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Tuesday, March 6th, 2007
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9:39 pm - fingers.
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It started with seeing his fingers. Thick, rough sausage fingers that looked turgid and swollen on the ends of this stout hands. He shuffled papers in between them and explained something in detail while I nodded and smiled at him, as I imagined his fingers snaking their way up inside me. One would be enough to feel a strong pressure down there. Two would be enough for me to spread further and thrust back - three...probably wouldn't fit unless he decided to make it fit. Better damage than my own fingers could do. Looking at him made me wet. I saw nothing else but those fingers.
I saw them roughly grabbing at my cunt, rubbing at the hairless lips, finding their way inside me where their thickness would stretch and tickle and jab at the soft skin nestled inside. I imagine myself leaning against him, gasping through parted lips as he makes his way up further, fingers poking deep inside. Rough sandpaper work hands bringing me to orgasm. One arm snakes around my waist holding me steady now as I pant hot breath into the crook of his neck.
I see nothing but those fingers, tearing at my insides, pushing and pulling inside me, squeezing and pressing, rubbing at an invisible spot until it is tender and spasming. He is pressing so hard into me, thick hands thrusting inside until my legs give way and I come biting into his shirt.
This is what I'm thinking as I hand over my credit card, take my bill and bid him farewell.
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| Sunday, November 26th, 2006
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10:52 am - coming
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I go through stages like this, mornings spent with my legs splayed and my fingers tickling up and down my slit - lips open in an O and breathing heavily as I rub myself to orgasm. I imagine you on top, pressed up on your palms and relentlessly banging into me over and over.
I wake up in the middle of the night just to turn over onto my belly and circle my clit until I come hard biting into the pillow, imagining your thick cock tearing me apart while you hands slap my arse hard.
I drive imagining I'm sitting on your cock, I circle my hips while waiting for the lights to turn green, I can't help it - my knickers are always wet. I need to be fucked so badly.
Days like this are a lost cause, I don't know why I even bother getting out of bed - all I want to do is get under the covers and squeeze and pull at my full breasts and tease myself with my fingers until I come hard and wet all over my hand, but knowing it isn't enough.
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| Monday, November 13th, 2006
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7:16 pm - play me
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I think about my old piano sometimes, not a sound emerging from it's hollowed belly for years now. And like you, only alive when gently touched.
There is only one way to play an instrument - and that is with your heart. The truth is in the playing, not the melody. And this is true of you too. You can tell when there is a lack of heart. The tune may be the beautiful but it is a hollow excuse for a song.
You watch him play another instrument like he once played you.
You can feel his heart from way over here, beating within that song.
and it hurts, because it's not for you.
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| Friday, September 22nd, 2006
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6:20 pm - I like it when..
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If I had to be honest, I like the moments where it starts out fair but you take over. I like wrestling against your strength and feeling like there is always a chance I can overcome you. I push my thighs up over your hips and press down while grabbing your hands in each of my own and pushing them towards the floor. We laugh and pant at eachother - you are strong, but I think I've got something in me that can take you. You push up and but I bring my weight forward so you are pushed back again. I breathe hard into the crook between your shoulder and your neck, our bodies pulsating with excitement and anticipation. I think I'm winning. I always think that.
You tend to go still before you pounce and we are often both waiting for you to make your move. I never know how you do it but you wait until I relax, just a little and then you are able to manoeuvre my arms until they are at my side and then behind my back. Somehow you buck me off and are on top of me before I have a moment to figure out what has happened. Looking at you above me with your hips ground into my loins and your hands pressing my arms into the ground always makes me wet. I can't wait for you to take me, fuck me hard, make me come. I always want you so badly from this vantage point, beneath you.
Often you just take off what you need to, knickers to the side, pants half off. You push it in, and pound me into the ground - it's animalistic and I can feel every inch of you invading me. It both pisses me off and turns me on that you can take it when you want - no matter what I want. Luckily I always want it. Always.
Sometimes you tease each button open while smiling at me, that slowly emerging knowing smile. Licking at my thighs, humming at my clit, sucking at my smooth shaven lips. This time when you put it in you tease once again at the opening of my cunt. Slowly in and slowly out the head goes until I am nearly wild with want. That is when you push it all in, inch by inch without pulling back once, until it's all encased in that hot, tight spot. I like it when you're lying still in me and you bring your fingers to the side of my face and look down into my eyes and say I love you. Then you fuck me.
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| Saturday, September 2nd, 2006
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5:24 am - ding
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It's hard for you to make friends with men. There is something about them that instantly provokes the alarm bell and you are frightened of your need to be drawn into their arms and caressed with soft whispers and tickling fingers. It's never been a good combination.
Despite this, you have tiptoed gingerly around a certain man for a while. He was persistent in his courting and you have always been attracted to men who do not give up. You are a girl who is fiery and difficult to pin down - a docile man would never do.
At first you resisted the friendship. All signs pointed to no, but still there was something about him that made you sit up and take notice - you relented and let him inside. Then he turned around and left. There is no explaining it. Next time you will listen to the alarm bells.
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| Sunday, August 27th, 2006
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4:21 pm - welcome
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The time now has passed the cherry red sky of dusk and you find yourself driving along the darkened river - thick black charcoal lines curving under your wheels. She is framed with billboards on both sides and the giant posters lit within an inch of their lives blur as you rush past - red, blue, green, yellow - stark against the blackness that surrounds them. Unexpectedly all activity stops and the hush is evident by the lack of lights on the freeway. The charcoal road eats up the yellowish shine from your front beams and you, with your eyes squinting search the surrounds for life or at least a sign..
..knowing that all roads lead to the airport anyway.
Like the emerald city the building emerges before you - a neon oasis on the horizon. You feel her pull you in closer and closer until there you are standing in the large room with polished floors so shiny you can almost see your reflection. Even when near empty, you can feel the buzz of activity happening all around you, - the occasional rushed hustle of heels echoing across the floor. A suitcase on it's last legs dragged on wobbly wheels at high speed through the check in. A toddler dancing around his mother's legs as she frantically searches for her passport.
Here you are amoungst it all - quick embraces and a pat on the back. Slow, drawn out goodbyes while choking back heartfelt sobs. Passionate last kisses before being torn away from eachother by the closing of the silvery sliding doors - This one somehow your most and least favourite to watch. People care so deeply you muse to yourself - and this is the thought that you embrace and hold tight. Sometimes you need a reminder.
T is shifting her weight between her legs; anxious to be gone, to flutter off, to recommence her life elsewhere. Once, you were bookends and you see her leaving as part of yourself torn away from you - perhaps that's a little melodramatic. For the first time in your life though, you don't want her journey to be yours. This is progress - for once your own dreams are more important. Still, the urge to go bites at your ankles as you stand there watching the guiding lights twinkle brilliantly outside the window. You press your forhead into the glass and feel it's coolness drift down your face. A kiss on both cheeks and a quick walk up the corridor and she has dissapeared with the rest.
The drive home is bittersweet. Sober and yet peaceful. Welcome to Melbourne.
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| Tuesday, August 8th, 2006
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4:59 pm - I think therefore I..
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Sometimes you feel like you are a myth. If you are remembered and cherished you continue to thrive and exist, but if you are forgotten you gather dust in the crook of your neck and the hollow behind your knee. You can feel yourself wavering and dissapearing bit by bit like the cheshire puss and all you can think is that it's a strange sensation to become invisible - part a relief and partly the worst pain you've felt. You need something, for the well is truly dry. It's not so much the fantasy but the reality that will pull you through this time. You can do without the look, the smile, the kiss and the love - they were never yours to have in the first place. What you want you can't even put into words - god knows you've tried. You want something that will prove to you that you exist because sometimes the jury is out on that one.
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| Saturday, July 22nd, 2006
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8:06 pm - love is..
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this is what you think about the most of all:
When the person who is supposed to love you the most tells you that you are shit every single day of your life then you realise that if anyone ever says they love you then actually they don't.
It's a cold realisation but it's always been true. You've either watched them beating you down while you try to make sense of what "love" is. Or you see them walking away because you don't do exactly what they want you to do and you wonder where the "love" went.
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| Saturday, July 8th, 2006
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12:13 am
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you've learnt to read insincerity - after all, it's the deal breaker. You can tell when you're not the only one. It's obvious. A while ago you made the promise to yourself that you would stop being sometimes girl. You want sincerity and to feel special. It's actually not that much to ask - considering you are special. But this girl keeps coming up against the insincerity time and time again, and the fibres are beginning to wear against eachother. If there's one thing you know, it's that fibres that rub against eachother become delicate and snap.
You recognise that the looks he gives you are given out to many others. The words he whispers are used because they are effective rather than true. The kiss happens while the mind wanders. These kinds of lies, you can read from a mile away and you aren't impressed anymore. So the next time he gives you that look, you turn away.
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| Sunday, July 2nd, 2006
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4:01 am - the decision
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That friend, (the one you love) - you've been trying to let him go. It's unhealthy. It's ...useless, completely and utterly. Realising that has been worse than even watching him be painfully unaware of your love - and that was bad enough. Unbinding yourself from the knots you have tied is difficult, but it's a decision you've made because it's time. Everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place, these are the words you breathe in and out as you watch each knot fray and unravel. You have untied the finger knots, the mind knots, the ankle knots..but that heart knot, oh that's a tough one right there. It hurts every cell in your body to do it. You run your fingertips long the rough edges..you curl your finger underneath. Almost.
..almost.
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| Wednesday, June 21st, 2006
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10:34 pm - how?
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How do you comfort her, this girl? How do you tell the 5 year old you that she did nothing wrong? How to you live with the fact that you never had a chance to be just a kid, like everyone else? How do you live now? Ever? How do you reach inside and tell yourself that it's okay, you're safe now, even though you somehow missed 23 years that should have been carefree? How do you reconcile those moments spent closing yourself off and never really knowing why? You've run out of answers. The truth is, you're still five and that's where it stopped - your life. You're still there waiting for yourself to reach inside and save you. But how do you do that?
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| Wednesday, May 17th, 2006
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10:17 pm - rough fuck
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"grab your ankles"
it is a swift, gruff order which you follow immediately, anticipating being impaled.
you feel his rough fingers against your skin only moments before they are burried deep within you, carresing your most private places.
"wet as usual" he laughs.
you laugh too, but the laughter sticks in your throat and releases as a groan as he pushes his cock against your cunt, pressing against the hole there before pushing slowly in.
Every moment like this always feels like the first - a pressure so intense he makes you think it wont fit.
it almost doesn't, until he makes it fit.
he steadies himself against you by pulling you back against him roughly by your hips, and his grip tightens against your flesh.
The thrusts increase rocking you forward and your palms touch the floor as you struggle to balance against the assalt.
"on your ankles" he warns
it is an order not to be disobeyed.
he thrusts harder into your cervix as punishment
you cry out and steady your palms against the floor again.
the slap is quick, hard and intense - stinging your backside
again and again, until you have lost count between the thrusts and the smacks.
you can feel yourself blush in more places than one.
you grab your ankles again but you have already enticed him.
He continues stabbing at you until he comes deep inside.
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| Saturday, May 13th, 2006
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5:24 pm - the a ha experience
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I used to be green. I suppose we were all green once, but I actually miss it. Letting go of the 'naive' part of you means that walls appear where there was once pliability. It also means that you know how things work. Knowing how things work isn't always good. Sure, you can block the shots but you end up preferring not to play.
In a conversation I had the other day about lack of love in my life a girlfriend looked at me as though she had finally worked me out and said "the right guy for you will have to be a really special person. He has to be unique and ..just amazing, different not like the other guys. Normal guys aren't interesting to you - I know. You needsomeone a little quirky like you. That's the only guy that is ever going to be your match. I can't wait to meet him" She went on to add a few more things but the essance was the same. *The guy* is not your average guy.
And with that she articulated everything in one simple sentence that I have thought in my head for years but I walked away from that conversation sad. Yes, that's true - By unique, she meant that boy doesn't fit with anyone else - only with me. That seems a strange thing to say, as humans we are probably designed to fit with many, but I don't mean casually - I mean *really* fit - in every way. I know that is the only thing I can accept. Another truth is that in my heart I know that doesn't exist.
If I was green - I wouldn't know that.
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| Thursday, April 27th, 2006
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2:12 am - confusing state of affairs
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if I appear strong willed it's because I am, actually. I am not afraid to challenge people on their beliefs, thoughts and actions. I ask questions that others don't or won't. Sometimes I can be bratty. i am not afraid to say no, and do so, often. I am very protective of myself. But ultimately, I have realised that the man who gets to have my heart in the end will be treated like a prince. I give myself totally - everything. Not to say I won't challenge, or put up a fight or be a smart mouth - because I will, that is who I am. But at the core that person will be cherished - really, really cherished and this realisation scares me very deeply. It frightens me that he (future guy) will find out how willing I am to give of myself to him and just and use it as fuel to hurt me somehow. I don't know that I believe that anyone will ever love me as much as I love them. I can't ever see that happening. I suppose it's always been that way until now, with everyone I know - not just men. That's why, I dread actually ever meeting 'him'. I have a feeling he would probably destroy me.
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| Saturday, April 22nd, 2006
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10:15 pm - whomever
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Driving up the freeway I think of sitting on your lap.
of lowering myself down upon you, like I would a chair.
feeling the tip of you enter me
stretch and fill the initial emptiness
and then feeling the pressure build as I slowly sink you deeper
until I am sitting
upon you
fully
and I can feel you there
inside
deep
thinking of holding you there
and squeezing the length of you
within
these are my thoughts as I drive along the Eastern with the sun streaming through the back window.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Saturday, April 15th, 2006
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9:37 am - confused
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I seem to spend a lot of time on my back with my legs spread and my fingers exploring soft places. It's a lot of fun, but it's getting old. I feel like a stoner without the pot. Many of my thoughts are with the friend I'm in 'love' with. At the moment I need all the emotional release I can get, even if it means loving someone who doesn't love you back. But I can't help wishing I could just cut out that part of my brain that keeps going back to find him. He's always there, in my head and I've turned him into something that isn't even real anymore. I need to remember that when I'm next full of despair about him.
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Saturday, April 1st, 2006
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7:35 pm - the problem is; I want everything.
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Hardly an hour has gone by that I haven't thought about being fucked this week. Really, fucked. Keeping my mind on the job is difficult when you just want someone to push your cheek onto the table top and thrust into you from behind, over and over and over again. In between I'm day dreaming of the little tickles to chin, the soft nuzzles against my neck and the hugs - oh the hugs, probably my most favourite thing in the world - to be absolutely encased, safe, loved by arms..by the whole body. A hug is all pervasive, anyone can do it - but I hate the ones that are souless and cold. I want to be wrapped like a present and cherished.
Ahh, how the tone of this changed by the end..
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(6 comments | comment on this)
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| Saturday, March 25th, 2006
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6:02 pm - your time.
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today I will be nice.
kissing up the side of your neck until I reach your warm lips
smiling as I nibble your lower lip
and pressing myself onto your crotch.
I wiggle against you, feeling you push up roughly
all in good time.. I laugh.
you grip at my hips and grind me down against you in response.
..whose time? your eyebrow is raised mockingly.
kissing now - more passionately, with hot breath, sucking, biting, licking.
you push aside my knickers with swift fingers and drive yourself into me
thrusting hard
harder
harder
and holding me there
my flesh pressed against yours
my fingers gripping your nape
coming.
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| Friday, March 24th, 2006
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10:02 pm - this post has been a long time coming.
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If you haven't read this, you should
My answer was too big for the comment box. ha
I think university is one of those places where you grow up - politically speaking. It wasn't until I got to university that I realised how closed minded and small my world really was. I learned about so many different kinds of people and movements. My eyes opened up a lot in a short amount of time and so wasnt until I got to university that I became a feminist. Before that point I thought that girls like me were not feminists. I am not gay. I shave regularly ;). I don't hate men (they only infuriate me to no end!). In fact when I first proclaimed to a cousin that I was a feminist she laughed so hard that I had to wait until she could breathe again before going on. Apparently I don't look like a feminist! har.
Suffice to say judging by those very words there, my own view of what a feminist was, was completely and utterly constructed by the media and other dominant percpetions of 'millitant' behaviour which were perpetrated by small minded people.
The word feminist is STILL thought of as something bad. I can count on my hand the # of women I know who actually would publically call themselves a feminist. Coincidentally, those are the same women I went to university with. Women of my age (late 20s) who grew up with the benefits of feminism do not as a whole identify as feminists. Maybe I am running with the wrong crowd here..but I doubt it. Many of the women I know are professional, smart, savvy, sassy women and they are not feminists by label.
The common view is *still* that women who are feminists are unladylike, they are aggressive trouble makers who won't ever get a man. You know what? I would like both a great man and a family. I love that idea. I want to be a sexy and loving life-long partner and you know that if I ever get there, I'm going to be really really nice to him (.. naughty too). Does that mean I can't be a feminist? Please! The other crazy view is that if you are a feminist somehow you cannot be a sub in a D/s relationship. To those ideas I laugh heartily as well.
I reject this now as I rejected it back when I was in university. I realised there were certain things that made a feminist and those popular conceptions were not it.
My definition of a feminist is someone who recognises the idea that every woman has a voice and supports the idea of using that voice to affect positive social change that allow the two genders to live more harmoniously and equally.
But also, and perhaps just as importantly the word feminist means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. So perhaps I define this rather vainly.
A lot of people argue (even in 'women's writing' and women's politics) that the word "feminist" is redundant. We are now "post-feminist": an era that doesn't need the definition of feminist to define social change or to label the desire for political equality between the genders becuase we are already there. Why should women define themselves with an eye to the past? they argue. Well, this of course depends on whether one really believes that to be true, which if it were we would see less rapes, more women in positions of power in the workforce, better less expensive child care and things like the birth control pill being covered by medicare (or other national medical insurance). I could go on and on. No, it seems that we are not quite 'post' yet. The feminist label is still relevant. Take note I have not even touched on inequalities that exist for women in 2nd and 3rd world nations.
Furthermore, I realise that especially in the 90s there were a lot of debate between 2nd wave feminists and 3rd wave feminists (I suppose would be the right term, if there is one) and feminists of my era (3rd wave..or if you were into it riot grrls) were greatly offended at being publically proclaimed as 'inactive' and 'passive' by 2nd wave feminists who were wondering what happened to all that social change they had started. I suppose what followed was a rift - perhaps it started long before then anyway.
Men and women are not equal, sure. We play at different roles physically and emotionally too and often in the bedroom as well. For instance being submissive doesn't mean you are nothing. Aren't both men and women important in a relationship? Don't we both decide what's best for our children? Don't both genders want to know what their partner really thinks, becasue they value their opinion as important? If there are other things at play, such as the male having more power sexually and physically then isn't that agreed to by both man and woman because they both want that kind of relationship? I don't see a problem. I know that at times I have conflicts with this but I know that truly if I am to submit it is only to someone who values me as a person and loves me for who I am. But that is the same for involving myself in anything I do in life, including friendships.
But *politically* (because feminism is primarily a political construct); while we should be equal we are still not. This is not about whether men should open doors for women and who should pay on the first date. These are petty arguments to get into and undermine more pressing degrees of confusion about gender roles; child care/custody/pregnancy and debates about the responsibility for birth control and abortion (just to name a few). I think some people confuse politics and physicality sometimes. Men and women are different yes, but we should have the same political, medical, working, living rights. These are concerns for both men and women and often these concerns are addressed publically by people who identify as feminists. They still need to be addressed.
I owe a lot to my fellow feminists, especially those who bothered to change things so that women were given the right to vote, work, and gee..walk around outside the home once in a while ;). These rights were fought for and won, they were not born with us. I think sometimes when people say 'I'm not a feminist' they forget that women won the right to vote and other things because other women went out on a real limb and fought for those rights.
As an aside, feminism gave women one true thing and that is the right for women to choose your own lifestyle. That's a lot of different lifestyles, isn't it? That makes for a lot of different kinds of feminists out there as well. The running joke is that there are more feminisms than feminists! Why? women have other battles to fight too. We are women, but we are also black, or white, yellow, green, or environmentalists or lesbians, or straight or subs or whatever. We are so many things. Maybe the label doesn't adequately explain everything we are.. That might be true also.
Then again, maybe we should give credit where credit is due. A kudos, if you will. I am a feminist because I am a woman who believes in social progression, not regression. Yes, I wear that label. No, I am not your media created version of a feminist. I don't want to be either. Are you surprised? You shouldn't be - don't believe everything you see and hear - being a social dupe is a sorry thing to be.
Like all women I am far more than I get credit for. I am not a feminist but..., nor will I ever be her. I reject her totally. She undermines everything we have fought for and won.
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| Saturday, March 18th, 2006
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11:17 pm - The painting
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What will you use to paint her today?
Is she vibrant acrylic, smoothly textured, every brush stroke betraying her emotions?
Or perhaps some fine oils; thick and warm making you feel like you can reach out to her - touch her skin, feed on her thoughts?
Is she food dye, an ecentric spash on the page reined in at the borders with black pastel?
Is she watercolour; a mere blush on white? A flash of your imagination? An oasis?
Which utensils will create her?
Do you scrape away at her with a toothbrush? Soft bristles of a brush; sable or synthetic; flat or round? Do you use the warmth on the pads of your fingertips to swirl the paint around in patterns? Do you print her? Stamp her? Roll her? Dab her? Press her? Blow her through a straw? Sratch her form into the surface? Apply colour in fine strokes? Will a palette knife do her justice? Or do you go outside and grab a twig and use that?
You must know the subject before you paint her
and at this moment you feel like you know nothing at all.
How do you paint her?
How do you make her real?
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