The Minx I Was

“I’ve never done this before” he stuttered, as my hand gently grazed his thigh. My eyes met him with a reassuring smile as I leaned in to softly kiss his cheek, making my way below his ear and down his neck before he turned to me and hungrily met my lips with his. His kisses were gentle but voracious and I could feel the heat rising off of his skin as our hands reached for each others bodies, pulling one another closer together.

Still entwined, we collapsed on the bed, lips never pulling apart. I could feel his erection press against my thigh, grinding into me as his leg pressed against my eager sex. Like teenagers we fumbled our clothes off hastily, breath already labored with passion. To my surprise he was absolutely huge and I craved every last bit that he had to offer. It was hard, sweaty, passionate. Every touch, every breath getting lost in a cloud of heat and wandering mouths. The sexual connection was intense, held in place by eye contact and moans. He didn’t last long enough for me to taste him, but by that point I was ravaged and grateful for the chance to rest.

We didn’t see each other again after that but he would frequently send me messages telling me how he couldn’t stop thinking about that night, about our tryst together. The inexperienced young man who was shown the time of his life by the older minx with a basket-full of tricks. I would smile, flirt back. I craved his touch again but we were never able to reconnect again. Shame.

I used to have this confidence about me all the time. I still maintain a great deal of pride in the sexual department but have this terrible issue standing in my way of being able to initiate or begin the process. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to flirt. Not that I necessarily miss the meaningless sex, but the confidence to attain what I want when I want it. And, ok, sometimes the meaningless sex too. I’ve surpassed my record of time without so much as a kiss and it’s driving me insane. Even a night of hot and heavy making out to think about later would be nice. I’m sure I know one or two people who would be happy to oblige but I freeze up and come up with excuses in my head not to. Would it help me get past this rut if I were to suck it up and go for it? Should I just close up shop on the lady bits to everyone but  myself? You know you miss intimacy when your porn searches change from rough group sex to “for women” sensual clips.  I just want some good, passionate, affectionate sex. Damnit.


Fear of Feeling

I’ve been trying to pinpoint what’s really been holding me back lately. I think back to before my 6 month shit show and how differently I handled myself. I would easily meet people, no anxiety about it. We’d get a drink, have a deep discussion. If we clicked, I had no problem making a move. Brushing a hand, begging for touch and intimacy with a look, a sweet peck on the cheek to initiate physical contact. If I began to really like them, I would cautiously hold onto it until I knew whether or not they reciprocated and then let it blossom naturally, excited for the unknown.

I feel like my experiences changed me. I’m an anxiety-ridden mess when it comes to the idea of meeting someone. I find myself having to get to know someone for weeks before I’m willing to even grab coffee together, and even then my mind is constantly filling with doubts and fears. If I begin to feel something for somebody, it terrifies me and I end up talking myself out of it, trying to let go of it like a stray balloon. With feelings comes vulnerability and I’m really not sure how much more heartache I can endure before I become ice cold. I was never the type to be afraid of commitment. I find great peace and inspiration in having a partner, and I’m sure I still would, but now I have a constant lingering fear – a little voice in my head that tells me I’ll only be used again.

The whole reason I moved to that backwoods town was the guy I had been dating (and not long for that matter) had called me up in tears. He told me of his ex taking his children, of being haunted by past experiences and getting depressed to the point of suicidal. I’ve lost friends to suicide before, once because I wasn’t there when they asked me for help, and I vowed never to let that happen again. I hopped in my car and drove the hour to go be there for him to help him through the night. I ended up staying to make sure he was stable, all the while having to call in for work during a very busy time. I missed two days. They fired me. With no place to go, I suppose Grumpy felt guilty and offered for me to live with him. A few months in I discovered he was an alcoholic pathological liar. All of the things he had told me were complete bullshit and he was trying to drag me down with him. When I broke up with him, I was still stuck living there as his roommate for 3 months. Grumpy was always drunk and not a happy drunk, especially with someone in the household who had “broken his heart.” On a daily basis he would harass me. He would try to pick fights, calling me a Godless whore, explaining just how hideous I was, saying how I was useless and worthless and a pussy for feeling hurt for the experiences in my life. That was when I met Micky, who was graciously helpful. There, my feelings began again. I knew they shouldn’t but I couldn’t help it. He just so happened to be everything I ever wanted in a partner, or so my desperate mind thought. In the end we both knew we had feelings but needed to let them go. So I did. It took time and it hurt but I’ve had no contact with him for weeks. He seems to show no interest and that in itself still hurts as well.

So that’s where I’m at. Fear of Feeling. The last two people I grew feelings for either emotionally and mentally (hell, and physically) abused the fuck out of me or built my heart up only to send it sailing away. I feel like everyone has an ulterior motive and I can’t trust a soul. It’s a terrible way to feel and exactly what Grumpy wanted to achieve. I guess his methods were successful – asshole.

So how does one overcome this fear? How do you let yourself be vulnerable when you feel like it’s you against the world? I’m tired of being alone. I really am.. but I’m afraid of others’ ability to hurt me. Maybe it’ll just take the right person to be patient enough to put me at ease.

Moving on Without Closure

Closure is one of those little things that usually requires nothing more than an awkward conversation to achieve but has a massive effect on your ability to move forward. When a relationship ends for me, I make sure to have a mature conversation about it and it gives me closure to move on almost instantly. When closure comes into play, my mind easily will put things in black and white terms so that I can close that chapter and turn to a new one. However, sometimes closure isn’t an option. Those are the hardest things to move past.

I won’t say that my closure-less experiences necessarily hinder my life in any major way anymore but the curiosity will always be there. When I was a teenager I had a friend named Jens. He was your typical laid-back stoner skater kid. He wasn’t very good academically but he was always upbeat and positive (not to mention everyone’s hook up for pot.) One day they told us that he had killed himself. A shotgun to the head while staying out in the country with his uncle. Anyone who knew him didn’t believe it for a moment. He was the happiest kid around. The gun used was way too long for him to operate and his CD player had Suicide Machines in it (I guess to be ironic?) though anyone who knew him would suggest the Doors as to his preferred moody music. We knew that he had competition dealing in the area and he made it well known where he was staying for the weekend. Unfortunately his family opted not to launch any investigation. In fact they chose to have an open casket where they reconstructed his skull and face. It didn’t even look like him. I think that alone kind of made us all want to just not think about it anymore.

My other major lack-of-closure moment was the death of my father and little brother. My dad was a pilot and every year my brother and him would fly in his plane up to Wisconsin for an annual air show and to visit some of his family members. In 2009 they never came back. We hadn’t heard from them in quite some time and were getting worried. My mother started making calls to anyone and everyone trying to find them since my dad’s phone went straight to voicemail. Eventually she got a hold of a morgue in a small country town that confirmed that they were there. Apparently they had seen ‘home’ popping up on my dad’s phone but didn’t have the heart to answer it. I can remember walking into the room and asking my mother if they were okay. She screamed “They’re DEAD!” and broke into sobs. My mind turned to white noise. My legs moved on their own and I ended up in my closet staring at a wall for a while before I could digest what was happening. The official report was that they had run out of gas 20 minutes from home and struck a power line trying to crash land, sending them into a tail spin. My father’s cousin (who works for the government but nobody knows what he does) happened to be there at the site within 2 hours of the crash. He claims that he spoke to my brother before he died. First of all, my dad called us from a gas station an hour away from home. He was gassing up as he spoke so there’s no possible way they ran out of gas (they claim there weren’t even fumes) and also, how the fuck did my dad’s cousin happen to find out what had happened and make it out to the site in the middle of nowhere in time to speak to my brother when we didn’t have a clue what had happened? It drove my sister and I mad but my mother wouldn’t even talk about it. It was easier for her to just accept what they said. I still have no idea what really happened. Ever feel like someone you lost really never died and that one day you’ll just be picking up a drink at a gas station and they’ll walk right past you?

Two weeks later I started my senior year of high school and thus, had to move on immediately. This is why I prefer closure. I don’t want to dwell on an issue. I need to constantly feel like I’m moving forward and having some situation cloud up a corner of my head with questions about things that I know I need to let go really bothers me. Pictures and posts from Micky kept popping up last night. For the most part I’ve gotten past it. If I don’t think about him I’m fine and usually I can keep my mind occupied elsewhere. Seeing a picture of him did not help this. I felt a sharp pang of anxiety – though in retrospect, it may simply be reminding me of such a traumatic time in my life that triggered it. Part of me just wants to block him. I need to move on. I have a lot to give and giving it to a memory is like burning money. Being able to look back at my experiences with him as fond memories with entirely separate goals in my life will be my closure there. I’m ready to be loved back.

Holi 2016

These last two days have been so much fun but quite exhausting. The highlight of the weekend so far is definitely the Holi Festival, though. This was my second year going and I had such a great time. It doesn’t matter who you are, everyone is united together in color and dance. Unfortunately this sunburn is making me feel completely worn out but it was absolutely worth it. I cannot wait until it comes around again next year!

I’m also quite proud that I figured out how to use plastic bags and duct tape to protect my camera so that I could bring it this year. How can you resist photographing such amazing color and energy? Man, I miss photography.

I also discovered, upon walking home from the festival, a new neighbor moving in furniture downstairs. I really should attempt this ‘knowing my neighbors’ thing, especially since Art Major is going to be moving out soon.

Sex – The Beginning

No reason to beat around the bush here. Let’s get to the juicy stuff.

Sex is this ridiculous thing that, as a child, you have no idea will have such a massive impact on your entire life. It’s a part of human nature that can throw every other bit of brain function out the window. I wish I was one of those people that could just put it aside and not think about it. These days, sometimes, I can..but I wasn’t always that way.

I’ve always been a very sexual person.

As soon as I learned how to masturbate it was on. How did I not know something free and alone could feel so wonderful? It was such a perfect escape from everything. Just me and these racy thoughts of how magical I imagined it would be. That silly little lonesome hopeless romantic inside me tied it all in to the closest I thought I would feel to love. (Oh to be young and angsty) As a social outcast, and a plump one at that, my self esteem was floating pretty low and as the best friend to the girl all the boys wanted to be with, I rode the third wheel on a daily basis. I would always become best friends with her boyfriends but there was never a sliver of doubt in my mind that everyone found me just as unattractive as I did.

Depression has a funny way of making you not care about anything.

Freshly seventeen and heartbroken, I went with my best friend to see another friend. He had loud music and alcohol – the perfect cure for an evening of blues. Honestly I think she was tired of hearing me complain. I should have been more vocal about it that night, in retrospect. If she had told me to go lay in the middle of the road I would have. This being my frame of mind, you can imagine that getting incredibly drunk and being told that you should let this guy take your virginity didn’t seem like a big deal at all. I don’t hold it against her. She was young and drunk as well.

It was terrible. This strange guy I didn’t know well at all was laying on top of me. The most I had ever done up until that point was a kiss on the lips. I froze up and just kept my focus on the screensaver dancing to the music behind him. I was drunk so I felt no pain and it didn’t last very long. I remember my reaction being “That’s it?” I felt like losing your virginity was supposed to be this big deal and this is how I lost mine? Bullshit. I want a refund.

I guess losing it in such an anticlimactic way made it not a big deal at all to me. There was no way that was it. People were fanatics for sex! There had to be better out there. I wanted to feel what I could do alone with someone else. I craved a connection.

A connection took a long while to achieve but from then on sex itself became a challenge, a victory, something I could escape to when I didn’t want to face reality. I was going through a very deep depression at the time so for some reason I clung to it as a means of stability and refuge. Even if someone only wanted me for sex, it was a way of being wanted – something I never felt.

There was this boy in school. The new kid. Quiet, handsome, big hands (hello discovering my turn on!) and he had that rebellious look I found so enticing back then. Neither me or my friend new his name at first so we called him the Greek god. Her first words were “I’m so going to date him.” My first words were “I’d hit it, but I don’t think I would date him.” True to our words, (Shit, I don’t want to use names but this is hard. From now on, my best friend will be referred to as Lola) Lola started talking to him and they became an item. Now, keep in mind that we were teenagers. Relationships didn’t last. People “dated” those that they found attractive until they discovered that they had the personality of wet paper and then would move on. So, naturally, after they had been together a few weeks Lola found another boy who blipped her radar. Of course, I had become friends with Greek god in that time, being the constant third wheel and all. Lola was torn. She wanted to be with her new toy so badly but wasn’t ready to drop her pretty piece of arm meat. Her solution? Make out night. Yes, yes, because who has the patience to see which way a bottle will stop? The only guaranteed way to smooch your crush is to make sure that everyone kisses everyone. She succeeded in getting to kiss her new interest and I got a taste of that Greek god I was so curious about. Afterward she asked Greek god who the better kisser between her and I was. His answer, point blank, was me. She was furious. I was elated. It was ON. Later they split. Lola got her new boy and I got a New Years night of hot pent up teenage hormone parade to the sounds of Silence of the Lambs playing in the background. It was a turning point for my sexuality. I scored this fine ass hunk of meat and it sure as hell was more pleasurable than the first time. A whole new world opened up to me. I started to emerge from my depression. Meager as it was, this little bit of attention helped my self esteem heal and I climbed that rope as far up as I could take it.

Then my father and little brother suddenly died in a plane crash. Everything stopped. My rope was cut. The two people I felt closest to in my family, the father I had just begun to build a close relationship with, the little brother who would steal my CDs and dye his hair black when I dyed mine, the biggest thought that pulled me through my depression – That I still had a family who loved me – was crushed.

My mother and I couldn’t talk. The pain was too great and we couldn’t communicate with each other. She started going to massage school at night and I discovered the power of the internet chat room. I was, admittedly, quite irresponsible. I would meet up with random guys, mostly my age, and fool around. I had this hunger for it, like it would fill the hole in my heart. Of course it never worked but for a brief moment I could escape reality and feel the warm touch of another human being. It was all fun and games until my birthday that year. Despite this itch, most of my friends were male. I’ve always been a tomboy and I can easily differentiate between friend and love interest. Therefore, many of the attendees to my sleepover were boys. There was one there who I worked with at a haunted house that year. He had light purple hair and dark tan skin and I thought he was just the cutest. Of course Lola had told him my feelings. He replied that he had a girlfriend and I accepted it. Cool. No problem, bro. I was really, truly okay with it. Apparently his take on it was a bit different. That night, he slept in my brother’s old room, away from the rest of the group since he wasn’t a usual member of our “crew.” He asked me to come say good night so I went to the room. Before I could tell what was happening he had his arm around me, his tongue down my throat, and his hand down my pants. In complete shock, I pushed him away. He told me to come back later for my present. Disoriented, I ambled back to the living room and curled up with Greek god on the couch, to my comfort zone, someone who had become a friend that I trusted. I didn’t talk to purple hair again after that and definitely didn’t tell anyone about the incident. Nobody wanted to hear that about me. Down into the jar of unspoken experiences.

After that I decided that it was probably a pretty good idea for me to have a steady boyfriend. I could avoid those situations if I weren’t available. I’d have one person to be with and not have to worry about anyone else. After all, I had my first serious “love” by this time. Justin number one. (And ya know what, yeah. That’s his real name. This fucking name has haunted me. It deserves to be outted. Damn Justins.)

Anyway, this about sums up the beginning – in as much detail as I felt was necessary. Not bad for a spring board.