My room

My room
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Virginia Woolf

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

The Chinese Understand Me


Smart Ass Fortune Cookie

I got this back in January, A little before I decided to come to New York. Doesn't really mean anything, right? Right?

Recognizing Emotional Abuse

(Originally from Suite101, 2008) 
Ask yourself these questions:
  • Are you afraid to say what you think for fear of retribution?
  • Have you slowly stopped doing the things you like to do because you know he doesn’t like them?
  • If you miss a phone call/text message/email, do you hurry to respond for fear of a fight?
  • Does he ignore or reject you as “punishment” for your behavior?
  • Do you find yourself agreeing to the things he says just to end/avoid an argument?
  • Do you find yourself having to report where you are at all times?
  • Even when you deserve it, does he refuse to apologize or admit you’re right?
  • Or, even when it clearly isn’t, does he insist that something is your fault?

If you answer yes to any of these questions, and it's an issue on a consistent basis, there is a high chance that you are in an emotionally abusive relationship. Though the questions refer to a male, keep in mind that men are just as likely to be in emotionally abusive relationships, and may not even know it.

Monday, June 10, 2013

When A Friend Is In An Abusive Relationship

(Originally from Suite101, 2008)

Unfortunately, women (and men too) at one point or another know someone who is in a bad relationship, and often its hard to know what to do, and how to help. Even if you've reached a point where every fiber in your body may be telling you to ditch this friend and stop returning her phone calls, your friend may still need you to hang on a little longer. Below there are some suggestions that may help.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Eyes Open

(WARNING: Sexually explicit material below and not for children under 18 years of age)

I keep my eyes open while he kisses me, trying to commit every second to memory. I want to remember the way he feels, the way he looks so that I can remember him later, when I am alone and thinking of him.

I am mesmerized by his skin, the curve of his nose. I notice he has a small scar on his cheek and I touch it instinctively, wondering how it got there, wondering if he remembers the story, if he’s willing to tell me, but then I remember he is kissing me and I've stopped moving, so I close my eyes for a second, just for a second, until I am following his rhythm. 

And I moan.

Somehow I’ve lost track of myself and I notice his hands are in my panties. I don’t remember how he got there and I mentally kick myself for zoning out. I can feel him navigating his way through the folds of my pussy, and the thought of him finding my clit and wrapping his fingers around it sends a shiver down my spine.

“What?” He asks, noticing.

“Just cold,” I tell him, kissing him back. I don’t tell him that he drives me crazy; that I know my panties are drenched and that I’m slightly embarrassed because I have no control over my body right now, that I’ve been half in love with him, half confused since the day I met him.

Instead, I tell him, “Touch me,” and he runs his warm hands up my body in response.

I can feel my nipples tighten as he runs his fingers across them. I look down; my round, smooth areolas are now tight and wrinkled. He takes a nub in his mouth and I gasp.

“Bite,” I tell him, and he does, just a nip, and it feels like lightning. I throw my head back, losing myself again, but before I am gone for too long he picks my head up and draws me up to kiss him.

“Fuck me,” I beg, tugging his pants down. He knows I am impatient. He could choose to be cruel and hold back, force me to wait, but my impatience must mirror his own because he simply nods.

We are both half dressed. Maybe another time we will take our time, tease each other and play before sex, but I want him inside me now. So he complies, pulling that magnificent cock out of hiding. And my mouth waters.

I touch it; its curved in all the right places, wide so that whenever he fucks me it stretches my insides to the limit; I once came just from the feeling of it rubbing my clit.

He enters me. “How does it feel,”he asks. He loves hearing me talk dirty; I am more candid in writing. So I blush, and I hesitate, too shy to say it out loud even though I’ve written dirtier things to him in my sleep.

He chuckles, noticing my hesitation. “Tell me.”

“It’s so hard,” I exclaim. And it’s true. His dick feels like a club. I've been tight for so long it takes a few seconds for my pussy to adjust and mold itself to his dick, so that for those few seconds I am experiencing a state of exquisite pain that I don’t want to end.

“It feels perfect,” I tell him, and this is true too. I can ride him for hours. His dick is big enough that it stretches my insides pleasantly, but not too big that it hurts. He could be as rough as he wants with me and I keep wanting more. More. More. More.

He rides me, on all fours so that my clit only has a passing acquaintance with his body. I groan in frustration, trying to pull him down to me but he ignores the hint. He is afraid to put his weight on me, afraid that he will hurt me when the truth is it’s exactly what I need. To feel his weight on me. To know that its him.

Instead he gets on his knees and cups my butt cheeks, pulling me towards him without pulling away from me. I wrap my arms around his neck and continue kissing him, so that I am half hanging, half sitting on his lap. And here my clit is in full contact with that spot on his pelvic bone right above his dick. I could marry that spot. That spot right above his dick that fits perfectly on top of my clit has made me come more times than I can remember. I want to draw arrows pointing towards it; a bulls-eye, maybe. Something that says, Press Here For Orgasm So I know exactly where to go.

I am ready to come. My pussy is softer now, tense with the pending orgasm but molded perfectly to his dick. As I feel the orgasm building somewhere in the bottom of my belly he takes the opportunity to sneak a finger towards my asshole and taps it.

I gasp, jumping slightly. He chuckles, deep in his throat, but he doesn’t stop, slipping two fingers in my ass before I can protest, a reminder of what is to come.

In response, I clench my pussy around his dick tightly so that he growls, pulls me tighter with his other hand as he finger fucks my ass harder, and I come. I come. I come.

And boy, do I come; as I feel his knuckles inside my ass I can feel an uncontrollable wave of convulsions let loose. My clit is so sensitive by now I’m not sure how long this orgasm is going to last; I’m hoping for forever.

“Enjoy it,” he tells me. And then, and only then, do I close my eyes. 

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

This Is How You Love Her

(My response to This Is How You Lose Her)

It took Hector all of twenty-seven times of asking Marlena to marry him until she finally said yes. He'd told himself he'd stop after tiempo number twenty-five. Hell, most people would've stopped at one, but Hector knew he would've kept on until infinity. What was wrong with asking? The worst she could do was say no. Again.

One time she threw the ring box at him. Around time 17 or 18, he'd seriously lost track at that point, but she'd flung the dammed thing at him and got him dead smack in the right eye. He'd almost given up at that point. Even stood in front of the mirror every morning for a good two weeks, muttering the words, "fuck that bitch." and then feeling immediately guilty, like she could hear him somehow. But two weeks later, almost to the day, there he was again, slipping little notes under her apartment door asking simply, "Marry me?" In the small, uncertain script of a man hopelessly in love.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

I've already dated you

I've already dated you
Except your name was Hector
And I loved you more than the Sun
Even when I wasn't the only
Woman in your life
I would've happily given you mine.

I've already dated you
Except your name was Angel
And you gave me more rules
Than Monopoly, Scrabble, and Sorry combined
Still, that wasn't enough
Until I said goodbye.