Waiting/ April 2010

“Kiss me or fuck me, I can’t take it anymore.”

I did neither.

***

I watch my reflection in the windows of the bank as the bus drives away; I see a girl in a blue shirt, dark hair tied up.  We hit the second street corner and an announcement for tickets to this summer’s big event comes on the speaker, as usual.

“You go all the way around the state before you get to the point,” I remember my friend telling me.  She was laughing but, still, it hurt a little.

[Long pause in journaling]

“How do you know I’m ready?”

“Your body’s ready.”

“I’m almost twenty-three, my body better be ready.”

[Pause in journaling]

Substitutes/ May 2010

via Flickr

He looks away from the screen, “What?”

“What about me do you want?  You keep saying it, all the time, but, what about me do you want?”  I’m sitting on his bed, a few feet away from him.  It’s evening, or late at night.  We’ve taken a brake to recharge.  We’re not in any hurry to get anywhere.

“That’s a strange question.”  His lips curl a bit at one side, that quirky smile of What’s this now?  Is this game going to be fun? “I’m not even sure I know how to answer that.”  He gets out of his chair and takes a slow step, then another, towards me.  “I want your body, of course.  But that’s not the answer you’re looking for, is it?  I want that sound you make,” he crawls onto the bed, follows as I lower my back to the mattress, “the way you sigh when I kiss you here…  Right there, that sound; that’s what I want.  I want the way you sound when I touch you.  I want your orgasm.”

“I think that’s the one I was hoping to hear,” I lie, as much to myself as to him, because my inability so far to achieve orgasm is easier to face.

“I want to be your first.”

“I want you to be my first,” I whisper, and then, to make sure he’d heard me, “I want you to be my first.”

“But,” he says, climbing off of me, bringing us back to the boundaries I’d set earlier, “not tonight.”

Hair Long Enough for My Fingers/ April 2010

We showered together, the last time I was at his house.  Monday?  Yes, Monday.  We showered together and then fooled around some more.  I felt a little overwhelmed in there–so close, so private, so… naked.  But he’s good to me, he makes me feel good.  He stops when I ask him to.  I’ve been wanting him; I want to be good to him, to take care of him.  The way he says my name… like he’s surprised, and grateful, that I try so hard, and yet so effortlessly, to be good to him.  I’ve never been so good to anyone before.  I’ve never wanted to be good to anyone.  Not like this.

Overstimulated/ March 2010

It feels so good.  His fingers.  The palms of his hand.  His fingernails.

I’ve been wanting him.  Wondering, imaginig.  Fantasizing.  He told me where one of his sweet spots is.  He licked and lipped and nibbles on my nipples.  We made each other whimper.

Fingers / July ’06

I’m wanting, now that I’ve been away and reading; but only mildly so, and besides there’s my cycles to consider.  Never mind that he doesn’t care, but I do, though I can’t say why, except that it’s disgusting to think of; and if I don’t care to do it now, what with my cycles, then I’ll not do it now, what with my cycles- and I’ll leave it at that.

I’m worried that my appetite is unhealthily lacking; it’s been that way for a very long while.  I remember cravings when I was younger- fifteen, sixteen- a number of occasions I could count on one hand when I truly wanted.

I want to go to a… woman’s doctor.  To check some things, nothing particular, nothing to worry, just to make sure all is right in that place where the sun doesn’t shine.