My son is two and will be three in August. A little boy really. Still, we’ve never been farther from potty training then we are now. We were a bit distracted when he was too young to be attached to crapping his pants. Now he’s taken a stand and he’s vehemently opposed. He insists “I’m a baby” and will explain “I wear diapers!” when questioned about it. No0o0o0000..... really, I have no idea why I get the “intense” personality children. I’m like lemonade on a hot day!
***Just to warn you this is not a solicitation for potty training advice. I have had the *ahem* pleasure of potty training several kids. I don‘t want to be cocky exactly (but this is indeed me slapping you in the face with my giant child rearin' dick) but I doubt you could tell me anything I don‘t already know on this topic. This is not a challenge. This me encouraging you not to bore me. I already know what I did wrong, am doing wrong and will continue to do wrong. PS the people dropping cereal in the toilet are fucking insane. I only feel this strongly because I KNOW my son would pee in his granola at breakfast.***
Earlier today I heard the soggy thump of a diaper hit the floor just after he informed me loudly “This diaper is full, I need a new one. I‘ll get it myself. I DOOO ITTT MYSELF!”
Yeah. So it’s not that he’s dim.He just likes diapers. I blame modern technology! They're so damn absorbent! And, I’m well aware of what would happen were I to force this issue directly. I’ve given him time to get over the move, the girls going to school and waited for the weather to warm because the fewer items of clothing the easier it is. I’ve watched for hints that his opinion on the matter might be changing. I’ve watched to try and discern if he’s controlling his bowels. (eww… I mentioned bowels!) The other big trouble is getting him sleeping in his own bed which I think should come first. However there is disagreement on that topic in the house. (by the way this whole two parent thing is for the birds. But let’s not go there today.) So…. Since noticing the toddler decided the potty is BAYAD I spend a lot of time discussing my potty life. Of course I’m banking on his superb mimic abilities.
I make a big deal of pausing mid-activity and explaining I must get up and interrupt our block castle building to use the toilet. I let him watch. I mention how proud of myself I am when I make it to the toilet in time. Sometimes I pretend like it was a real close call, too. I talk about how pleased I am to flush the toilet and put the lid down. I exclaim over the pleasure of washing ones hands after and remark upon the correct way to use the bathroom towel, ie do not drop on floor and stomp over with muddy shoes.
I can see he can see exactly what I’m doing. Oh he’s onto me for suuuuuuure. The corner of his mouth lifts this TIIIIIIIINY bit and I just know he KNOWS. Other than that he ignores all of it except for showering me with praise on my potty skills. Cause he’s a sweetheart and he’ll support me in my toilet choice even though he himself has made a different toilet choice. The choice to get us to support the Huggies corporation for all eternity.
So I went in from another angle:
When I’m folding laundry I talk about how much daddy loves wearing his underpants. And sister her underpants. And cousin too! I talk about the comfort! The STYLE! Why! It’s like a hat or a pair of shoes! (real big in the pre-school set) And there’s all kinds of underwear, it’s soft and dry and comfortable and everybody loves it. WHy! I'm pretty sure bob the builder himself wears tighty whities! (that's funnier if you know my mom's b/f looks like bob the builder) But he knows better.
“You underpants, Mama?”
“Sure. Mama loves underpants too.”
He laughed disbelievingly. “You no underpants.” So I took him to my underwear drawer and showed him the piles of underpants rarely worn. He was indeed impressed. He likes to wear the thongs on his head and considers the drawer his own personal dress up box. He knows damn well Mama rarely wears underpants and when she does he’s sure not present. Just like all the shoes.
So.
Today I took a nap with him and I pulled my jeans off to climb into bed and I was actually wearing underpants. They were the boy short cut. Blue with pink polka dots and some buttons. ( I only mention 'cause I know you'll ask) His eyes got huge and he directed “Leave those on!”
“Yeah. I’m going to leave them on.” I confirmed, choosing not to bring up his bossy tone just before nap.
He put his arms in the air and cheered “YAY! I like it!"
We’re just so proud of me.
March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Finding the Hole
“Yeah, what is with guys wanting to slap people with their dicks?” my sis asked me. She was reading through the comments on the sex tip blogs.
“I don’t know. It must do something to your brain growing up with a sex organ as an appendage.” I responded lamely. “You can’t walk on it. You can only write your name in the snow so often.”
She bobbed her head back and forth mimicking her probable response to being slapped in the face with a penis, wincing and questioning with her eyebrows. Then she holds her mouth open in an oh shape and gestures madly at her mouth, garbling, “Heye! Put it HErye! Right HERE! My Mouff! Pu it in my mouff!”
I collapsed on the floor hysterical, saying “yeah that is exactly it. They can’t find the hole. That explains it.” nodding enthusiastically.
“If they can’t find the hole in my face… they sure won’t have a chance down below.” she quipped. We giggled wildly for a bit at our own funny.
“Some ladies do like it.” I pointed out.
“Maybe they don’t know where their holes are either.” she replied.
“Dick slapping is ridiculous. But what about the eye contact thing? Why must we gaze romantically while we’re sucking dick? It‘s not like people stare at each other while they‘re kissing. Except for The Sandwich, he did everything with his eyes open and man was it creepy.”
“YEAH!” more frantic miming of sex acts. “And I don’t want them watching me when they’re down there either. I hate seeing their little eyes peeking out. You can’t see their mouth- it’s all beady eyes staring at you, and they have no expression it’s this blank dead look.”
“Try letting up a bit- maybe he can’t breathe. Oh! You know what you need to do; just rotate around and give him your own blank stare.”
“ahahahahahahahahah! That’s awful.”
“but it works. And he won’t even know you’re avoiding eye contact, 'cause he'll be distracted trying to slap you in the face with his dick.” She was bent over laughing now. “If you had a dick you could just slap him around a little and tell him to shut his eyes. But ya don’t. So it’s sixty-nine for you. Wear goggles in case he never finds your hole. Thank me later.”
March 30, 2009
“I don’t know. It must do something to your brain growing up with a sex organ as an appendage.” I responded lamely. “You can’t walk on it. You can only write your name in the snow so often.”
She bobbed her head back and forth mimicking her probable response to being slapped in the face with a penis, wincing and questioning with her eyebrows. Then she holds her mouth open in an oh shape and gestures madly at her mouth, garbling, “Heye! Put it HErye! Right HERE! My Mouff! Pu it in my mouff!”
I collapsed on the floor hysterical, saying “yeah that is exactly it. They can’t find the hole. That explains it.” nodding enthusiastically.
“If they can’t find the hole in my face… they sure won’t have a chance down below.” she quipped. We giggled wildly for a bit at our own funny.
“Some ladies do like it.” I pointed out.
“Maybe they don’t know where their holes are either.” she replied.
“Dick slapping is ridiculous. But what about the eye contact thing? Why must we gaze romantically while we’re sucking dick? It‘s not like people stare at each other while they‘re kissing. Except for The Sandwich, he did everything with his eyes open and man was it creepy.”
“YEAH!” more frantic miming of sex acts. “And I don’t want them watching me when they’re down there either. I hate seeing their little eyes peeking out. You can’t see their mouth- it’s all beady eyes staring at you, and they have no expression it’s this blank dead look.”
“Try letting up a bit- maybe he can’t breathe. Oh! You know what you need to do; just rotate around and give him your own blank stare.”
“ahahahahahahahahah! That’s awful.”
“but it works. And he won’t even know you’re avoiding eye contact, 'cause he'll be distracted trying to slap you in the face with his dick.” She was bent over laughing now. “If you had a dick you could just slap him around a little and tell him to shut his eyes. But ya don’t. So it’s sixty-nine for you. Wear goggles in case he never finds your hole. Thank me later.”
March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The Things He Won't Tell You As Long As There's A Chance You Might Still Put Out
Dear Ladies,
Men. MEN. Am I right? Whew. Still… Unless you want to vibrate yourself into eternity with that plastic dildo manufactured to resemble a woodland creature on Saturdays, you might want to have a look at what the men have to say.
Not Yours Either,
Dew
Contributors (in no particular order):
H-17
Grau Geist
Svaha
Art Carcass
Planet Jeff
Chico’s Machine Shop
Modern Primate
Don
Wolfshades
*Joe*
Harbinger
Fuzzywumpus
“I'll tell you one thing that women need to know. When a woman takes her tit in her hand and pulls it up to her mouth and sucks on it or licks it or whatever...not attractive. Not even remotely attractive. I only mention this because it seems to be a common go-to move for a lot of women when they're trying to be sexy.”
“Please don't ask me if your outfit makes you look fat when I'm in the middle of trying to seduce you. If I wasn’t hot for you, I wouldn't be trying to drag you back to my cave. Nothing is sexier than a woman with confidence. I'll take a self assured plain-Jane over an insecure movie star any day.”
“Size Matters for women too. If you've pushed out a kid or two, that hole can be a bit large. Kegels, please. Even they may not work. If I ask for anal, this may be the reason why. Even women without children can have this problem. True, if I had a gargantuan cock, this might not be a problem for me, but how many of us really have one, eh?”
“respect the balls. love them like your children. suckle from them like a cow's udders."
“The head of my cock is the most sensitive part, that's true, but I much prefer to have the shaft stroked at the same time. And don't ignore the balls and the ass.”
“The fact that you are a little fat here or a little fat there or a blemish here or there does not matter when I am going to fuck you. I am not perfect either. I'd like to see you naked with the lights on once in a while.”
“Sex for men, springs from the little head while sex for most women cums from the big head, and here lies the problem. Women think to much. You build romantic scenarios in your head then get disappointed if things don't go the way it was scripted in your head. You’re almost there and you get that look and say, "I lost it." Well find that fucker again! Chase it if you have too, there is an orgasm in there. When was the last time a guy almost got there, then it slipped away? Never, If a guy is even remotely close to the goal, he's there. Sometimes it is a good thing to not think so much and just enjoy the moment and to just feel and let the feelings take you there.”
“Just because this is the first time you've seen me this week without the laptop/TV remote in my hands doesn't mean it's a good time to talk about bills, summer camps or taxes. No, calling me a jerkface for not getting the taxes done does not count as talking dirty.”
“Ladies, we know that your little man in the boat must often be treated with sensitivity and often a feather light touch. So we know why you're doing the same with our Johnsons. One word: don't. Don't treat our tools too delicately. If you're holding it in your hand, clamp down on that sucker a bit. Pressure won't hurt us. Too light a touch and we'll lose blood flow. Slap that thing around if you want to - you won't hurt its feelings. I mean, you know how we often massage your boobies like we're going for a gallon of milk out of them? And you know how you have to tell us to slow down and take it easy with them? We do that because that's how we want our parts treated, and we make the mistake of thinking it's the same for you (which, if we're paying attention at all by now, we know it's not). Have fun with our parts. Bend it a bit. Let it slap back. Then get on top of us and grind for all you're worth. Oh - and thank you.”
"yes, I may very well have a small penis and be bad in bed, but if you're just lying there like a fucking deflated blowup doll, you're probably not all that great yourself, and there’s a good chance I'm going to spray you in the eyes."
“I'd like nothing better than to please you. It pleases me to please you. But if you don't tell me what you want, how do you expect me to know? If you're too shy to say it, a little nudge will do. Moan a little more when I get it right.”
“maybe try moving the odd time. It's a nice touch.”
"Yes, I know it gets really hard for you babe, and the harder the better for both of us... but it IS made of man meat and not granite, so please don't snap it off at the base with those impossibly angled wild gyrations?"
“Yes, the Catwoman suit IS necessary. Stop asking dumb questions and yowl a little more convincingly.”
“Men are 'pitchers' not 'catchers'. They will normally only submit to penetration once a year, by a bespectacled proctologist with unusually small hands.”
“It's all about attention. You want some attention, snuggles, intimacy, or whatthefuckEVER, just give ME some attention. Nothing over the top is required. You don't need to grease up and spin around a stripper pole, or twist up like a pretzel and put both feet behind your head and play Beethoven on the flugelhorn with your 'gina. Just a kiss on the neck, brush your hand across my butt and smile, whisper a cute, dirty joke somebody told you at work, and blush. It's not rocket science.”
“We don't mind if you fake your orgasms. In fact, a rather spirited, dramatic "orgasm" is quite the turn on.”
“If I don't cum, you didn't turn me on enough. If it took me a really long time, I had to think of someone else to finish. I'd rather not have to think of someone else while having sex. I could just jerk off instead.”
“Guys need foreplay too!”
“Testicles get lonely too....pay attention to them. Testicles however are not fruit. They should not be squeezed as such. You can tell their ripeness visually. When blue, they are at their ripest.”
"for christs sakes LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE!! your vagina has more hidden crevices than the goddamn grand fuck canyon, and my dick does not come with GPS!"
“No matter how lousy in bed you are you'll never know it cause he'll never tell you as long as you're still banging him. He might tell you you're a lousy lay after you break up and he'll for sure tell everyone he knows.. but not while you're still willing to let him get some.”
“There are times that are for you and times that are for me. I can fake it (moan, talk, whatever) during your times, if necessary. Please fake it (if necessary) during my times too. The sounds you make add to my enjoyment.”
“Sorry about the finger in the (her) ass. It turns me on.”
“For cryin' out loud, just have some fun! Nothing is more inviting than sharing some FUN with the person you love. "The second best thing you can do together in bed is laugh." I don't know who said that, but it is genius.”
“No teeth, please. (Steal from the woman who wrote similar). If I am moaning or oohing and aahing - you have hit the right spot. Please don't stop or do something different. And, did I mention, NO TEETH!”
“Not too shocking: a guy will put up with a lot (A LOT!) if he thinks he's gonna get sex out of it. Your bad breath, pissy moods, embarrassing behavior, stupidity, annoying habits etc.. And this carries over into the bedroom. If you're not doing something just the way he likes or whatever...but he's still getting his rocks off? IT DOESN'T MATTER. He doesn't care. As long as you’re putting out for him. The second the sex stops, though, you will hear all about everything you do that bugs the shit out of him on a daily basis (so will everyone he knows).”
“Please slow down when I start to cum. All the nerve endings are turned up to eleven at that point. Too much friction causes overload and ruins the orgasm. Remember, I only get one.”
“When giving hand jobs, think 'golf ball washer' and NOT stick shift on a '69 Mustang.”
"I DON'T READ MINDS. - Please, please, please, for the love of Jeebus, Mary, Joseph and the wee little donkey: if it feels good - let me know. If it doesn't - let me know. A little to the left - nudge me over. Faster/slower/harder/softer/standing up in a hammock - let me know. Right on target - buckle up and hang on. I don't need GPS coordinates, I DO know where your clit is, I know how tab A fits into slot B. There's (at minimum) two of us naked here, let's do this right! The whole If I have to tell you it doesn't count shit will get us both nowhere."
“After it leaves my body I don't care what you do with it. I just know I don't want it back.”
March 26, 2009
Men. MEN. Am I right? Whew. Still… Unless you want to vibrate yourself into eternity with that plastic dildo manufactured to resemble a woodland creature on Saturdays, you might want to have a look at what the men have to say.
Not Yours Either,
Dew
Contributors (in no particular order):
H-17
Grau Geist
Svaha
Art Carcass
Planet Jeff
Chico’s Machine Shop
Modern Primate
Don
Wolfshades
*Joe*
Harbinger
Fuzzywumpus
“I'll tell you one thing that women need to know. When a woman takes her tit in her hand and pulls it up to her mouth and sucks on it or licks it or whatever...not attractive. Not even remotely attractive. I only mention this because it seems to be a common go-to move for a lot of women when they're trying to be sexy.”
“Please don't ask me if your outfit makes you look fat when I'm in the middle of trying to seduce you. If I wasn’t hot for you, I wouldn't be trying to drag you back to my cave. Nothing is sexier than a woman with confidence. I'll take a self assured plain-Jane over an insecure movie star any day.”
“Size Matters for women too. If you've pushed out a kid or two, that hole can be a bit large. Kegels, please. Even they may not work. If I ask for anal, this may be the reason why. Even women without children can have this problem. True, if I had a gargantuan cock, this might not be a problem for me, but how many of us really have one, eh?”
“respect the balls. love them like your children. suckle from them like a cow's udders."
“The head of my cock is the most sensitive part, that's true, but I much prefer to have the shaft stroked at the same time. And don't ignore the balls and the ass.”
“The fact that you are a little fat here or a little fat there or a blemish here or there does not matter when I am going to fuck you. I am not perfect either. I'd like to see you naked with the lights on once in a while.”
“Sex for men, springs from the little head while sex for most women cums from the big head, and here lies the problem. Women think to much. You build romantic scenarios in your head then get disappointed if things don't go the way it was scripted in your head. You’re almost there and you get that look and say, "I lost it." Well find that fucker again! Chase it if you have too, there is an orgasm in there. When was the last time a guy almost got there, then it slipped away? Never, If a guy is even remotely close to the goal, he's there. Sometimes it is a good thing to not think so much and just enjoy the moment and to just feel and let the feelings take you there.”
“Just because this is the first time you've seen me this week without the laptop/TV remote in my hands doesn't mean it's a good time to talk about bills, summer camps or taxes. No, calling me a jerkface for not getting the taxes done does not count as talking dirty.”
“Ladies, we know that your little man in the boat must often be treated with sensitivity and often a feather light touch. So we know why you're doing the same with our Johnsons. One word: don't. Don't treat our tools too delicately. If you're holding it in your hand, clamp down on that sucker a bit. Pressure won't hurt us. Too light a touch and we'll lose blood flow. Slap that thing around if you want to - you won't hurt its feelings. I mean, you know how we often massage your boobies like we're going for a gallon of milk out of them? And you know how you have to tell us to slow down and take it easy with them? We do that because that's how we want our parts treated, and we make the mistake of thinking it's the same for you (which, if we're paying attention at all by now, we know it's not). Have fun with our parts. Bend it a bit. Let it slap back. Then get on top of us and grind for all you're worth. Oh - and thank you.”
"yes, I may very well have a small penis and be bad in bed, but if you're just lying there like a fucking deflated blowup doll, you're probably not all that great yourself, and there’s a good chance I'm going to spray you in the eyes."
“I'd like nothing better than to please you. It pleases me to please you. But if you don't tell me what you want, how do you expect me to know? If you're too shy to say it, a little nudge will do. Moan a little more when I get it right.”
“maybe try moving the odd time. It's a nice touch.”
"Yes, I know it gets really hard for you babe, and the harder the better for both of us... but it IS made of man meat and not granite, so please don't snap it off at the base with those impossibly angled wild gyrations?"
“Yes, the Catwoman suit IS necessary. Stop asking dumb questions and yowl a little more convincingly.”
“Men are 'pitchers' not 'catchers'. They will normally only submit to penetration once a year, by a bespectacled proctologist with unusually small hands.”
“It's all about attention. You want some attention, snuggles, intimacy, or whatthefuckEVER, just give ME some attention. Nothing over the top is required. You don't need to grease up and spin around a stripper pole, or twist up like a pretzel and put both feet behind your head and play Beethoven on the flugelhorn with your 'gina. Just a kiss on the neck, brush your hand across my butt and smile, whisper a cute, dirty joke somebody told you at work, and blush. It's not rocket science.”
“We don't mind if you fake your orgasms. In fact, a rather spirited, dramatic "orgasm" is quite the turn on.”
“If I don't cum, you didn't turn me on enough. If it took me a really long time, I had to think of someone else to finish. I'd rather not have to think of someone else while having sex. I could just jerk off instead.”
“Guys need foreplay too!”
“Testicles get lonely too....pay attention to them. Testicles however are not fruit. They should not be squeezed as such. You can tell their ripeness visually. When blue, they are at their ripest.”
"for christs sakes LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE!! your vagina has more hidden crevices than the goddamn grand fuck canyon, and my dick does not come with GPS!"
“No matter how lousy in bed you are you'll never know it cause he'll never tell you as long as you're still banging him. He might tell you you're a lousy lay after you break up and he'll for sure tell everyone he knows.. but not while you're still willing to let him get some.”
“There are times that are for you and times that are for me. I can fake it (moan, talk, whatever) during your times, if necessary. Please fake it (if necessary) during my times too. The sounds you make add to my enjoyment.”
“Sorry about the finger in the (her) ass. It turns me on.”
“For cryin' out loud, just have some fun! Nothing is more inviting than sharing some FUN with the person you love. "The second best thing you can do together in bed is laugh." I don't know who said that, but it is genius.”
“No teeth, please. (Steal from the woman who wrote similar). If I am moaning or oohing and aahing - you have hit the right spot. Please don't stop or do something different. And, did I mention, NO TEETH!”
“Not too shocking: a guy will put up with a lot (A LOT!) if he thinks he's gonna get sex out of it. Your bad breath, pissy moods, embarrassing behavior, stupidity, annoying habits etc.. And this carries over into the bedroom. If you're not doing something just the way he likes or whatever...but he's still getting his rocks off? IT DOESN'T MATTER. He doesn't care. As long as you’re putting out for him. The second the sex stops, though, you will hear all about everything you do that bugs the shit out of him on a daily basis (so will everyone he knows).”
“Please slow down when I start to cum. All the nerve endings are turned up to eleven at that point. Too much friction causes overload and ruins the orgasm. Remember, I only get one.”
“When giving hand jobs, think 'golf ball washer' and NOT stick shift on a '69 Mustang.”
"I DON'T READ MINDS. - Please, please, please, for the love of Jeebus, Mary, Joseph and the wee little donkey: if it feels good - let me know. If it doesn't - let me know. A little to the left - nudge me over. Faster/slower/harder/softer/standing up in a hammock - let me know. Right on target - buckle up and hang on. I don't need GPS coordinates, I DO know where your clit is, I know how tab A fits into slot B. There's (at minimum) two of us naked here, let's do this right! The whole If I have to tell you it doesn't count shit will get us both nowhere."
“After it leaves my body I don't care what you do with it. I just know I don't want it back.”
March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Things Your Girlfriend Won't Tell You In Bed
Dear Gentlemen,
Ahhh women. Enchanting and mysterious. No? Yes.. and we like it that way, don't we? Yes I think so. Still. You could use a heads up in certain areas. And your girlfriend isn’t going to tell you. She’s going to tell everyone BUT you. So just in case you share anything in common with my girlfriends’ boyfriends you might want to have a little look-see at the below advice.
Truly Not Yours,
Dew
Contributors (in no particular order):
Sister Scotchy McDrunkerson
Moody Pants
Buddha Mama
Origami Momi
(A)Dew(Z)
Chaibaby
sunmoonstars
Banana Pants
Loree Harrell Writes and Paints
Salacious Bee
“Let me direct your attention to an easily forgotten fact: The vaginal canal is NOT the Mecca of sensation in the female genitalia. That's right, it isn't packed with nerves that would make child birth even more of an unbearable hell. Nature is a mother, but she ain't THAT cruel. If you're planning on planting your face in her crotch, may I draw your attention to the little man in the boat? If she looks bored, you're clearly doing something wrong, so take your tongue out of her hole and do something useful with it.”
“Do not solicit high fives afterward. If you really were stellar, you'd hear about it. Maybe as an "OMIGAWD!" and fingernail tracks down your back...but when you have to ask? Well...she's gonna lie if she likes you.”
“There’s something that has nothing to do with what you’re doing or I’m doing. There’s something that can be drawn tight in the air between us. Find that and help me twist it.”
“When I'm moaning, making incoherent yummy sounds, swearing, or speaking in tongues, this is not a good time to "switch it up". That means you're actually doing it right, go with it.”
“Somebody told everyone once that if you randomize your strokes you’re going to be able to hold out longer. Problem is. She’s not going to want you to. Not if every sixth stroke you’re slamming your cock into her cervix in such a way that it makes her wax sentimental about her last pap smear. If it‘s keeping you from "cuming" it‘s probably working that way for her too.”
“Quid pro quo, Clarise... Nobody should have to do all of the work. Share and share alike...or take turns. Whatever. But trust me when I say that giving you blow jobs just for the thrill of it pisses us off. Next time, you'd better be prepared to reciprocate.”
“Size matters. Long enough is great until you‘re probing my uterus. Girth is welcomed until I can’t get it in there without needing an episiotomy. Either way don’t expect size or your dick to carry the show for me just because it does for you.”
“Have some fun. It's okay to laugh once in awhile - the whole process is objectively absurd, after all. Get fascinated by me - watch me. Watch how my body responds to this touch or that breath or your tongue just right there just like that for just that long. And then lay back and let me watch you. There's no place we have to be.”
“Foreplay. Think of it as the pre-game warm-up. The more warmed up she is, the better chances you'll have of scoring.”
“There is a difference between camera-friendly angles and creative fuckery. Hint: one of them actually feels good with your body (not to mention mine) and not just your eyes. So I can bend that way… I knew that, you’re only impressing your imaginary friends. as if they’re even still watching. They probably fell asleep around the same time I did, when you sledge-hammered me into a coma.”
“Here's what I can tell you about me. Not only does my body work differently than the body of the last woman you were with, or the next, or the first, it works differently than its own damn self. That thing you did last week that sent me rocketing off into a very vocal and soggy portion of outer space? Yeah, that. Well, it's not just possible, it's probable, that it won't work like that this week. Or if it does this week and next week and the 52 weeks following, on the 55th week, all of the sudden that thing will have me clenching my teeth (not in the good way). Consider it an ongoing challenge to find that one best thing for just this moment - sort of a perpetual adventure. I'll just wait here with a smile on my face.”
“If you are a fan of your "taint" being tickled...make sure that shit is thoroughly WASHED...you might wanna even throw a splash of Pantene or Head and Shoulders down there and go to town with a loofah...you are not a proper gentleman if ya don't...and if ya don't chances of an encore are nil.”
“Many of us couldn't care less if you masturbate. Really. In fact, we'd prefer it. See tip number one: you wanna last more than 30 seconds? Stroke your own damn self every now and then.”
"For the love of all that is holy, keep your fingernails trimmed and the hangnails nonexistent."
“(regarding angles and positions) I'm not even really sure WHY you want my legs behind my head, but... I'm too distracted by the lack of air to really feel anything you're doing. AND, I can't do that thing, you know... That thing you really like? -Yeah, can't do that with my legs behind my head. Sorry, pal.”
“Bucking your pelvis while your dick is in my mouth is a bad idea. There's teeth in that end, you know. I'm not saying I'll bite you, but if you ruin my rhythm in a retarded attempt to get it a quarter inch further down my throat (you BRUTE!), it just might happen. YOUR bad.”
“Silence is NOT always a virtue. If you lie there as quiet as a corpse with absolutely no outward signs of enjoyment, we get bored/wonder if you've had cardiac arrest/forget what we're doing and wander off to watch CSI instead.”
“Be all mine when you're with me and I'll be all yours. I promise not to hold you to forever, but if we're going to open our bodies to each other, let's open them.”
“We don't need to exhaust your entire playbook EVERY time. It's complicated, and I hate to do it, but since you don't seem to be able to get a handle on this, I'm going to have to limit you to two positions per fuck... Unless otherwise directed.”
"It's really NOT okay if you have an orgasm and I don't. I'll say it's fine, and I'll act all cool about it. But if you had sex and didn't have an orgasm, would you be okay with it? How about if you had 1 orgasm to every 2 of mine? Or how about 1 orgasm to every 3 of mine? Shall I continue? Women are really NOT okay with it, at all. We've just been brainwashed to care more about your satisfaction than our own. Until we get good and tired of it, that is, and then we'll leave you."
“She comes first. She cums first! She is the firstest of the comingest of the cuming coming first! She also cums secondly, thirdly, fourthly, and fifth. Then you cum, maybe sixth. Whatever. The point is, please her before you even think of pleasing you. Mess that up, and she's probably never going to call you again. That is if she likes sex at all.”
March 25, 2009
Ahhh women. Enchanting and mysterious. No? Yes.. and we like it that way, don't we? Yes I think so. Still. You could use a heads up in certain areas. And your girlfriend isn’t going to tell you. She’s going to tell everyone BUT you. So just in case you share anything in common with my girlfriends’ boyfriends you might want to have a little look-see at the below advice.
Truly Not Yours,
Dew
Contributors (in no particular order):
Sister Scotchy McDrunkerson
Moody Pants
Buddha Mama
Origami Momi
(A)Dew(Z)
Chaibaby
sunmoonstars
Banana Pants
Loree Harrell Writes and Paints
Salacious Bee
“Let me direct your attention to an easily forgotten fact: The vaginal canal is NOT the Mecca of sensation in the female genitalia. That's right, it isn't packed with nerves that would make child birth even more of an unbearable hell. Nature is a mother, but she ain't THAT cruel. If you're planning on planting your face in her crotch, may I draw your attention to the little man in the boat? If she looks bored, you're clearly doing something wrong, so take your tongue out of her hole and do something useful with it.”
“Do not solicit high fives afterward. If you really were stellar, you'd hear about it. Maybe as an "OMIGAWD!" and fingernail tracks down your back...but when you have to ask? Well...she's gonna lie if she likes you.”
“There’s something that has nothing to do with what you’re doing or I’m doing. There’s something that can be drawn tight in the air between us. Find that and help me twist it.”
“When I'm moaning, making incoherent yummy sounds, swearing, or speaking in tongues, this is not a good time to "switch it up". That means you're actually doing it right, go with it.”
“Somebody told everyone once that if you randomize your strokes you’re going to be able to hold out longer. Problem is. She’s not going to want you to. Not if every sixth stroke you’re slamming your cock into her cervix in such a way that it makes her wax sentimental about her last pap smear. If it‘s keeping you from "cuming" it‘s probably working that way for her too.”
“Quid pro quo, Clarise... Nobody should have to do all of the work. Share and share alike...or take turns. Whatever. But trust me when I say that giving you blow jobs just for the thrill of it pisses us off. Next time, you'd better be prepared to reciprocate.”
“Size matters. Long enough is great until you‘re probing my uterus. Girth is welcomed until I can’t get it in there without needing an episiotomy. Either way don’t expect size or your dick to carry the show for me just because it does for you.”
“Have some fun. It's okay to laugh once in awhile - the whole process is objectively absurd, after all. Get fascinated by me - watch me. Watch how my body responds to this touch or that breath or your tongue just right there just like that for just that long. And then lay back and let me watch you. There's no place we have to be.”
“Foreplay. Think of it as the pre-game warm-up. The more warmed up she is, the better chances you'll have of scoring.”
“There is a difference between camera-friendly angles and creative fuckery. Hint: one of them actually feels good with your body (not to mention mine) and not just your eyes. So I can bend that way… I knew that, you’re only impressing your imaginary friends. as if they’re even still watching. They probably fell asleep around the same time I did, when you sledge-hammered me into a coma.”
“Here's what I can tell you about me. Not only does my body work differently than the body of the last woman you were with, or the next, or the first, it works differently than its own damn self. That thing you did last week that sent me rocketing off into a very vocal and soggy portion of outer space? Yeah, that. Well, it's not just possible, it's probable, that it won't work like that this week. Or if it does this week and next week and the 52 weeks following, on the 55th week, all of the sudden that thing will have me clenching my teeth (not in the good way). Consider it an ongoing challenge to find that one best thing for just this moment - sort of a perpetual adventure. I'll just wait here with a smile on my face.”
“If you are a fan of your "taint" being tickled...make sure that shit is thoroughly WASHED...you might wanna even throw a splash of Pantene or Head and Shoulders down there and go to town with a loofah...you are not a proper gentleman if ya don't...and if ya don't chances of an encore are nil.”
“Many of us couldn't care less if you masturbate. Really. In fact, we'd prefer it. See tip number one: you wanna last more than 30 seconds? Stroke your own damn self every now and then.”
"For the love of all that is holy, keep your fingernails trimmed and the hangnails nonexistent."
“(regarding angles and positions) I'm not even really sure WHY you want my legs behind my head, but... I'm too distracted by the lack of air to really feel anything you're doing. AND, I can't do that thing, you know... That thing you really like? -Yeah, can't do that with my legs behind my head. Sorry, pal.”
“Bucking your pelvis while your dick is in my mouth is a bad idea. There's teeth in that end, you know. I'm not saying I'll bite you, but if you ruin my rhythm in a retarded attempt to get it a quarter inch further down my throat (you BRUTE!), it just might happen. YOUR bad.”
“Silence is NOT always a virtue. If you lie there as quiet as a corpse with absolutely no outward signs of enjoyment, we get bored/wonder if you've had cardiac arrest/forget what we're doing and wander off to watch CSI instead.”
“Be all mine when you're with me and I'll be all yours. I promise not to hold you to forever, but if we're going to open our bodies to each other, let's open them.”
“We don't need to exhaust your entire playbook EVERY time. It's complicated, and I hate to do it, but since you don't seem to be able to get a handle on this, I'm going to have to limit you to two positions per fuck... Unless otherwise directed.”
"It's really NOT okay if you have an orgasm and I don't. I'll say it's fine, and I'll act all cool about it. But if you had sex and didn't have an orgasm, would you be okay with it? How about if you had 1 orgasm to every 2 of mine? Or how about 1 orgasm to every 3 of mine? Shall I continue? Women are really NOT okay with it, at all. We've just been brainwashed to care more about your satisfaction than our own. Until we get good and tired of it, that is, and then we'll leave you."
“She comes first. She cums first! She is the firstest of the comingest of the cuming coming first! She also cums secondly, thirdly, fourthly, and fifth. Then you cum, maybe sixth. Whatever. The point is, please her before you even think of pleasing you. Mess that up, and she's probably never going to call you again. That is if she likes sex at all.”
March 25, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Incarnate
There’s a place outside my pattern when I’m suspended with you. Our mouths meet and nobody is kissing anyone, this kiss is just happening between us and I’m startled and fascinated enough to stop frantically trying to unscramble or squash the broken shambles of mush and guts and want and hope and maybe that might belong to either of us and float all around charging the air around us and supporting our insanity pleas.
In that place between the safety wall of your arms and the shattering drop up ahead called not-for keeps there’s room for me and I can’t help wanting to stretch out there as a dare and a lure and a plea. We share an eye for the gritty shine of irrefutable truth, a need for the scrape and tear and salt and suck of it hurts so good and it‘s the beginning and the end and it‘s comfortably dim.
March 22, 2009
In that place between the safety wall of your arms and the shattering drop up ahead called not-for keeps there’s room for me and I can’t help wanting to stretch out there as a dare and a lure and a plea. We share an eye for the gritty shine of irrefutable truth, a need for the scrape and tear and salt and suck of it hurts so good and it‘s the beginning and the end and it‘s comfortably dim.
March 22, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
The First Drop Off
My child is in a strangers house right now. I drove her to a place we’ve never been and dropped her off where the balloons were. Oh sure I went in and shook some hands. Predictably I couldn’t tell you their names if lives depended on it.
This crazy lady turns to my niece and says “Isabelle it’s so good to see you.”
“That’s my niece, Calli.”
“Oh! Well look Isabelle has her hood up.. I didn’t recognize her!” the lady pulls my kids hood off while saying “I couldn’t see your red …” reveals my kids blonde head “oh… not brunette. Not brunette I knew that.”
I think the lady is stupid. Should I really be leaving my kid with stupid people? I mean besides school. And when the hell did I get in a place in my life where my daughter’s best friend is a nine year old boy? What the fuck? How is that even POSSIBLE?
And I didn’t ask any of the things I wanted to ask. Like…
Do you own firearms? Where are they? Show me I don’t believe you.
Porn? What kind of porn? Toys? Costumes? An adult room with chains and rubber walls?
Do you beat your children? How about verbal ridicule? Any molestations?
Should I worry about Uncle Pull-My-Finger over there in the recliner?
Is the big brother playing pocket pool relatively harmless?
Violent cartoons?
Is your kid annoying?
Does your kid know disgusting potty jokes I’m going to have to hear five thousand times?
Do you wash your hands after you pee?
Could ya not touch my kid at all?
Have you noticed your husband is a big giant pussy?
This is crazy! I mean… My gawd these people could be religious!!!
*leaves to retrieve child before she’s inspired to ask me what Jesus would do when I say no more nintendo*
This crazy lady turns to my niece and says “Isabelle it’s so good to see you.”
“That’s my niece, Calli.”
“Oh! Well look Isabelle has her hood up.. I didn’t recognize her!” the lady pulls my kids hood off while saying “I couldn’t see your red …” reveals my kids blonde head “oh… not brunette. Not brunette I knew that.”
I think the lady is stupid. Should I really be leaving my kid with stupid people? I mean besides school. And when the hell did I get in a place in my life where my daughter’s best friend is a nine year old boy? What the fuck? How is that even POSSIBLE?
And I didn’t ask any of the things I wanted to ask. Like…
Do you own firearms? Where are they? Show me I don’t believe you.
Porn? What kind of porn? Toys? Costumes? An adult room with chains and rubber walls?
Do you beat your children? How about verbal ridicule? Any molestations?
Should I worry about Uncle Pull-My-Finger over there in the recliner?
Is the big brother playing pocket pool relatively harmless?
Violent cartoons?
Is your kid annoying?
Does your kid know disgusting potty jokes I’m going to have to hear five thousand times?
Do you wash your hands after you pee?
Could ya not touch my kid at all?
Have you noticed your husband is a big giant pussy?
This is crazy! I mean… My gawd these people could be religious!!!
*leaves to retrieve child before she’s inspired to ask me what Jesus would do when I say no more nintendo*
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I Don't Feel Like It
You can get used to anything. Really.
I think it’s the most dangerous part of living. Take the fact that I’m a spoiled kept woman. It wasn’t always this way. There was a time I took care of myself. Well. That might be stretching it what with the getting knocked up by a bank robber but I was alive. And I did shit. For myself. Lots of hard shit. Now I don’t want to lift my arm to adjust the volume on the stereo in the car. I really don’t. This morning I was taking the kids to school and we couldn’t really hear the radio the entire way there and back because I just didn’t have it in me to lift my right arm and reach across the space between me and the stereo.
It is not a great idea for spoiled kept women to move to the country.
There’s always all this shit going wrong that needs taken care of. Sure I still have The Man but we have a difference in opinion regarding priorities. I think that bastard might like the kids better than me! The gutters fell off at least a month ago and instead of hammering the fuckers back onto the house he built a swing set. Don’t fucking “awww”! The swing set has two swings. TWO. Three fucking kids people. I’m sure you can imagine how fun that is. So I run in and out of the house tripping over gutters and rescuing the big ones from the little one with the stick.
One of my favorite features in the Pilot was the thumb control to adjust the volume conveniently located on the steering wheel. Oh the joy of pressing that button. Kids are whining..up upupupupup…child must tell joke for fiftieth time… down down down down…and upupupup again! It was not quite as fabulous as the magic button they give you after surgery but it was in the neighborhood and it never made me itch. Now the button does nothing. NOTHING. Something happened between the steering wheel and the place the music comes from. There’s only one suspect and that mouse is dead. It’s too bad. I’d beat Mickey with a shovel for taking away my magic music button if I could.
Not really. I would have The Man do it.
The other problem is other people getting accustomed to you doing shit you don’t feel like doing anymore. You will never meet the best housekeeper in the world. You won’t. The best housekeeper in the world will make sure it never occurs to you that anything ever even needs done. ‘cause it just will be. Done. Well I quit that. Now people are going to know I swept and mopped because when they come out of the bedroom in the dark to pee at night they’ll notice they’re not stepping on anything wet and mushy like a runaway grape. They’re going to be goddamn grateful for a load of laundry when they haven’t had clean clothes in three days. They’re going to understand that dishes that don’t go in the dishwasher are not going to magically find their way clean to the cupboards.
This is tricky of course since I might get used to it being filthy and just NEVER clean again.
*sigh*
Somebody roll me a grape I don't want to get up.
I think it’s the most dangerous part of living. Take the fact that I’m a spoiled kept woman. It wasn’t always this way. There was a time I took care of myself. Well. That might be stretching it what with the getting knocked up by a bank robber but I was alive. And I did shit. For myself. Lots of hard shit. Now I don’t want to lift my arm to adjust the volume on the stereo in the car. I really don’t. This morning I was taking the kids to school and we couldn’t really hear the radio the entire way there and back because I just didn’t have it in me to lift my right arm and reach across the space between me and the stereo.
It is not a great idea for spoiled kept women to move to the country.
There’s always all this shit going wrong that needs taken care of. Sure I still have The Man but we have a difference in opinion regarding priorities. I think that bastard might like the kids better than me! The gutters fell off at least a month ago and instead of hammering the fuckers back onto the house he built a swing set. Don’t fucking “awww”! The swing set has two swings. TWO. Three fucking kids people. I’m sure you can imagine how fun that is. So I run in and out of the house tripping over gutters and rescuing the big ones from the little one with the stick.
One of my favorite features in the Pilot was the thumb control to adjust the volume conveniently located on the steering wheel. Oh the joy of pressing that button. Kids are whining..up upupupupup…child must tell joke for fiftieth time… down down down down…and upupupup again! It was not quite as fabulous as the magic button they give you after surgery but it was in the neighborhood and it never made me itch. Now the button does nothing. NOTHING. Something happened between the steering wheel and the place the music comes from. There’s only one suspect and that mouse is dead. It’s too bad. I’d beat Mickey with a shovel for taking away my magic music button if I could.
Not really. I would have The Man do it.
The other problem is other people getting accustomed to you doing shit you don’t feel like doing anymore. You will never meet the best housekeeper in the world. You won’t. The best housekeeper in the world will make sure it never occurs to you that anything ever even needs done. ‘cause it just will be. Done. Well I quit that. Now people are going to know I swept and mopped because when they come out of the bedroom in the dark to pee at night they’ll notice they’re not stepping on anything wet and mushy like a runaway grape. They’re going to be goddamn grateful for a load of laundry when they haven’t had clean clothes in three days. They’re going to understand that dishes that don’t go in the dishwasher are not going to magically find their way clean to the cupboards.
This is tricky of course since I might get used to it being filthy and just NEVER clean again.
*sigh*
Somebody roll me a grape I don't want to get up.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Pants
I was driving to Clackamas (the great pant search continues) in car wash conditions when someone stopped short up ahead on the other side of the wall of water we were all driving into. I don’t want to fucking BLAME anyone but whoever you were up there I hope you got the cherry out of your lap before permanent scarring occurred so that my almost death was worth it. I had to slam the brakes. Really. I had to brake like never before. And when it was clear that slamming the brakes was not going to keep me from slamming into the car ahead of me I had to swerve OFF the fucking freeway. The guy behind me was such a copy cat he had to do it too. ‘Cause it looked that fucking cool which is fine but then he’s honking and waving me to get right back on the road and I had to turn around and give him the ole “Can’t a person shit their pants in peace?” sign and make him go ahead of me. I don’t like being bossed.
Then I’m wandering around The Clackamas Town Center (mall) in an adrenaline haze and find myself in Macy’s admiring the amazing positions they’re putting mannequins in these days. Up walks perky sales girl who says “Can I help you find something?” so for once I take a perky salesperson up on their offer and say “Yeah I’m looking for pants.” and she says “Any particular kind of pants?” and I say “Pants that fit.” and she says “Oh you can wear any pants.” Well thank you very fucking much. That’s helpful. SO I turn to get the hell out of there and she’s chasing after me and I have to say “I gotta gooooo00oo0” panicky voiced and everything. I’ve noticed my imaginary stay away from me bubble is extending beyond the three feet around me to encompass my entire reality.
The Man’s sis takes me in a store called Buckle. Anyone else think that’s the name of a small person dressed in chaps who has a sidekick miniature pony? Nope. It’s a store with pants. So I grab a pair of pants off a table and a guy is on me in seconds to ask if I want to try them on. “Yeah. I do.” I tell him and he asks “Have you gotten Lucky before?” and I say “I do okay.” and he says “No, have you worn Lucky pants before?” and I say “oh yeah I think I have.” SO I’m in there and I change into the pants and there’s his voice at the door (ack!) “Do you love them?” and I say “Not so much.” and he says “What part?” and I’m thinking who the fuck IS this guy, we’re best friends now? He wants to discuss the details of the pants with me? So I just open the door and show n’ tell him “The button fly needs one more button and there’s a lotta fabric happening in the back that I’m not filling up.” So he determines the size and shape and cut and brand I need and he goes and he gets them. I try them on and they fit. And I’m not in love with them. They’re not THE PANTS especially ‘cause there’s a lotta fray on the pockets that makes me think of these pants my mom has that are a road map of nineties fray but I still bought them. I need pants. I WANT the pants, but in the meantime I must be panted. And he gives me a little card with all these notes and says next time I should bring it and I’ll know what I want. I think the code on the card would be translated to “not THE pants but pants that are okay for now” At the register he wants my fucking phone number, email address, facebook, twitter, and would like very much to attatch gps to my phone. I say "yeah no." and he says "WHAT IF YOU WANT TO BRING THE PANTS BACK?" like I'm insane to risk this. "I don't bring things back" and that's the truth. Just ask my sister.
Then I’m wandering around The Clackamas Town Center (mall) in an adrenaline haze and find myself in Macy’s admiring the amazing positions they’re putting mannequins in these days. Up walks perky sales girl who says “Can I help you find something?” so for once I take a perky salesperson up on their offer and say “Yeah I’m looking for pants.” and she says “Any particular kind of pants?” and I say “Pants that fit.” and she says “Oh you can wear any pants.” Well thank you very fucking much. That’s helpful. SO I turn to get the hell out of there and she’s chasing after me and I have to say “I gotta gooooo00oo0” panicky voiced and everything. I’ve noticed my imaginary stay away from me bubble is extending beyond the three feet around me to encompass my entire reality.
The Man’s sis takes me in a store called Buckle. Anyone else think that’s the name of a small person dressed in chaps who has a sidekick miniature pony? Nope. It’s a store with pants. So I grab a pair of pants off a table and a guy is on me in seconds to ask if I want to try them on. “Yeah. I do.” I tell him and he asks “Have you gotten Lucky before?” and I say “I do okay.” and he says “No, have you worn Lucky pants before?” and I say “oh yeah I think I have.” SO I’m in there and I change into the pants and there’s his voice at the door (ack!) “Do you love them?” and I say “Not so much.” and he says “What part?” and I’m thinking who the fuck IS this guy, we’re best friends now? He wants to discuss the details of the pants with me? So I just open the door and show n’ tell him “The button fly needs one more button and there’s a lotta fabric happening in the back that I’m not filling up.” So he determines the size and shape and cut and brand I need and he goes and he gets them. I try them on and they fit. And I’m not in love with them. They’re not THE PANTS especially ‘cause there’s a lotta fray on the pockets that makes me think of these pants my mom has that are a road map of nineties fray but I still bought them. I need pants. I WANT the pants, but in the meantime I must be panted. And he gives me a little card with all these notes and says next time I should bring it and I’ll know what I want. I think the code on the card would be translated to “not THE pants but pants that are okay for now” At the register he wants my fucking phone number, email address, facebook, twitter, and would like very much to attatch gps to my phone. I say "yeah no." and he says "WHAT IF YOU WANT TO BRING THE PANTS BACK?" like I'm insane to risk this. "I don't bring things back" and that's the truth. Just ask my sister.
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Stains We Leave Behind
“What the hell are you doing with your coffee upstairs?” I asked him, incredulous. Thursday is spring cleaning day. When I cleaned out the computer room I noticed someone has been swimming in coffee up here.
“Nothing. What?”
“The coffee spills all over upstairs. It‘s like you‘re flinging coffee around.” I realize I can be oblique but it pisses me off when people don’t know what I’m talking about. We’re always translating for each other. No. Scratch that. I’m always translating for both of us. So sometimes I translate in such a way that we’re fighting. Breaks up the monotony.
“What? I only remember the one spill.”
“Well that’s sorta my point. ‘Cause if I spill something I clean it up and I don’t have to remember to go back.”
“No more drinking upstairs!” he declared as if that settled things nicely. I mean. He’s only thinking of me.
“Uh. Yeah no. I’m a grown up and I’ll drink where I want to. It’s one of the top three reasons to be a grown up. 1. Have sex when you want. 2. Eat and drink when and where you want. And 3. Sleep when you want. I’m keeping the one I have. Besides - I don‘t spill. You spill.”
“FIIIIIIINe. No drinking upstairs FOR ME” he exaggerates his tone and I feel like a giant ass and I realize how little I give a shit about it.
“I don’t care. I’m just saying I don’t think I can get the coffee out of the carpet. So. Whatever.”
“Nothing. What?”
“The coffee spills all over upstairs. It‘s like you‘re flinging coffee around.” I realize I can be oblique but it pisses me off when people don’t know what I’m talking about. We’re always translating for each other. No. Scratch that. I’m always translating for both of us. So sometimes I translate in such a way that we’re fighting. Breaks up the monotony.
“What? I only remember the one spill.”
“Well that’s sorta my point. ‘Cause if I spill something I clean it up and I don’t have to remember to go back.”
“No more drinking upstairs!” he declared as if that settled things nicely. I mean. He’s only thinking of me.
“Uh. Yeah no. I’m a grown up and I’ll drink where I want to. It’s one of the top three reasons to be a grown up. 1. Have sex when you want. 2. Eat and drink when and where you want. And 3. Sleep when you want. I’m keeping the one I have. Besides - I don‘t spill. You spill.”
“FIIIIIIINe. No drinking upstairs FOR ME” he exaggerates his tone and I feel like a giant ass and I realize how little I give a shit about it.
“I don’t care. I’m just saying I don’t think I can get the coffee out of the carpet. So. Whatever.”
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Under
I’m under and it’s all you, your eyes painting me new with every item of clothing that
hit’s the floor.
Naked nerves wound tight and mouth finding mouth an eternity of a thousand desperate
flutters away.
Water warm and the wet and slippery slick suck of aching flesh against aching flesh.
I believed,
Melted around you
and let my fingers uncurl, relaxed and received a slap in the face.
Found your broken heart there and fell right into her shadow, fleshed her out and
gave her breath.
Fell apart and lost again, shot right out of the pool back on the pedestal
I’d run from.
You didn’t even miss me and it’s all I can do
to forgive you.
hit’s the floor.
Naked nerves wound tight and mouth finding mouth an eternity of a thousand desperate
flutters away.
Water warm and the wet and slippery slick suck of aching flesh against aching flesh.
I believed,
Melted around you
and let my fingers uncurl, relaxed and received a slap in the face.
Found your broken heart there and fell right into her shadow, fleshed her out and
gave her breath.
Fell apart and lost again, shot right out of the pool back on the pedestal
I’d run from.
You didn’t even miss me and it’s all I can do
to forgive you.
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