinky side. I think one of the first pictures of her she showed me was of a black heeled "pump" and her large breasts, and kinky dominant side was like a burning tack in my brain.
And i think she liked me. I think for sure, part of it was play on her part. But, if chance had aligned... she may've spirited me away to corrupt my virtue.
I forget exactly how this stage of our "knowing each other" ended. But i'm fairly certain it was entirely my fault. I recall that she increasing sought more from me. Of the things specifically I couldnt give her. Honestly, or direct attention.
And from there it devolved in to me distancing from her. Until, I think i lashed out at her childishly in an email. Insulting her, and belittling her, out of my own annoyance and fear at the sham i had made of things. I'm fairly certain i confessed to the lies i had told. And said hurtful things. I have a point where i find it easier just to be an asshole and burn everything down. And in my youth i'm sure i was petty, pathetic, and cruel about it.
I don't rightly know how she took it. I assume on some level she was hurt. Maybe just another in a string of disappointments from men who had represented themselves better.
I was ashamed to be at my heart... a very low version of myself.
Also i think there was a disconnect, that would play in later, between the dynamic. Of me wanting to be an object, and her wanting the dynamic to be more human.
I wanted her to use me. I saw in her the opportunity for use. I definitely wanted to please her. And be things for her. But in the ways i connected to those aspects. They were mainly sexual and disposable. She wanted me to care. And i unfortunately didn't.
Later.
maybe years. maybe 2-5 years later. I think... I was just cleaning out some files on a computer. Checking emails. Or instant messenger friends lists. etc. And was rooting out old unknowns.
And either a random email. Or annoying random IM. And our friendship rekindled.
maybe multiple random emails. As i tend to be the sort... that does this sort of "checking/cleaning" of files... only to never really delete files/old contacts. and do the same annoying "hey... how do i know you" thing months later.
but...as irony would have it. Our first couple of conversations revolved around games. And i liked the idea of playing with her again in a game setting. And jumped at the chance.
too bad it was guild wars. which i didn't really like. but again. I was a club wielding fool, and she a much more powerful mage. Just like old times.
we even started chatting again. and i resolved not to lie to her. which was difficult. cause i don't deal in a lot of absolutes. people always want definite answers. yes, no. good, bad. when in reality everything is a maybe, depends, or is some shade of gray. but. I made the effort.
and apparently she missed my babbling.
being more out on my own, i was able to actually converse with her. and spent many nights wandering brooklyn talking with her on the phone while latino gang folks gave me weird looks.
or long nights in my apt talking away.
which is both good and bad. i became wrapped up in her life. we emailed back and forth, spoke on a regular basis. talked long ...meandering conversations. I knew what she was up to. knew about the stress in her life. the problems in her life. The things that flitted through her mind.
and i'm sure she got to hear a lot of my bitching and moaning. or otherwise babbling about a wide range of nothing.
and then we would talk dirty.
i remember it being a bit different. she seem guarded. (which was understandable) and loved to take the high road... of being too old, and "over" petty perversions. That she didn't need some little smut friend, she needed an actual relationship.
i took it willingly, because i felt i deserved the negative shame. it was my low behavior that had ruined our earlier friendship. so i was the whipping boy. made to be lesser, or substandard to her. I also kind of liked groveling for her. I liked figuring out how to please her or temper things to not set off her defenses.
we tended to bicker over that a lot. what exactly we were doing. what my "plans" were. It seemed like i was to either move to DC to be near her, or i was playing games. And for my part. I tried to be realistic. I don't believe in value standards. It took me a lot to get out on my own. And some people think i just tag along. But i'm out, and on my own. If need be i'll burn all bridges and just be alone. but i'm never going back.
in the city you see people burn out. or give up. can't make it, or their idea of what nyc is or should have been didn't fit their idiotic sex in the city dream land. and they fucking leave. normally crawling home to mommy and daddy, who were supporting them mostly anyway.
i'd made it to nyc on my own. was for the vast part. self sufficient, and wasn't giving that up for anyone. I always say... i don't have much of anything. but everything i have is mine.
i tried to explain this to her. but... she couldn't concede the point. to her, or for her. this idea of her/her life being more important/established was essential to protecting herself. (which i didn't begrudge her... but thought was silly... especially within the context of what we were)
In my mind some of that was pathetic defense. All people like being naughty. And love attention and an outlet. She was right not to truly trust me. but i think her expectations again ran contrary to mine. Especially. as more of an adult... and in light of her constant tract of being more mature, or wise in these things. to have unrealistic expectations, for a relationship that basically boiled down to ... gaming, chat, and phone calls.. and phone sex. what was the real expectation?
was i again misrepresenting myself? i tried my hardest not to. to thread the line between being honest without being overly sappy. I mean... i desired her attention, her company. I was more than content to offer an ear to vent life's endless toils on. But... we were what we were.
a game.
i loved hearing her play with herself on the phone though. I admit fully i was greedy and pervish for that.
Women tend to think they can win men through their heart and seeming more human. when the truth is. tickle his cock and enslave his mind. and it breeds much better devotion.
I can recall long late nights, listening to her touching herself. her voice, her breathing. the sounds she made when she came. I'd whisper all manner of compliments and smut at her. While playing with myself.
I'd write her naughty stories, and send her notes. Thinking about her in my day to day.
When she was upset. or not in the mood, i made myself supplicant and tried to cheer her up. Offering her my best attempts at sincere compassion.
Normally though it devolved into phone sex. Which set an odd tone for the rest of the relationship. ie... how much talking do we have to do before your fingers are in your pussy?
but eventually. we talked ourselves into an encounter.
admittedly i was broke most of the time. which i don't think people really understand about nyc. some weeks, i skate by on only a few dollars till the next paycheck. eating lunch, or doing laundry... or finding the money for that is sometimes a challenge. the idea of taking off for a weekend to some other city. is out of the fucking question. Sorry. i just can't.
So.. she came here.
She was going to some bullshit concert with one of her friends.
I resolved myself to meet her. Was actually excited to. It seemed natural. or at least a logical fucking progression...well over due.
I was nervous. i had maintained one final fib with her. I don't think she knew or I ever told her that i was a virgin.
I had managed my fair share of odd encounters before that. Rounded all the bases except the final one. And being a perv. landed into some sexual situations that are more intense than sex. but... never did the classic. rod A into slot B.
which... i honestly, couldn't tell her. it had it's ramifications. but. i'm a creatively minded person. and i'm a quick study, and details nut. when it comes to these sorts of things.
and if anything, she knew i had never done anything like this before. that our entire sorted "relationship" was an utter unknown to me. apparently she had some experience with this sort of thing. And wasn't a stranger to casual relationships, or bdsm arrangements that were casual.
so... i gave myself to her, over to her experience and control.
i made no secret of that. i was hers to use. and do as she asked. and i think... maybe wanted to be used more than she was willing to entertain.
so the day neared. and we dbl checked the plans. i remember having disjointed nervous conversations with my roommate. which boiled down to... fuck it. better to regret something you do. than something you didn't do.
and so with that attitude i went to meet her.
in NJ no less. you couldn't paint a more seedy rendezvous. some hilton off the path train/airport. if i'd been the squeamish sort, i'd see the thing as a giant trap rape scenario... that i was blindly walking into.
but... i found her.
and we found each other enjoyable enough. her friend was a pudgy queer. who was personable enough. her fag shield. that should have been a bigger warning sign. but i have no problem with gay folks. but there are reasons some women surround themselves with effeminate gossipy gay men. and most of those reasons don't speak to being well adjusted or internally happy.
but those were thoughts for much later.
we had awkward conversation. in her hotel room. her friend left us alone.
having never done a Jersey booty call i had no idea what to do. Like a frigid cunt i kept my distance. sitting away from her. Even attempting to take the other bed.
Thankfully she had none of it.
as soon as i crawled into bed with her. she attacked me.
a very aggressive kisser. almost too aggressive. but i liked the forcefulness of her. most women are annoyingly passive kissers, or busy mouthed. she was forceful and direct.
i also loved the size of her. she was a big gal. but it was comforting and sensual to have a large women break me in.
unfortunately i should probably confess to being utterly mortified with the thought of performing under these conditions.
i needed her to take charge in the other areas. but... as it happened, and normally does. men are expected to lead in that dance.
so... i stalled for time. playing with her tits. kissing, rubbing her ass. feeling her body. playing with her pussy.
but i'm very skittish sexually. i'd get rock hard one second. and go limp the next. my mind would light on something. some touch, or bite, or pinch, her hands on my dick. and it's spring to life.
position to fuck, ...tangled in bed sheets... and wet noodle.
it was classic virgin stupidity. and my mind was just racing.
but she was patient. and lovely.
girls i think have it easy. once you're past the break point of someone wanting to fuck you. they can normally get away with just laying there. only thing they have to do... is be wet.(which obviously prob paints me as all kinds of asshole for saying).
boys. it's a quagmire of confusion, pleasure, fear, rage, desire, and pain.
i was fascinated by her pussy. she liked me to touch her. and spent a lot of time feeling her body. fingering her pussy. getting her nice and hot.
i remember cautions gentle exploration with both my hands and tongue. in the dark, feeling her, tracing the outlines of her vagina, and then exploring within.
I have no idea if she liked it or not, but she was at least gracious enough to let me take my time.
the first couple of times that's all we managed. just for me to get her off with my hands. she liked it fast ... and somewhat rough. which i think still very much influences my idea of manual stimulation on women to this day.
after playing with her, i wanted nothing more than to be buried between her legs.
i wanted her to sit on my face. but she was nervous she'd hurt me. women always think they can hurt men.
even if you could hurt me, i'd be too much of a macho jackass to admit it.
but... instead of pressing the issue, i wiggled down off the bed. and found purchase between her legs... with my face firmly planted on her vulva.
slipping on the floor, my feet caught in the bed sheet, if you were looking in, it must have looked comical. but i was determined. and more than that. incredibly turned on by the darkness, mixed with the heat and wetness of her pussy. the movement of her body, the size of her. the responses she gave, and signals that flood your mind. the bits of pain and annoyance that come with that act. everything from sore jaw, to tired tongue, to searing pain in my feet from somehow straining my arches...by basically standing tippy toe while eating her out.
by the time i stopped i was doing more panting than licking. and she'd cum again.
at that point i figured i was owed a break(or more honestly. i was a bit tired... and needed a break...superman i definitely am not...ashamedly admitted mediocre upstart)
she being nice... allowed me back into bed. and let me rest. i think, maybe feeling bad, decided to tease and play with my penis.
to my crushing disappointment... the pattern of my life of gettin shitty head was begun that night. and for a woman so demanding and powerful in my mind. she seemed to give up on my poor penis way too soon.
don't women know, the only thing men actually do want. is for them to throw caution out the window and just lose all abandon. it's a cock. fucking jerk it and suck it until it explodes. it's simple. there's no art to it. just get to work. we're all more than happy to give insight to what feels good and what doesn't but women tend to falter when faced with a man who isn't turned on by a hot breath. we're all horny, but we're not all turned on with the flip of a switch.
i wilted under the realization that she was bad at that.
but. i suppose it was quid pro quo.
every attempt we made at fucking that first night was laughable. from figuring out positions. to me keeping it up.
we retreated to safer territory of sex toys and some light spanking. just to kill some time.
i was fascinated by her collection of toys. in hindsight, fairly standard. but she had a nice pyrex dildo, a simple leather paddle, some buzz vibes, and other odds and ends. when it was obvious my penis wasn't going to be cooperating, i suggested the glass dildo, and that seemed to work well enough.
again she was patient and expressive. and i eager to please, and desperate to catalog as much "experience" as possible. So...while i was scared shitless. I was open to any and everything i could try otherwise.
eventually... both getting tired, and me dosing off with my hand between her legs.
the next morning, i think was a bit quick, she had to do the things she's come to the city to do, so there was little time. we'd stayed up fairly late... and were now of course running late.
i was horribly ashamed of my poor erectile performance the night before. i never wanted to be punished more in my life. i remember the way her body looked in the filtered light of the NJ morning.
we had some amusing morning conversation, contemplating the idea of a quickie.
instead we made out and i made her cum again by rubbing her pussy very rapidly.
while she got in the shower, i went outside to smoke. texting my best friend "apparently my hand smells like pussy" ...which, if you know me you may understand the joke in that.
but... showered(both of us) we met up with her friend, and took the train into the city.
i tend to be the sort of person who's outwardly protective. I like to stand just a step behind, and to the side of whatever woman i'm with. With Cindy, I hovered close, and watched over her.
fidgeting in the day light, under the smirks and whispered jokes between her and her friend. I boiled at the idea of me being unable to perform the night before. and couldn't decide what was better. her keeping my secret, or humiliating me in front of her chubby gay friend.
we made it to the city, and wandered a bit. they eventually had to go to their concert. I went back to brooklyn. having made plans to meet them later after their show.
when the time came i met them. and we ate dinner. i tried to be interested in stories about the show/concert but had no frame of reference to give a shit about. I mainly watched her eyes.
when we made it back to casa sleep 'n fuck out in NJ. we made some chit chat with her friend. and he made a humorous exit.
that night went a bit better. she was more forceful, and we managed to pull off some of the basics.
although i was still a mess. god only knows what i need to sustain a persistant erection. my only excuse is i was way out of my league. but i don't like to make excuses. one would assume a guy's only task is to get it up. and be a fucking man about it.
there's no greater annoyance than not having your cock cooperate. the jokes and ideas about it having a mind of it's own... i may actually buy. but in the simplest sense. fucking really isn't all it's cracked up to be. a hand job, or decent blow job, feels better. hell... having simple run there hands through your hair is more passively erotic than the slop and flop of fucking. a hard cock is more so for ease of use. as confused cock is problematic at best... infuriating at it's worst.
i had all these plans. ideas, and kinky games. that she was more than willing to play. in effect i was trying to make up for the long years of being a virgin all in one night. unaware how absurd the reality of that task was going to be obviously.
but... i'm adaptable.
i'd segway in and out of standard fair, to silly nonsense, to getting 3-4 fingers burried inside her.
i remember fucking her from behind... and then losing it by being awestruck by the sight of her ass in the moonlight. and leaned over her in total release... just cradling her butt. kissing it softly... teasing her anus. while penetrating her vagina(different parts in the diff holes... cleanliness people).
she had one orgasm where she literally shaked. I had been nervous or doubtful of some of them. as gracious cop outs. but i felt that one either had to be 100% legit. Or i really ought to just give up...for all the acting i'm making her do.
i choose to believe it was the real thing(although who really knows... i just challenge any woman to twitch like that voluntarily)
she asked me to stop. and we commenced to cuddle.
she expressed sadness for being selfish. i appreciated the attempt to coddle my bruised ego. i imagine there were things she may've done, or could have done... to help. but i didn't ask, or really care. i was satisfied with the variety of things we had done. and intended to make up for it next time.
and at a certain place inside me. i didn't consider myself. my drive was for her. my annoyance stemmed of the things, that didn't work out so well. that i wanted to do for/to her. that she wanted. I wanted to be better for her.
and that basically ended the booty call. another pair of showers. and another ride on the train. I forget exactly how we parted ways. I think we went into the city, and they caught a cab to the airport.
we began to make plans for our next meeting.
the holidays arrived. and the hell of family obligations set in.
i sensed, in one aspect. that things shifted somewhat, in the period of time from having our little NJ weekend, planning the next one. and then the holidays.
I chalk it up to emotions. Holiday blues and other yappy bullshit girls sometime stir up.
I remember feeling really pulled between... her, and my family. or the need to relax on vacation, with the odd reality of an older woman calling me while i'm at my mothers wanting to talk dirty, or talk regular. i felt pinched.
my family isn't very expressive. i couldn't in any way, explain what the hell this was to my mother. it would have boggled my mom's mind. and yet... i felt the need to be there for Cindy.
it's just... family took presidence. And i think Cindy picked up on that as a direct slight or offense to her value.
which i didn't intend. but didn't do enough to asuage.
so from there it went downhill.
i tend to take people at their word. when they hem and haw about melodramatic "i don't ever want to speak to you again" or "maybe it'd be best if we just stop speaking" i take them at their word. i understand the game underneathe it. but... i also, turn off and on my emotions very easily.
or maybe, was just to immature to really know what i may've been putting this gal through.
i don't know.
all i know is it became a hassle. she again felt betrayed by me. and hurt. and again... it was probably my fault.
ignorance is no excuse for the law... but it'd probably be the case i'd plea in this matter.
i just couldn't see her point of view. and had little empathy for her problems. which may sound harsh. but... i tend to think no one has any genuine empathy for anything. it's all clever ego trips and self grandizing nonsense. you care because it makes you appear to be someone who cares, and that status is something you covet. no actual empathy exists. people use emotion as leverage points to bend people with guilt or pity.
My natural tendancy was just to let time take it's course. Was happy with how things were, and content to wait. Would see her in good time.
but that wasn't good enough.
so... as quickly as the thing came to be it fell apart.
a couple awkward phone calls. lots of silence, a fight or two. and it was obvious to both of us.
I know a part of me, still respects, and cares for this woman. I doubt she knows the many wonderful gifts she gave me. Or the impressions she left. the Patterns she burned onto my mind. the precedents, she set.
I also remember her for tenderness and vulnerability. So much of her was transparent. And most people think they're smart, or complex. We're really as simple as our deepest need.
attention, and validation. i learned from her these things.
picking up the asshole toolset of manipulation and argueing on the phone. of fights, and betrayal. of letting down a woman who's counting on you.
all the great guy skills i'd been lacking.
so it's hard to quantify.
every couple of months, i'd get a e-card from her for some major or misc holiday. normally reading/getting it because the email she has for me I abandoned after we fell apart.
and each one is an odd twinge of regret and hope rolled together. i'm beginning to think i must just be on some mailing list of hers. she's never cleaned out. As she doesn't respond to my notes i send in thanks of the silly e-card.
but it tends to keep you honest. if one thing i've learned. is that my cold ability to not care can cause a lot of pain. i'm still learning how to be honest. or... trying to find ways to express my actual intentions or emotions to women. it's hard to get them to really listen. without being overly obvious as to upset them otherwise.
while writing this, i realize it's fairly long. I wonder what i left out, or remembered wrong. Or overstated, or didn't explain.
I wonder if i did a good enough job expressing how greatful i was for her affection. and touch. how sexy i thought she was. How much i did want to be those things she wanted. but just couldn't. ...for simple basic geographical reasons. not to mention emotional maturity ones.
I would hope she knows i carry her in a spot of respect in my mind. And while no one is ever a saint or entirely at fault/without blame. I realize that I was the weaker partner.
but... took strength from our brief friendship ... and odd clusterfuck of a relationship.
I wonder if she remembers it at all fondly. if there's anything good she took from it. Or would admit to good. I don't think i'm entitled to that. It may just be the nice thing to hope for.
For while i clearly made mistakes, I'd like to hope I provided something.
I guess i can't really know. And from time to time I question even how guilty I should feel. I definitely felt bitterness rise up in me while typing this. But at the end. I maintain... i was there for her.
Maybe not in the way she wanted me to be. But I offered myself to be used. And she either got what she wanted, or wasn't strong enough to use me better. And ultimately, that's as true as i can state it.
The trick is always, how do you quantify something that's tangible. Avoid the pitfalls of ego, or self doubt to accurately relay something that was formative in your life.
Maybe start at the beginning? and try and explain it out from there? yeah... why not.
Cindy,
i met her in a video game. How corny is that. The story is actually kind of sweet. And important that it laid the groundwork for a lot of the oddness of this story.
MMORPGs are games where you log in with people from all over the world. And strangely. most often play the game alone. Sure...real live people swirl around you. but like in real life, most people are caught up in their own thing.
I love these games. Because, sometimes there's a chance to make lasting connections, with total strangers within the fantasy dork context i love to play in.
Me and a good friend of mine used to play these together. His archetype for himself was always the dark mage... i always preferred the large club wielding brute.
The character I was playing at the time i met Cindy, was just that. A club wielding brute. And her character was a healing mage. In an area where the monsters hit hard and swarmed, it was easy to be overun, and the retreat point was towards the exit. Where sometimes mages sat, giving out "buffs" or heals, or other support spells. Cindy was there. And I'd come running around the corner with a half dozen monsters on my tail. make a stand, and by her help... actually pull through.
Greatful for the assist. I gave her a rare magic key... which was one of the primary loot rewards of the dungeon.
She thanked me... and off i went again.
Only to be back moments later... with my char near death, and in need of magic. She obliged my sillyness and healed/buffed me again. I gave her another key.
This routine went on for awhile. Until We both needed a break, and left the dungeon to chat.
She was amused at my tendency to fetch keys for her as I had taken it upon myself to fetch them for her.
After that first chance meeting. We became friends in the game. Meeting up. Teaming up. Generally just enjoying the game.
I picked up hints that she liked my servile nature. And i think she realized i was somewhat of a perv when she met my mage named "Sybian" ...yeah, that sybian.
So there is as dorky a first encounter/budding friendship as you could possibly orchestrate. but in a certain regard. that's who i am. I'm a dork. And on some levels. Extend that idealized self of me...into some of these games i play.
Was also during that game, the first time i lied to her.
Most often in online games you don't assume any women actually play them. there's even a term for it: G.I.R.L (guys in real life). so. the off chance you meet an actual gal. Respectfulness would dictate not being some pig headed ass to them.
So when we were idily talking about ourselves. a/s/l etc. I mentioned i was married. It seemed like an easier way to seem non threatening. And really a tiny white lie. As no one really expects virtual friendships to last.
Least i didn't. Maybe that was my bigger first mistake. Not genuinely respecting the friendship we'd forged. But I didn't think twice then. I entirely expected to sooner or later lose touch with her. As people do in those sorts of games.
But instead of that, our friendship only grew.
as now, i was then, a horribly babbling mess. You get me talking... i talk forever. I love words, details, the mintuae of things. I'm caught up in the worthlessness of semantics, and the underlying nothingness of things.
Our conversations, were friendly, and sometimes flirty. And then grew a bit naughty. Then were regularly about subjects that were adult.
All the while she'd tease and tempt me. I think banking on the fact that i was "married" to give her the confidence to play with me.
All the while, I was trying to think of someway to untangle the lie i had cast.
I remember she wanted to talk. And I always had to have some reason not to be able to. Somewhat because she was much older than me. And at the time, I was still living with my parents. but also, because I couldn't face the farce of the relationship.
I'm a good liar, because i don't care. But i have a hard time breaking someone's trust if i have it. And will go ever deeper into lies or convolution to maintain the illusion i think someone wants.
I found her attractive. I gravitated towards her presence. Her age, and knowledge. Also her kinky side. I think one of the first pictures of her she showed me was of a black heeled "pump" and her large breasts, and kinky dominant side was like a burning tack in my brain.
And i think she liked me. I think for sure, part of it was play on her part. But, if chance had aligned... she may've spirited me away to corrupt my virtue.
I forget exactly how this stage of our "knowing each other" ended. But i'm fairly certain it was entirely my fault. I recall that she increasing sought more from me. Of the things specifically I couldnt give her. Honestly, or direct attention.
And from there it devolved in to me distancing from her. Until, I think i lashed out at her childishly in an email. Insulting her, and belittling her, out of my own annoyance and fear at the sham i had made of things. I'm fairly certain i confessed to the lies i had told. And said hurtful things. I have a point where i find it easier just to be an asshole and burn everything down. And in my youth i'm sure i was petty, pathetic, and cruel about it.
I don't rightly know how she took it. I assume on some level she was hurt. Maybe just another in a string of disappointments from men who had represented themselves better.
I was ashamed to be at my heart... a very low version of myself.
Also i think there was a disconnect, that would play in later, between the dynamic. Of me wanting to be an object, and her wanting the dynamic to be more human.
I wanted her to use me. I saw in her the opportunity for use. I definitely wanted to please her. And be things for her. But in the ways i connected to those aspects. They were mainly sexual and disposable. She wanted me to care. And i unfortunately didn't.
Later.
maybe years. maybe 2-5 years later. I think... I was just cleaning out some files on a computer. Checking emails. Or instant messenger friends lists. etc. And was rooting out old unknowns.
And either a random email. Or annoying random IM. And our friendship rekindled.
maybe multiple random emails. As i tend to be the sort... that does this sort of "checking/cleaning" of files... only to never really delete files/old contacts. and do the same annoying "hey... how do i know you" thing months later.
but...as irony would have it. Our first couple of conversations revolved around games. And i liked the idea of playing with her again in a game setting. And jumped at the chance.
too bad it was guild wars. which i didn't really like. but again. I was a club wielding fool, and she a much more powerful mage. Just like old times.
we even started chatting again. and i resolved not to lie to her. which was difficult. cause i don't deal in a lot of absolutes. people always want definite answers. yes, no. good, bad. when in reality everything is a maybe, depends, or is some shade of gray. but. I made the effort.
and apparently she missed my babbling.
being more out on my own, i was able to actually converse with her. and spent many nights wandering brooklyn talking with her on the phone while latino gang folks gave me weird looks.
or long nights in my apt talking away.
which is both good and bad. i became wrapped up in her life. we emailed back and forth, spoke on a regular basis. talked long ...meandering conversations. I knew what she was up to. knew about the stress in her life. the problems in her life. The things that flitted through her mind.
and i'm sure she got to hear a lot of my bitching and moaning. or otherwise babbling about a wide range of nothing.
and then we would talk dirty.
i remember it being a bit different. she seem guarded. (which was understandable) and loved to take the high road... of being too old, and "over" petty perversions. That she didn't need some little smut friend, she needed an actual relationship.
i took it willingly, because i felt i deserved the negative shame. it was my low behavior that had ruined our earlier friendship. so i was the whipping boy. made to be lesser, or substandard to her. I also kind of liked groveling for her. I liked figuring out how to please her or temper things to not set off her defenses.
we tended to bicker over that a lot. what exactly we were doing. what my "plans" were. It seemed like i was to either move to DC to be near her, or i was playing games. And for my part. I tried to be realistic. I don't believe in value standards. It took me a lot to get out on my own. And some people think i just tag along. But i'm out, and on my own. If need be i'll burn all bridges and just be alone. but i'm never going back.
in the city you see people burn out. or give up. can't make it, or their idea of what nyc is or should have been didn't fit their idiotic sex in the city dream land. and they fucking leave. normally crawling home to mommy and daddy, who were supporting them mostly anyway.
i'd made it to nyc on my own. was for the vast part. self sufficient, and wasn't giving that up for anyone. I always say... i don't have much of anything. but everything i have is mine.
i tried to explain this to her. but... she couldn't concede the point. to her, or for her. this idea of her/her life being more important/established was essential to protecting herself. (which i didn't begrudge her... but thought was silly... especially within the context of what we were)
In my mind some of that was pathetic defense. All people like being naughty. And love attention and an outlet. She was right not to truly trust me. but i think her expectations again ran contrary to mine. Especially. as more of an adult... and in light of her constant tract of being more mature, or wise in these things. to have unrealistic expectations, for a relationship that basically boiled down to ... gaming, chat, and phone calls.. and phone sex. what was the real expectation?
was i again misrepresenting myself? i tried my hardest not to. to thread the line between being honest without being overly sappy. I mean... i desired her attention, her company. I was more than content to offer an ear to vent life's endless toils on. But... we were what we were.
a game.
i loved hearing her play with herself on the phone though. I admit fully i was greedy and pervish for that.
Women tend to think they can win men through their heart and seeming more human. when the truth is. tickle his cock and enslave his mind. and it breeds much better devotion.
I can recall long late nights, listening to her touching herself. her voice, her breathing. the sounds she made when she came. I'd whisper all manner of compliments and smut at her. While playing with myself.
I'd write her naughty stories, and send her notes. Thinking about her in my day to day.
When she was upset. or not in the mood, i made myself supplicant and tried to cheer her up. Offering her my best attempts at sincere compassion.
Normally though it devolved into phone sex. Which set an odd tone for the rest of the relationship. ie... how much talking do we have to do before your fingers are in your pussy?
but eventually. we talked ourselves into an encounter.
admittedly i was broke most of the time. which i don't think people really understand about nyc. some weeks, i skate by on only a few dollars till the next paycheck. eating lunch, or doing laundry... or finding the money for that is sometimes a challenge. the idea of taking off for a weekend to some other city. is out of the fucking question. Sorry. i just can't.
So.. she came here.
She was going to some bullshit concert with one of her friends.
I resolved myself to meet her. Was actually excited to. It seemed natural. or at least a logical fucking progression...well over due.
I was nervous. i had maintained one final fib with her. I don't think she knew or I ever told her that i was a virgin.
I had managed my fair share of odd encounters before that. Rounded all the bases except the final one. And being a perv. landed into some sexual situations that are more intense than sex. but... never did the classic. rod A into slot B.
which... i honestly, couldn't tell her. it had it's ramifications. but. i'm a creatively minded person. and i'm a quick study, and details nut. when it comes to these sorts of things.
and if anything, she knew i had never done anything like this before. that our entire sorted "relationship" was an utter unknown to me. apparently she had some experience with this sort of thing. And wasn't a stranger to casual relationships, or bdsm arrangements that were casual.
so... i gave myself to her, over to her experience and control.
i made no secret of that. i was hers to use. and do as she asked. and i think... maybe wanted to be used more than she was willing to entertain.
so the day neared. and we dbl checked the plans. i remember having disjointed nervous conversations with my roommate. which boiled down to... fuck it. better to regret something you do. than something you didn't do.
and so with that attitude i went to meet her.
in NJ no less. you couldn't paint a more seedy rendezvous. some hilton off the path train/airport. if i'd been the squeamish sort, i'd see the thing as a giant trap rape scenario... that i was blindly walking into.
but... i found her.
and we found each other enjoyable enough. her friend was a pudgy queer. who was personable enough. her fag shield. that should have been a bigger warning sign. but i have no problem with gay folks. but there are reasons some women surround themselves with effeminate gossipy gay men. and most of those reasons don't speak to being well adjusted or internally happy.
but those were thoughts for much later.
we had awkward conversation. in her hotel room. her friend left us alone.
having never done a Jersey booty call i had no idea what to do. Like a frigid cunt i kept my distance. sitting away from her. Even attempting to take the other bed.
Thankfully she had none of it.
as soon as i crawled into bed with her. she attacked me.
a very aggressive kisser. almost too aggressive. but i liked the forcefulness of her. most women are annoyingly passive kissers, or busy mouthed. she was forceful and direct.
i also loved the size of her. she was a big gal. but it was comforting and sensual to have a large women break me in.
unfortunately i should probably confess to being utterly mortified with the thought of performing under these conditions.
i needed her to take charge in the other areas. but... as it happened, and normally does. men are expected to lead in that dance.
so... i stalled for time. playing with her tits. kissing, rubbing her ass. feeling her body. playing with her pussy.
but i'm very skittish sexually. i'd get rock hard one second. and go limp the next. my mind would light on something. some touch, or bite, or pinch, her hands on my dick. and it's spring to life.
position to fuck, ...tangled in bed sheets... and wet noodle.
it was classic virgin stupidity. and my mind was just racing.
but she was patient. and lovely.
girls i think have it easy. once you're past the break point of someone wanting to fuck you. they can normally get away with just laying there. only thing they have to do... is be wet.(which obviously prob paints me as all kinds of asshole for saying).
boys. it's a quagmire of confusion, pleasure, fear, rage, desire, and pain.
i was fascinated by her pussy. she liked me to touch her. and spent a lot of time feeling her body. fingering her pussy. getting her nice and hot.
i remember cautions gentle exploration with both my hands and tongue. in the dark, feeling her, tracing the outlines of her vagina, and then exploring within.
I have no idea if she liked it or not, but she was at least gracious enough to let me take my time.
the first couple of times that's all we managed. just for me to get her off with my hands. she liked it fast ... and somewhat rough. which i think still very much influences my idea of manual stimulation on women to this day.
after playing with her, i wanted nothing more than to be buried between her legs.
i wanted her to sit on my face. but she was nervous she'd hurt me. women always think they can hurt men.
even if you could hurt me, i'd be too much of a macho jackass to admit it.
but... instead of pressing the issue, i wiggled down off the bed. and found purchase between her legs... with my face firmly planted on her vulva.
slipping on the floor, my feet caught in the bed sheet, if you were looking in, it must have looked comical. but i was determined. and more than that. incredibly turned on by the darkness, mixed with the heat and wetness of her pussy. the movement of her body, the size of her. the responses she gave, and signals that flood your mind. the bits of pain and annoyance that come with that act. everything from sore jaw, to tired tongue, to searing pain in my feet from somehow straining my arches...by basically standing tippy toe while eating her out.
by the time i stopped i was doing more panting than licking. and she'd cum again.
at that point i figured i was owed a break(or more honestly. i was a bit tired... and needed a break...superman i definitely am not...ashamedly admitted mediocre upstart)
she being nice... allowed me back into bed. and let me rest. i think, maybe feeling bad, decided to tease and play with my penis.
to my crushing disappointment... the pattern of my life of gettin shitty head was begun that night. and for a woman so demanding and powerful in my mind. she seemed to give up on my poor penis way too soon.
don't women know, the only thing men actually do want. is for them to throw caution out the window and just lose all abandon. it's a cock. fucking jerk it and suck it until it explodes. it's simple. there's no art to it. just get to work. we're all more than happy to give insight to what feels good and what doesn't but women tend to falter when faced with a man who isn't turned on by a hot breath. we're all horny, but we're not all turned on with the flip of a switch.
i wilted under the realization that she was bad at that.
but. i suppose it was quid pro quo.
every attempt we made at fucking that first night was laughable. from figuring out positions. to me keeping it up.
we retreated to safer territory of sex toys and some light spanking. just to kill some time.
i was fascinated by her collection of toys. in hindsight, fairly standard. but she had a nice pyrex dildo, a simple leather paddle, some buzz vibes, and other odds and ends. when it was obvious my penis wasn't going to be cooperating, i suggested the glass dildo, and that seemed to work well enough.
again she was patient and expressive. and i eager to please, and desperate to catalog as much "experience" as possible. So...while i was scared shitless. I was open to any and everything i could try otherwise.
eventually... both getting tired, and me dosing off with my hand between her legs.
the next morning, i think was a bit quick, she had to do the things she's come to the city to do, so there was little time. we'd stayed up fairly late... and were now of course running late.
i was horribly ashamed of my poor erectile performance the night before. i never wanted to be punished more in my life. i remember the way her body looked in the filtered light of the NJ morning.
we had some amusing morning conversation, contemplating the idea of a quickie.
instead we made out and i made her cum again by rubbing her pussy very rapidly.
while she got in the shower, i went outside to smoke. texting my best friend "apparently my hand smells like pussy" ...which, if you know me you may understand the joke in that.
but... showered(both of us) we met up with her friend, and took the train into the city.
i tend to be the sort of person who's outwardly protective. I like to stand just a step behind, and to the side of whatever woman i'm with. With Cindy, I hovered close, and watched over her.
fidgeting in the day light, under the smirks and whispered jokes between her and her friend. I boiled at the idea of me being unable to perform the night before. and couldn't decide what was better. her keeping my secret, or humiliating me in front of her chubby gay friend.
we made it to the city, and wandered a bit. they eventually had to go to their concert. I went back to brooklyn. having made plans to meet them later after their show.
when the time came i met them. and we ate dinner. i tried to be interested in stories about the show/concert but had no frame of reference to give a shit about. I mainly watched her eyes.
when we made it back to casa sleep 'n fuck out in NJ. we made some chit chat with her friend. and he made a humorous exit.
that night went a bit better. she was more forceful, and we managed to pull off some of the basics.
although i was still a mess. god only knows what i need to sustain a persistant erection. my only excuse is i was way out of my league. but i don't like to make excuses. one would assume a guy's only task is to get it up. and be a fucking man about it.
there's no greater annoyance than not having your cock cooperate. the jokes and ideas about it having a mind of it's own... i may actually buy. but in the simplest sense. fucking really isn't all it's cracked up to be. a hand job, or decent blow job, feels better. hell... having simple run there hands through your hair is more passively erotic than the slop and flop of fucking. a hard cock is more so for ease of use. as confused cock is problematic at best... infuriating at it's worst.
i had all these plans. ideas, and kinky games. that she was more than willing to play. in effect i was trying to make up for the long years of being a virgin all in one night. unaware how absurd the reality of that task was going to be obviously.
but... i'm adaptable.
i'd segway in and out of standard fair, to silly nonsense, to getting 3-4 fingers burried inside her.
i remember fucking her from behind... and then losing it by being awestruck by the sight of her ass in the moonlight. and leaned over her in total release... just cradling her butt. kissing it softly... teasing her anus. while penetrating her vagina(different parts in the diff holes... cleanliness people).
she had one orgasm where she literally shaked. I had been nervous or doubtful of some of them. as gracious cop outs. but i felt that one either had to be 100% legit. Or i really ought to just give up...for all the acting i'm making her do.
i choose to believe it was the real thing(although who really knows... i just challenge any woman to twitch like that voluntarily)
she asked me to stop. and we commenced to cuddle.
she expressed sadness for being selfish. i appreciated the attempt to coddle my bruised ego. i imagine there were things she may've done, or could have done... to help. but i didn't ask, or really care. i was satisfied with the variety of things we had done. and intended to make up for it next time.
and at a certain place inside me. i didn't consider myself. my drive was for her. my annoyance stemmed of the things, that didn't work out so well. that i wanted to do for/to her. that she wanted. I wanted to be better for her.
and that basically ended the booty call. another pair of showers. and another ride on the train. I forget exactly how we parted ways. I think we went into the city, and they caught a cab to the airport.
we began to make plans for our next meeting.
the holidays arrived. and the hell of family obligations set in.
i sensed, in one aspect. that things shifted somewhat, in the period of time from having our little NJ weekend, planning the next one. and then the holidays.
I chalk it up to emotions. Holiday blues and other yappy bullshit girls sometime stir up.
I remember feeling really pulled between... her, and my family. or the need to relax on vacation, with the odd reality of an older woman calling me while i'm at my mothers wanting to talk dirty, or talk regular. i felt pinched.
my family isn't very expressive. i couldn't in any way, explain what the hell this was to my mother. it would have boggled my mom's mind. and yet... i felt the need to be there for Cindy.
it's just... family took presidence. And i think Cindy picked up on that as a direct slight or offense to her value.
which i didn't intend. but didn't do enough to asuage.
so from there it went downhill.
i tend to take people at their word. when they hem and haw about melodramatic "i don't ever want to speak to you again" or "maybe it'd be best if we just stop speaking" i take them at their word. i understand the game underneathe it. but... i also, turn off and on my emotions very easily.
or maybe, was just to immature to really know what i may've been putting this gal through.
i don't know.
all i know is it became a hassle. she again felt betrayed by me. and hurt. and again... it was probably my fault.
ignorance is no excuse for the law... but it'd probably be the case i'd plea in this matter.
i just couldn't see her point of view. and had little empathy for her problems. which may sound harsh. but... i tend to think no one has any genuine empathy for anything. it's all clever ego trips and self grandizing nonsense. you care because it makes you appear to be someone who cares, and that status is something you covet. no actual empathy exists. people use emotion as leverage points to bend people with guilt or pity.
My natural tendancy was just to let time take it's course. Was happy with how things were, and content to wait. Would see her in good time.
but that wasn't good enough.
so... as quickly as the thing came to be it fell apart.
a couple awkward phone calls. lots of silence, a fight or two. and it was obvious to both of us.
I know a part of me, still respects, and cares for this woman. I doubt she knows the many wonderful gifts she gave me. Or the impressions she left. the Patterns she burned onto my mind. the precedents, she set.
I also remember her for tenderness and vulnerability. So much of her was transparent. And most people think they're smart, or complex. We're really as simple as our deepest need.
attention, and validation. i learned from her these things.
picking up the asshole toolset of manipulation and argueing on the phone. of fights, and betrayal. of letting down a woman who's counting on you.
all the great guy skills i'd been lacking.
so it's hard to quantify.
every couple of months, i'd get a e-card from her for some major or misc holiday. normally reading/getting it because the email she has for me I abandoned after we fell apart.
and each one is an odd twinge of regret and hope rolled together. i'm beginning to think i must just be on some mailing list of hers. she's never cleaned out. As she doesn't respond to my notes i send in thanks of the silly e-card.
but it tends to keep you honest. if one thing i've learned. is that my cold ability to not care can cause a lot of pain. i'm still learning how to be honest. or... trying to find ways to express my actual intentions or emotions to women. it's hard to get them to really listen. without being overly obvious as to upset them otherwise.
while writing this, i realize it's fairly long. I wonder what i left out, or remembered wrong. Or overstated, or didn't explain.
I wonder if i did a good enough job expressing how greatful i was for her affection. and touch. how sexy i thought she was. How much i did want to be those things she wanted. but just couldn't. ...for simple basic geographical reasons. not to mention emotional maturity ones.
I would hope she knows i carry her in a spot of respect in my mind. And while no one is ever a saint or entirely at fault/without blame. I realize that I was the weaker partner.
but... took strength from our brief friendship ... and odd clusterfuck of a relationship.
I wonder if she remembers it at all fondly. if there's anything good she took from it. Or would admit to good. I don't think i'm entitled to that. It may just be the nice thing to hope for.
For while i clearly made mistakes, I'd like to hope I provided something.
I guess i can't really know. And from time to time I question even how guilty I should feel. I definitely felt bitterness rise up in me while typing this. But at the end. I maintain... i was there for her.
Maybe not in the way she wanted me to be. But I offered myself to be used. And she either got what she wanted, or wasn't strong enough to use me better. And ultimately, that's as true as i can state it.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Ever make out in dark hallways
(corny 311 title... but fitting none the less)
***
Ever find yourself amongst people where you don't belong. Higher class... or lower, it doesn't seem to matter... sometimes you look around and realize you're a fish out of water... and maybe a bit later, realize... a fish. gasping for breath.
On Friday night I went to a friend of mine's apartment for a wine tasting event/party/get together she was hosting.
...malbecs. or a malbec themed wine tasting party.
The girl hosting, is a gal i fancy... and have been trying to spend as much time around as possible. Trouble being she's your prototypical new york woman. career first, work hard... get ahead. live life to it's fullest generally equating to packing your schedule so full as to not give the illusion of wasted time/wasted life. Which, as a southerner always seems a bit counter intuitive. but the girl has something. and i'm greedy for her time, attention, and affection. and find myself willing to do just about anything to see her.. within a respectable confines with respect to her busy schedule.
...so, wine tasting party it was. my first. ...virgin as it were. even had to look up what a malbec was... did i mention i'm new to wines?
but armed with knowledge and determination... i acquired a bottle. ...making the long trip up to 207th street in manhattan to procure my wine... which was probably foolishly far away... i'm sure there's wine shops in middle manhattan that would have been perfectly fine. but sometimes i just like the excuse to go to new places in the city. and needless to say 207th street... never had a reason to be visited before.
so i had my bottle. and showed up for the party... dressed in semi-grungy straight black. having admittedly nothing else clean to wear i showed up to high brow wine tasting party dressed like an angsty teenager.
unfamiliar faces greeted me in the main room... wine, cheese and edibles lines a small round table ...with a collection of wines in the center. The host introduced me to her friends... their names ... i quickly forgot.
and after a few more people arrived the tasting began.
was an interesting thing. having the woman i adore explain to me something i wanted to learn. i find women who know things i don't very attractive. and even more so when they know things i want to know... and can teach me things. I loved having her pour wine for me... show me how to swirl my wine... smell it. sip and let the wine roll over my tongue. Her hand...her fingers as she worked open new bottles. seeing her eyes light as she examined her wine... knowing how to determine all manner of details from odd aspects of color, runniness of the wine along the glass... etc etc.
taking small pleasure from watching her bring her glass to her nose... taking deep ...sighing breaths, and then putting the glass artfully to her lips and watching the dark red wine pass her lips... staining them even darker... watching her smile at the enjoyment of the wine. The length of her neck as she swallowed. The eventual blush of her face... as wine tasting soon merged into straight drinking...as more bottles were opened.
...but, as hostess... her time was split between many people.
rude to expect total attention, or for me to monopolize her time.
but she kept coming back to me. checking on me... feeding me cheese. a flirty tug on my pony tail to get my attention. her hand coming around me, for a bit of a snuggle...
long looks from across the room as i'd catch her disinterest in the conversation she was forced to endure from random guest as hostess. a smile.
eventually... i needed to smoke. and found myself at a party of maybe a dozen...with only one fellow smoker. And after having the one smoker leave me outside due to the cold. I was left to let myself back in.
agitated, and slightly drunk... i stomped in the entry foyer to her apt building after being buzzed back in through the two outer doors. random impulse struck me to hit two light switches i walked passed in the hallway.
unintentionally killing the lights for the public areas for the building. ...walking up the steps to her floor in the dark. realizing that hitting those switches may've been a childish thing to do.
I found her waiting for me at the door...
I explained to her that the lights were my fault. Childish as it was... she likes when i'm a bit mischievous. I think the aspect she likes most of me, is how i can play in her world... but not be the carbon copy high brow douche that seemed to be the hipster norm for the other men in attendance that night.
we talked in the darkness on her landing. the ambient light cast in from the windows... barely enough to make out the silhouette of her face. but i could see the light off her eyes... and hear her voice... and soon felt her body as she drew close to me.
wine glass in her hand... she moved right next to me. placing the other hand on my side... i felt the press of her body against me.
the gentle heat of her presence... the erie sensation of her breasts touching my chest. Her nipples were erect beneath her shirt... the roughness of them apparent even to me through my shirt.
My arms around her... bringing her closer. her face upturned to meet my eyes.
The talking falling off to nothing... the moment screamed for a kiss.
and the kiss was electric.
slow and timid... blind and nervous. the darkness giving it added intimacy's and charm. soft kiss at first...
then again... feeling each others lips. hers tasting like wine... warm, soft.
my hands moving up to hold her face...
more kisses...
her arms went slack beside her as i moved from kissing her lips to kissing her neck... working down to the delicate bones of her collar... then back up to end with a tiny kiss along her ear.
then again... her eyes in the dark. and the sense of her breathing as her breasts moved with her against me.
we kissed again. deeper...
our mouths opening to accept each other... her tongue. wet and tender... moving against mine. the distinct taste of wine on her lips. that tart after taste of the blended malbec still fresh on her palette.
all told a brief encounter...
she pulled back. and i was greedy to continue kissing her. but she collected herself and thought it better to get back to the party.
she broke the embrace...and opened the door to her apartment... and i followed her down the long corridor of her apartment back into the light of the living room where the party had continued on despite our absence.
...she holding my hand. leaving me like a little boy... as i trailed behind her.
content, to sit beside her for the rest of the night... no real polite opportunity to be alone. i casually played with her tones in her two-tone stripped socks.
and even as the party ended...and people made their exits i lingered... hoping for one more kiss.
but thwarted by a separate guy, who wouldn't take the cue to leave...
so we busied ourselves with the dishes... ferrying wine glasses that were scattered about...to the kitchen. she'd hand me glasses or bowls... our hands touching over hot water and soap. me handing them back. helping her... as she gave hint after hint that the other guy should just be on his way... that me and her could take care of the rest.
but no such luck. eventually i drug the second guy out the door.
she had to get up early the next morning... rude of me to keep her awake any longer.
me and the annoying fucker left together. and i tried not to hate him... but he cost me a night of almost boundless possibility. and so it's not a far stretch to imagining me tossing that dumb bastard down a flight or two of marble capped steps.
but eventually i made it home...
even more drunk. and reeling from the kiss.
***
Ever find yourself amongst people where you don't belong. Higher class... or lower, it doesn't seem to matter... sometimes you look around and realize you're a fish out of water... and maybe a bit later, realize... a fish. gasping for breath.
On Friday night I went to a friend of mine's apartment for a wine tasting event/party/get together she was hosting.
...malbecs. or a malbec themed wine tasting party.
The girl hosting, is a gal i fancy... and have been trying to spend as much time around as possible. Trouble being she's your prototypical new york woman. career first, work hard... get ahead. live life to it's fullest generally equating to packing your schedule so full as to not give the illusion of wasted time/wasted life. Which, as a southerner always seems a bit counter intuitive. but the girl has something. and i'm greedy for her time, attention, and affection. and find myself willing to do just about anything to see her.. within a respectable confines with respect to her busy schedule.
...so, wine tasting party it was. my first. ...virgin as it were. even had to look up what a malbec was... did i mention i'm new to wines?
but armed with knowledge and determination... i acquired a bottle. ...making the long trip up to 207th street in manhattan to procure my wine... which was probably foolishly far away... i'm sure there's wine shops in middle manhattan that would have been perfectly fine. but sometimes i just like the excuse to go to new places in the city. and needless to say 207th street... never had a reason to be visited before.
so i had my bottle. and showed up for the party... dressed in semi-grungy straight black. having admittedly nothing else clean to wear i showed up to high brow wine tasting party dressed like an angsty teenager.
unfamiliar faces greeted me in the main room... wine, cheese and edibles lines a small round table ...with a collection of wines in the center. The host introduced me to her friends... their names ... i quickly forgot.
and after a few more people arrived the tasting began.
was an interesting thing. having the woman i adore explain to me something i wanted to learn. i find women who know things i don't very attractive. and even more so when they know things i want to know... and can teach me things. I loved having her pour wine for me... show me how to swirl my wine... smell it. sip and let the wine roll over my tongue. Her hand...her fingers as she worked open new bottles. seeing her eyes light as she examined her wine... knowing how to determine all manner of details from odd aspects of color, runniness of the wine along the glass... etc etc.
taking small pleasure from watching her bring her glass to her nose... taking deep ...sighing breaths, and then putting the glass artfully to her lips and watching the dark red wine pass her lips... staining them even darker... watching her smile at the enjoyment of the wine. The length of her neck as she swallowed. The eventual blush of her face... as wine tasting soon merged into straight drinking...as more bottles were opened.
...but, as hostess... her time was split between many people.
rude to expect total attention, or for me to monopolize her time.
but she kept coming back to me. checking on me... feeding me cheese. a flirty tug on my pony tail to get my attention. her hand coming around me, for a bit of a snuggle...
long looks from across the room as i'd catch her disinterest in the conversation she was forced to endure from random guest as hostess. a smile.
eventually... i needed to smoke. and found myself at a party of maybe a dozen...with only one fellow smoker. And after having the one smoker leave me outside due to the cold. I was left to let myself back in.
agitated, and slightly drunk... i stomped in the entry foyer to her apt building after being buzzed back in through the two outer doors. random impulse struck me to hit two light switches i walked passed in the hallway.
unintentionally killing the lights for the public areas for the building. ...walking up the steps to her floor in the dark. realizing that hitting those switches may've been a childish thing to do.
I found her waiting for me at the door...
I explained to her that the lights were my fault. Childish as it was... she likes when i'm a bit mischievous. I think the aspect she likes most of me, is how i can play in her world... but not be the carbon copy high brow douche that seemed to be the hipster norm for the other men in attendance that night.
we talked in the darkness on her landing. the ambient light cast in from the windows... barely enough to make out the silhouette of her face. but i could see the light off her eyes... and hear her voice... and soon felt her body as she drew close to me.
wine glass in her hand... she moved right next to me. placing the other hand on my side... i felt the press of her body against me.
the gentle heat of her presence... the erie sensation of her breasts touching my chest. Her nipples were erect beneath her shirt... the roughness of them apparent even to me through my shirt.
My arms around her... bringing her closer. her face upturned to meet my eyes.
The talking falling off to nothing... the moment screamed for a kiss.
and the kiss was electric.
slow and timid... blind and nervous. the darkness giving it added intimacy's and charm. soft kiss at first...
then again... feeling each others lips. hers tasting like wine... warm, soft.
my hands moving up to hold her face...
more kisses...
her arms went slack beside her as i moved from kissing her lips to kissing her neck... working down to the delicate bones of her collar... then back up to end with a tiny kiss along her ear.
then again... her eyes in the dark. and the sense of her breathing as her breasts moved with her against me.
we kissed again. deeper...
our mouths opening to accept each other... her tongue. wet and tender... moving against mine. the distinct taste of wine on her lips. that tart after taste of the blended malbec still fresh on her palette.
all told a brief encounter...
she pulled back. and i was greedy to continue kissing her. but she collected herself and thought it better to get back to the party.
she broke the embrace...and opened the door to her apartment... and i followed her down the long corridor of her apartment back into the light of the living room where the party had continued on despite our absence.
...she holding my hand. leaving me like a little boy... as i trailed behind her.
content, to sit beside her for the rest of the night... no real polite opportunity to be alone. i casually played with her tones in her two-tone stripped socks.
and even as the party ended...and people made their exits i lingered... hoping for one more kiss.
but thwarted by a separate guy, who wouldn't take the cue to leave...
so we busied ourselves with the dishes... ferrying wine glasses that were scattered about...to the kitchen. she'd hand me glasses or bowls... our hands touching over hot water and soap. me handing them back. helping her... as she gave hint after hint that the other guy should just be on his way... that me and her could take care of the rest.
but no such luck. eventually i drug the second guy out the door.
she had to get up early the next morning... rude of me to keep her awake any longer.
me and the annoying fucker left together. and i tried not to hate him... but he cost me a night of almost boundless possibility. and so it's not a far stretch to imagining me tossing that dumb bastard down a flight or two of marble capped steps.
but eventually i made it home...
even more drunk. and reeling from the kiss.
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