Things My Mother Didn't Tell Me But Should Have...
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Posted:Jan 7, 2017 4:26 pm
Last Updated:Jan 13, 2017 10:47 am 11707 Views
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Things My Mother Didn't Tell Me But Should Have...
Never give any kind of pleasure to a boy you wouldn’t give yourself.
Kiss like a promise and wait for the other person to break it.
Human beings are not ships; you cannot save them from sinking
if they don’t want to be rescued from the floodwaters.
Loving someone that doesn’t give a damn about you
isn’t sexy; it’s misplaced energy, also known as self-destruction.
Don’t ever treat anyone like a refugee from a civil war;
they will come back from battle and leave you as wounded
as if you were the one who had been paid
for military service. Forgiveness isn’t putting the weapon down;
it’s learning how to kiss the person pulling the trigger,
not just a quick peck on the cheek, but a full one with tongue.
Let the dead be dead.
They have no answering machines, no phonelines:
if you call them, only the ground will ring.
Never trust a boy who already has a pack of condoms ready
in his coat pocket before he even asks your name.
When the world tries to break your back with its weight,
get a stronger spine.
Your father left us because he was ashamed
for not being the one that gave birth to you.
Even oceans misplace their anchors sometimes.
Never “give a man permission.”
You shouldn’t have to. It should be mutual.
Stop treating your body like currency-
don’t pay anyone who doesn’t deserve it.
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2
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Love Is Blind...
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Posted:Jan 6, 2017 8:37 am
Last Updated:Feb 19, 2021 5:47 am 13345 Views
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Love is Blind...
"Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person's sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they're taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment - just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! - an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience - or to fake - a sense of self-esteem .. Love is our response to our highest values - and can be nothing else.”
― Ayn Rand
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The Tower...
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Posted:Jan 3, 2017 7:01 pm
Last Updated:Mar 15, 2021 2:42 am 14045 Views
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The Tower...
His voice goads me and then I register the perfect rhythm he is creating in my tightly wound body. One, two, and then three fingers fill me, his hand rocking flawlessly against my quivering clitoris as he fucks me. Slowly at first and then the tempo increases as Shaw builds the pace. Before I know it I am panting as the sensations consume me. Eyes shut tight, I feel myself grinding against what feels like the palm of his hand or maybe his wrist, loving the friction it creates as Shaw penetrates me over and over again.”
― Felicity Brandon, Submission at The Tower:
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Nine and a Half Weeks
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Posted:Jan 3, 2017 3:39 pm
Last Updated:Feb 19, 2023 3:15 am 14481 Views
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Nine and a Half Weeks...
This one, I guess," he says. I look over at the counter, he is looking back at me. He is holding a riding crop: "I'd like to try it out." There is a peculiar shift: from one second to the next I have become disoriented, I am on alien territory, in a foreign century. He walks a few steps to where I am half sitting on the desk, one foot on the floor, the other dangling. He pulls my skirt up my left leg, which is resting on the desk, steps back and strikes me across the inner thigh.
The searing pain is an inextricable part of a wave of excitement; every cell in my body is awash with lust.
It is silent in the small, dusty room. The clerks behind the counter have frozen.
He slowly smooths down my skirt and turns to the older man, who is wearing a suit and still looks like an accountant, though a deep flush is spreading upward from his shirt collar.
"This one will do.”
― Elizabeth McNeill, Nine and a Half Weeks: A Memoir of a Love Affair
The very first book I read about this lifestyle.(1985)..I was hooked!
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LOVE....
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Posted:Jan 2, 2017 9:15 pm
Last Updated:Jan 6, 2017 8:32 am 13860 Views
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LOVE...
someone asked me to describe love, and all i could think about was the way his lips curled into a smile when i said something childish. she asked me to tell her what love felt like, and all i could think about was his arms around me, holding me tight, making sure i didn’t fall apart. she asked me what being in love was like, and all i could think about was sitting in the car listening to him sing and coming to the conclusion that i wanted to hear his voice for the rest of my life. she asked me what love was, and i told her that it was the way your heart yearns for a person, the way your body jumps at the mere thought of the person, the way your eyes shine as you see the person walking towards you. i told her that love is the most addictive drug there is, but that the high is worth it.
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3
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Profane...
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Posted:Dec 30, 2016 5:35 am
Last Updated:Jun 3, 2023 2:25 am 14191 Views
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Profane....
The first time he calls you holy
you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.
The second time, you
moan gospel around his fingers.
He has always surprised
you into surprising yourself.
He’s an angel hiding his halo
behind his back, and
nothing has ever felt so filthy
as plucking the wings from his shoulders -
undressing his softness
one feather at a time.
God, if you’re out there,
if you’re listening,
he fucks like a seraphim,
and there’s no part of scripture
that ever prepared me for his hands -
hands that map a communion
in the cradle of your hips.
Hands that kiss hymns up your sides.
He confesses how long he’s looked
for a place to worship and,
oh,
you put him on his knees.
When he sinks to the floor and moans
like he can’t help himself, you wonder
if the other angels fell so sweetly.
He says his prayers between your thighs,
and you dig your heels into the base of his spine
until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue.
You will ruin him and he will thank you;
he will say, please.
No damnation ever looked as cozy as this,
but you fit over his hips like they
were made for you.
On top of him, you are an ancient god
that only he remembers, and he
offers up his skin.
And you take it.
Once you’ve taught him how to hold
your throat in one hand
and your heart in the other,
you will have forgotten every other word
except his name.
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5
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Mythology...
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Posted:Dec 29, 2016 9:49 am
Last Updated:Feb 20, 2021 4:04 am 13224 Views
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Mythology...
She holds her hair up with only two chopsticks and a bobby pin.
Think Atlas. Think shoulders.
When your sadness starts to feast,
she carries the light down from the
mountain and hands it to you,
tells you to set it on fire.
Think Prometheus. Think savior.
On Sunday, she steps out of the shower and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than the way she walks towards you with a towel on her head, water clinging to her like there is
nowhere else it would rather be.
Think Aphrodite. Think sea foam.
You love her like mythology.
You love her like the impossible stories of Gods and monsters.
When she sings, think fairies.
Think mermaids. Think hymns.
She is the face of the river that
Narcissus fell in love with,
confusing hers for his own.
She is Medusa’s fury,
Athena’s strength,
Achelois’ healing.
You are kissing her in a crowded
restaurant and it feels like praying.
You are watching her instead of the
meteor shower
and you don’t even notice.
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3
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Years Later...
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Posted:Dec 27, 2016 9:14 am
Last Updated:Nov 1, 2021 5:17 am 13276 Views
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Years Later....
the bed at the center of it all–
the way you never felt like a stranger,
instead
like someone i had forgotten, like
a part of myself i had dropped in some
distant city, delivered
back to my door.
our story,
a pipe-dream in three parts–
my bedroom the place where everything
came together and the place where everything
fell apart. there are still echoes of us
in the bed-frame, and the closet, and the drywall.
i keep your dignity on the bookshelf;
i figure you’ll come looking for it, eventually.
it always comes back
to here.
the only sanctuary i have ever known
still smells like you, sometimes.
just when i think i’ve gotten you
out of the pillowcases,
i find your cologne on the walls.
i remember when you came apart in pieces
on the carpet, and i will never be able
to wash the heartbreak out of the floors.
someday,
i will leave our story behind, in this city.
this apartment will be barren and then
it will be full of other people.
none of them will know our names;
they will track over our history like
rerecording over old video tapes.
i won’t miss you.
or i will miss you,
but i’ll have bought a new mattress:
one that doesn’t know how you twitch in your sleep.
i will have a new bedroom, and the floor boards
won’t know how to moan your name
like i do.
and we’ll fall asleep
in different beds,
in different cities.
and if i wake up from dreams
that still taste like you,
i can take comfort in the fact
that even though you have kissed me,
you have never kissed me
here."
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Best Friend With Benefits
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Posted:Dec 26, 2016 7:37 am
Last Updated:Feb 22, 2021 4:25 am 13262 Views
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"i write to you like a lover
but we have never been in love.
three am and i’m sending snapshots
of my heart because you are the only one
who isn’t afraid to look at them.
sometimes we kiss for no reason.
sometimes i go crawling into your bed
because i need a space to belong to
and your hands are steadier
than mine have ever been.
sometimes you get lost
and you wind up on my doorstep,
but it’s okay–
you’re always welcome here.
i tell you all the secrets i’ve been
keeping from myself while you
peel apart at the edges and admit
to all the soft things you pretend
you don’t know how to feel.
we understand each other, here.
my sheets know all our demons.
we don’t touch like that in the daytime,
but at night you are all hands
and i am all teeth
and we are a double-hinged door
slammed open by the wind.
we work that way.
it’s easy as breathing:
two kindred souls wrapped up together,
settled in for the night,
sharing the same skin for a little while."
— Best Friends With Benefits
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Finally....
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Posted:Dec 23, 2016 6:00 am
Last Updated:Nov 20, 2019 5:08 am 12983 Views
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Finally...
“She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over hers again. Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast.”
― Margaret Mitchell
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