Summer Thoughts

So apparently posting every month is my thing. Let's just go with it. Plus it's summertime so I will be around.

First things first: I graduated college! I officially have a Bachelor of the Arts degree in English. My family came to town and I wore a white dress and kissed my friends goodbye.

Goodness I have so much to tell you people!

1. Went to Puerto Rico for spring break in March and it was wonderful. So much better than Myrtle Beach, in that I did not get rip-roaring drunk and cause an embarrassing scene. But I lost my glasses in the ocean.

2. I got two tattoos (not while in Puerto Rico, God no). The first one was before the trip; it's on the back of my right shoulder and says "womanist." It took 15 minutes. Now the second one was a real bitch. It says, "I am the Dream and the Hope of the slave" broken down into three lines on the back of my left shoulder. This one HURT. Like, really. But the tattoo artist was so, so sexy. And smart and he had muscles and even though he was inflicting pain on my poor skin, the way he touched me was...whoo. Anyway. All the pain was worth it because my new art is wonderful. Well, until my mother found it.

3. Que and I had our first fight and it was all long text messages that admitted my feelings for him (me) and yelling over the phone (both of us) and pretending like it never happened the next day at work (him). The thing about us being so close is that we bicker so much that the issue never sticks. But when we had this real, nasty fight I was hoping to actually resolve it but he brushed it off so I did the same. Which was easier, I guess, to just resolve to not blow stuff out of proportion and, oh whatever. I was jealous and he was apathetic.

And then he got hurt. He hurt his back something terrible and I feel awful because he's leaving for a job in a whole 'nother state soon and there's just so much I want to say to him but I don't want to be a bother. To him, I really could be just a co-worker that was a good time in bed and made him laugh a lot. I'm afraid closure will probably not be an option on this one. But barring all that I am horny and going from regular nookie to none at all is NOT FAIR.

4. I started a new internship with another WNBA team. So far, it's pretty fun, but I vow, on my honor, that this will be my last unpaid position. I am sick of being a minion, or a fake-employee. I want a real job and subordinates.

Lastly, I need a library in Southern City, seeing as I'm relocating here. When I'm at home I spend half my summer trolling the aisles at the library less than a mile away from my house. The ones near my place here are awful. It's a travesty. How are kids going to become bookworms with facilities like these? Whenever I have to go to them I want to cry. Surely there have got to be better options. I will make that my project. Along with finding a new man to fool around with and inevitable develop unrequited feelings for!

In Which I Am Delusional

You don't want to hear about the mess I made of things with me and Que. He's still around but...that's a tale for another time. Maybe.

Not to keep harping on this but where is my man? Seriously, where is he? I have never had a boyfriend, never been on a date, never held somebody's hand as we walked down the street. What thee fuck. I mean I guess I haven't needed a man for the past 21 years but I sure as hell have wanted one. I'm used to not having one obviously but sometimes in the dark, quiet corners of the night I wonder where my love is. Every time I console myself into thinking I'll be fine on my own I get a glimmer of hope, a wisp of a man's attentions and he says all the right things and I think, holy shit, maybe I'm not doomed! But then he reveals his true colors and I sink back down again and the walls come back up.

I think I'm not attractive. Not ugly but literally not able to attract. Que says (in a judgy and kind of condescending tone of someone who's never had a problem meeting women) that it's my fault that I keep attracting guys who just want to have sex with me and I don't present the right package and I should flirt more because he always gets the girls that he wants by flirting with them. Is that in ANY way helpful to tell someone who's borderline socially retarded and introverted? That's about as useful as telling an anorexic "to just eat something already." But he succeeds in making me feel bad about myself because, well, he has a harem so it must be me, right? I just have to remember that he's attracted to a certain type of woman and I am certainly not her and dating advice is rarely general. I guess I just have to be patient--God hasn't seen fit to put a man in my life, apparently. Y'all know patience isn't my strong suit...and it especially kind of stings hearing Que say those things because it's him. He was supposed to be the one who wanted me back. He certainly acted like he did, in the beginning, anyway, even before the sex (and I use the term "sex" loosely, for the sake of brevity), but I guess it was all lip service or he's a really good actor. He's very good at avoiding the tough stuff. We will literally talk all the way to the point of:

Me: "I wouldn't mind being your girlfriend. All you have to do is ask." Him: "But would you cook sometimes?" Me: "I'll try." Him: *crickets*

And that will be that. What am I supposed to get from that conversation? And he'll be the one to bring it up! If I really didn't think that we would make an awesome team and have so much fun together then I'd leave it at that. But I think we would. And call me crazy but I think he knows it too.

Or maybe I am just delusional and like torture...

The Mistake I Wasn't Supposed to Make

You lot were right about the whole friends-with-benefits thing. It isn't just happy naked times. Somewhere along the lines I developed feelings for this young man. This isn't what I bargained for! I don't know if I am just transferring the lust into a different part of my brain that feels actual emotion, but, yeah. I want him all to myself, or at least acknowledge that it's not just physical. Because we were friends at first. And now we're lovers (how cliche). And now I'm past kicking him out in the light of day but find myself wanting to hang on a little longer. He's weird. He says he wants one girl. We drop "what if we were together as a couple" hints all the time. I want to hide my feelings but somehow make him confess his. Needless to say, THIS SUCKS. Somebody hold me...

What Happens After

My word.

The Que and I still have been rendezvous-ing all over the place. Well, all over my bed. We're no closer to anything resembling a real relationship, but at this point, we're using each other for our bodies, ha. It's quite liberating, actually. I think. Whatever we're doing is much better than any other flings I've had--if only for the fact that this one comes with nakedness and such. And no manipulative mind games. The whole "he has a whole lot of other women" trope is still here, though. But both (all four?) of my eyes are open, and his are too, so I'm praying we avoid any nasty collisions.

You know what sucks, though? When he rolls over and falls asleep afterward. I've been reading women's magazines for the better part of 10 years so I get that it's chemical ("a man thing" if you will) that I shouldn't take personally. But how come men get the "crash after orgasm" chemical and women get the simulated sensation of love/closeness towards the person from whence said orgasm came? Even if he is snoring. I try not to fret over it. I usually turn on "The Office" until my head mmmm, and my body mellow out. And um, there's not really any cuddling. Seriously, he sleeps like a log. That takes up a lot of space in what I previously thought was a big bed.

Is that healthy? I'd be interested to know what folks do after intercourse or intercourse-like activities. During the actual activities, though? I've got that covered. COVERED, IT IS.

A Numbers Game

"How many times did you come?"

He wanted to know. Truthfully, he'd lost count of how many times he felt her shudder, heard her scream.

"You came while we were first kissing, didn't you?" She nodded yes.

She'd straddled him as their mouths meshed, their tongues tangled. She squirmed in his arms as he suckled her neck just as she needed. He pressed harder and lashed his tongue firmer the way she begged him to. He didn't stop his quest, even when her limbs tightened around him in her first strained release.

That fire of hers smolders so close to the surface, he thought. Just kissing her neck can make her come.

He remembered almost erupting himself when she broke free to divest herself of her clothing: the tight shirt and tiny shorts that barely concealed her ass and the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen.

His eyes darkened as he pulled off her shorts, noticing the finery underneath.

"Stand up," he motioned, dragging her in front of him to stare at her magnificence. She turned slowly at his command. He gazed at chocolate-drop breasts resting enticingly in black lace, and when her back faced him, he reached out and filled his hands with her delectable ass, peeking out from matching panties.

He groaned as she mounted him once more, her flimsy lingerie the only barrier from his granite manhood. She whimpered, aroused by the sensation as he assaulted her throat again and began moving his mouth downward. Teasingly, she pulled off her bra slowly and deliberately. He wanted to ravage her on the spot. Tortured, he contented himself with feasting on her perfect breasts, one, then the other, attuned to her reaction to his attentions. Her moans grew louder, her body undulated harder and faster, and she arched into his mouth against the relentless tongue that coated her aching peaks.

He continued his feast even as she wailed his name in climax.

But he hadn't gotten his fill of her, he recalled, amazed. When would he?

She clutched at his broad shoulders, her cries softening into sighs. When she giggled into his neck, he broke free and eased her onto her back.

"Can I say that I'm nervous?" she asked timidly as he descended to his knees. He tossed her drawers to the floor.

"No."

With a smirk, he kissed her stomach. A soft protest died on her lips as he dipped his head to finally devour her as he wanted...

She would come again.

When Times Were Simpler

I can't wait to get away from you
Unsurprisingly you hate me too
We only communicate when we need to fight
But we are best friends...right?

You're too good at pretending you don't care
There's enough resentment in the air
Now you don't want me in the flat
When you’re home at night
But we're best friends right?

You’re Stephanie and I'm Paulette
You know what all my faces mean
And it's easy to smoke it up, forget
Everything that happened in between

Nicky’s right when he says I can't win
So I don't wanna tell you anything
I can't even think about
How you feel inside
But we are best friends, right?

I don't like the way you say my name
You're always looking for someone to blame
Now you want me to suffer just cause
You was born wide
But we are best friends right?

You’re Stephanie and I'm Paulette
You know what all my faces mean
And its easy to smoke it up, forget
Everything that happened in between

So I had love for you when I was 4
And there's no one I wanna smoke with more
Someday I'll buy the Rizla*, so you get the dro**
Cause we are best friends right, right, right, right?
Because we are best friends right?
Because we are best friends right?
"Best Friends" x Amy Winehouse

Some of you may know that my BFF? and I aren't seeing eye-to-eye anymore. Long-distance, plus different ideologies and priorities, I guess. I found her trying to shield me from life instead of supporting me when I chose to live it. Sex had always been a bone of contention with us--whenever I expressed any desire to do anything she would patronize and not listen to me, brushing off my concerns and just telling me to stay a virgin, even though she was sexually active. Ironically, in high school, she was the one who wanted to wait for marriage. When I finally had my first sexual experience, she was anything but happy for me, even though I was thrilled (and satisfied) at the outcome. That was a defining moment for me, it made me realize that we were no longer the inseparable, totally like-minded girls we'd been for the last two years of high school and first three years of college. I'm sad. I love her. But I know that we're in a different season of our lives right now. I will always appreciate our friendship, for six years she was the quintessential definition of what a best friend should be. Maybe I'm being dramatic with all of this rhetoric, but I feel like anything less would be an insult to our once ironclad bond. I wish her nothing but the happiness and love that she gave me during those beautiful years of our friendship.

Close Encounters of the First Kind

I'm afraid I'm not a sex-blogger like Amy or Vix, just have enough dirty thoughts and the occasional hookup to keep things interesting. So I won't be able to go into details about what happened when Que came over to my house one evening last week.

Did we do the full monty? No. Did I want to? HELL YES.

Before this I made a promise that before anything else happened, I would come clean about my lack of experience. Before we hooked up at the party it didn't matter that I had TOTALLY lied by omission about being a virgin, because my sexual status was none of his business as a random acquaintance. But as we began toying with the idea of a physical relationship I thought it wouldn't be fair to him, and he needed to know the whole deal.

I told him in the front seat of my car after work. It was kind of funny, actually. He asked if my confession was that I had a boyfriend or spent my holiday break in a series of sexual aerobics with various suitors. "Did you mess with any guys?" he asked. "No, quite the opposite, actually," I replied. He looked at me. "You messed with a GIRL?"

Le sigh. Life is not easy.

After all the hoops I jumped through to finally confess ("say everyone assumes you've been to Paris, but you haven't. You've seen a LOT of Parisian films and seem knowledgeable about the customs and stuff but you haven't technically been. Actually, you haven't done that much traveling in the first place") he was quite understanding. Disbelieving at first, but he agreed with my reasons for not telling him sooner.

I started fantasizing about our first "real" encounter as soon as I was sure that he wouldn't curse me out or run screaming from the car at the mere mention of an intact hymen. My biggest concern was that he would expect sex, and I was at least comforted (and proud of myself) that we had outlined the boundaries beforehand. But still, I couldn't help but wonder: what if it was bad? How awkward would that be? Do I have to shave everything? What if I laugh? What if oral sex was nowhere near all it's cracked up to be?

In short, yes, it's all it's cracked up to be. HOLY SHIT IS IT EVERYTHING IT'S CRACKED UP TO BE.

All my research on Parisian customs and sneaking Cosmopolitan magazines all those years was not done in vain. Cheesy as it sounds, I was anxiety-free during the blessed event, thanks to those sources.

Some things that I learned:

-I am loud.
-It is, indeed, okay to laugh in bed if something is funny.
-Black lace does not fail.
-Inducing a boner is extremely gratifying and does wonders for your confidence.
-Any time spent worrying about the attractiveness of your vagina is time wasted.
-He has already thought about you naked. You will never disappoint.
-Following directions yields good results. Giving directions yields great results.
-Porn is a wonderful appetizer. Do not forget to close laptop and put it safely on the floor after viewing, though.

I greatly, greatly anticipate an encore very soon.

Home Sweet Home

Hello, friends.

We're all aware that I de facto relocated to Southern State for college, and somewhere along the way I fell in love with this damn city. I had every intention of hightailing it back to the Midwest as soon as I walked across the stage (THIS MAY! ZOMG I'M ABOUT TO HAVE A BACHELOR'S DEGREE I STILL OWN A TEDDY BEAR AND HAVE YET TO FILE A TAX.) but like I said, the universe had other plans. So slowly and surely, I've been mentally preparing myself for a life with a 30331 zipcode for the time being, and rather enjoying it. And by "mentally preparing" I mean learning where the nearest Five Guys is and coming up with ways to convince my landlady to let me paint the walls, as opposed to, you know, finding a grad school program or studying for the GED or coming up with ideas on how to pay my own rent.

Priorities, I've got them. Avoidance issues, too.

My mother, predictably, is none too thrilled with her absentminded daughter fending for herself 700 miles away from her maternal, loving touch. My sisters either. Dad's okay with it, though, although he wouldn't turn me away (or, frankly, be surprised) if I showed up on our doorstep a year from now with nothing but a broken spirit and my iPod.

Barring the occurrence of some incredible, handsome Deux Ex Machina and I get married at my graduation party* or something, I'm guessing I'll be in a starter house of some kind for awhile by myself. Nothing excites me more than a place of my own that I can decorate and make my little sanctuary. It would be equal parts beach house, swanky loft, sports bar, and TAKE THAT, MOTHER.

*should I have it in Southern City or go back home? Dilemma!

There would be cheap posters on the walls, mismatched vintage furniture, and a refrigerator chock full of magnets and pictures. Every room would be painted, there would be framed pictures of neat stuff everywhere, candles. It would probably be a little cluttered, lip gloss would be in the kitchen, a collection of flip-flops by every door and mirrors everywhere. Mountains of books, CDs, and DVDs would stay perched on every shelf. Surround sound, duh. Maybe even a hamburger phone! I'd keep sweatshirts and cozy socks in the living room, and I'd have a big TV in my bedroom and an easy chair (the older the better) so I can watch The Office all day. Little Sister got me a Michael Jackson poster for Christmas, so that would have to go someplace prominent, obvs. Mismatched silverware, LOTS of wineglasses, with sunflowers or tulips at the table. All the lovely kitchen decor will distract from the fact that I cannot cook, see.

Every time my mom visits she'll bury her head in her hands and say what is all this junk? What is that writing on the wall above your bed? When's the last time you vacuumed? And I will smile and just be like, it's my house and it's perfect. And then I will win her over with this fellow:

Describe to me your dream house! Virtual housewarming!