fourth period.

In class with boys I always end up staring. Their skin is different- a softer, doughier white, or a harder, drier deep-brown tan. Their fingers are thick and sturdy and I imagine putting them in my mouth, grasping one big solid brown hand with my two small white ones and slipping a finger or two between my lips, between my teeth and my tongue. I want to be explored and in my wooden chair I practically feel cool bitter-salty fingers probing the smoothness of my cheeks and the wetness of the bumpy soft flesh under my tongue. I want to draw them in till fingertips reach the back of my throat, tickle and force. I want to see the look in their eyes when I push their hands back out with my tongue and my lips. I want the stubbly scruff on their faces under my hands and my cheeks and I want to tangle my fingers in silky brown curls or grasp short dark hair. I want muscles covered in golden skin and hair surrounding me. I want fingers, tongues, penises in my mouth, muscles moving in their own ways, curling or thrusting or throbbing as I clench when he comes and I can feel the desperate pushing out into the dark deep parts of me.

This is what coeducation does to me – awakens this wild animal passion for what my body thinks I need but I don’t really want.

and when you touch me, i want you to leave marks.

smeared makeup and mussed hair. swollen, red lips and hickeys. bitemarks, pink scratches. thin pink lines that heal to tiny red scabs, and very occasionally perfect little scars. bitemarks that become bruises that take weeks to heal.
i want lipstick on both of our faces and flesh that’s sore and soft. i want clothes that are wrinkled and turned-around. i want dilated eyes and warm, warm skin.
i want to be yours, with your name signed on my body…

(this is what happens when my fucking retainers make it so i can’t sleep. well, the retainers and everything else.)

with jigsaw pieces of your past…

This is the shit.

It’s long but worth thinking about.
“…while men with high sex drives report an even more polarized pattern of attraction than most males (to women for heterosexuals and to men for homosexuals), in women the opposite is generally true: the higher the drive, the greater the attraction to both sexes, though this may not be so for lesbians.” Essentially, bisexual women may indeed be sluttier. This is, however, not because they are bisexual, but vice versa: they are bisexual because they have a higher sex drive/are sluttier. This is weird to me because it’s all the things bisexuals fight against having said to them, like “you’re only into girls so you can have more sex,” theorized by science. It’s also weird because it does make a lot of sense.

“…women are prone to lubricate, if only protectively, to hints of sex in their surroundings…” This, I have to say, probably explains a lot.

‘“Women want to be thrown up against a wall but not truly endangered. Women want a caveman and caring…’” I think the way that this is true for many women is that it is true to different extents. I want to be thrown up against a wall but not endangered (if you know me, you know that), but my definition of not endangered might involve trusting someone with a knife on my throat. Someone else’s definition of not endangered might involve trusting someone not to give her bruises.

I am too lazy and braindead to create a full discussion of this but maybe will at a later date.

analogizing.

I think pain and sex are like peanut butter and jelly. Best together. I mean, take pain, take peanut butter (this one really holds true only for me and people like me…). I am not really big on peanut butter. It’s good with bananas, sometimes apples, occasionally chocolate, even occasionally by itself. And take pain. Pain when inflicted for the fun of it by a friend or a “lover” or someone in between is excellent. Pain when you’re giggling with endorphins and adrenaline is really, honest-to-god fun. Sometimes pain is a comfort. On the other hand, some kinds of pain just HURT. Like toe-stubbing. Or papercuts. It’s very hard to relish a stubbed toe or a paper cut.
Now take jelly. It’s good. It’s good mixed into yogurt, it’s good on toast, it’s good and sweet when you stick your finger in it and lick it. Jelly is sweet and fruity and delicious. Sex is not sweet and fruity and delicious, exactly, but it is kind of awesome. [note: by sex I mean all kinds of sex, not just The Sex.]
Now take peanut butter and jelly. Think about it. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a heavenly experience. It’s savory and salty, while also being sweet. It’s soft and crunchy. It has protein and fiber (if you use whole grain bread, which really is the best way to make a pb&j) and sugar and some fat. It’s pretty much the best thing ever. They enhance each other, complement one another, bring out all the best in one another. And so it is with pain and sex!

Thus ends my metaphor.
I would really like sex.
I guess I’ll just have to eat a pb&j instead…

mildly frustrated would be putting it gently.

I woke up at 4:54 this morning. Why? Because my parents were having loud sex. While at first I was just PISSED THE FUCK OFF BECAUSE I WAS ASLEEP, DAMMIT! I then asked the world some interesting questions.
1. Why are they having sex at 4:54 a.m.? Normal people are asleep at 4:54 a.m….like ME!
2. after 18 years of having kids, how has she not learned to be QUIET?
3. how do you tell your parents “you woke me up at 5 this morning and I hate it when you have loud sex.”????
4. it would be amusing if I weren’t so angry and sleepy that my mom makes the same sounds as I do. but that’s kind of weird and creepy to think about. are sex noises encoded in the DNA?

I also have not SEEN said parents all morning. Gee, I wonder why. They are probably lying in bed, exhausted, because they were up till 5 a.m. having sex!

Also it’s snowing. Or it was. but now it’s stopped. Which also pisses me off.

I hate mondays.

remixed (and currently untitled)

I am the innocent victim
of a rabid animal,
all claws, all teeth,
all rough, all bold,
full of madness and determined
to take control.

I am the lover, the beloved
of anybody’s body,
all lips, all skin,
all bold, all sweet,
full of madness and determined
to give release.

I am a lemon peel
or a sour-sugar sucker,
all bumps, all flavor,
all sweet, all harsh,
full of madness and determined
to be no sum, just parts.

I am a trespasser
on heavenly lands,
all whispers, all tiptoes,
all harsh, all hush,
full of madness and determined
to live in the lush.

I am a prisoner,
by my own request,
all ropes, all chains,
all hush, all loud,
full of madness and determined
to find the way out.

I am the high priestess
of every dark sin,
all senses, all chemicals,
all loud, all mean,
full of madness and determined
to make my own peace.

In this moment
I am everything,
full of madness and determined
to be free.