msjessica's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- love song (youarenowhere) god damn it's hard to not think sexual thoughts waiting for the jug to boil, for my milk in the microwave, i pace the kitchen grabbing my breasts, tweaking nipples, pushing crotch against bench edges a hunger so intense, i.... gosh - last night - a picnic on my balcony, my intuition had already told me you would want it, by which i mean me (i know this because you're going away soon, and you're scared of having feelings for me, but going away means the feelings will be eclipsed), i'm at work and my period has been so irregular but i know it;s coming soon (it's late, but i'm used to that now - thanks partial opiods..). i begged it to hold off for another 24 hours, because i KNEW you wanted me and FUCK i want you too. But, it doesn't listen. In the middle of a training session at work, i start to bleed, i curse my uterus, about 45 minutes later you message about the picnic. Since we stopped seeing one another, you won't come in to my house because it's "too dangerous".. i know you can't fuck without feelings. i kind of wish i was like that? even though i know it's better with feelings, sometimes i know i'm a sucker for practicing self harm via rough sex with someone who not only doesn't care about me but wants to really inflict harm on me, wants to show me how little respect they think i deserve (and god damn, sometimes i get off on that) where was i? i knew you wanted me. you arrive 30 minutes early, i've had time to clean up (i vacuumed, i swept), but not enough to time to clean up myself. you wait in the car while i shower. i don't know about you but i know, i thought, it wasn't that long ago a "i just need to shower real quick" message would have easily inlcuded "wanna join me?". but that has passed. i shower, moisturise, dress, get ready, then tell you to come in. the picnic is your gorgeous food - bread, cheese, pickles, the made this winter by your own fucking beautiful hands salami, some spanokita (i can't remember how to spell it/it's proper name). you feed me, you take pleasure in feeding me, i take pleasure in being fed, we both know there is joy in something of you being put inside me. we pack up, go to the show you sip whiskey from my flask on the drive, you drive illegally, crazily, i can see you excited by the influence i have on you, with me you forget about your kids, about your rent that you hate, about all of your stresors, i take years from you. i want you. i know how it is to drive like this holding hands, running fingers over thighs. i want you, and god it feels good to know that i think maybe, i think i know, maybe i think maybe i know i think i maybe think i know, i know i know i know i want you, you want me too. something about the way you look.... i know you think you're more famous than you really are, but that belief gives you this air, and i buy into it too, and i love the way people look at us everywhere we go. maybe some of them recognise you, sure. but maybe, more likely, it's more that you LOOK like you should be famous, that you LOOK like an ageing rockstar and me like your.... like the girl you're seeing after your second marriage breakup. i love the way people look at us, like "he could be her father", and you could, easily. i love the way you pinch my ass, twice, as we walk into the show - lightly at first, so i turn to you with big eyes and then harder as i turn my head back, and through it we feel one anothers cheeky grins. as the show plays on in front of us, we become more and more intimate. i love this, because it is new but now new. we have been here before, we know one anothers intimacy, we know our movements, our tell's, know how we sound, how we move, the faces we make. it's all familiar. but it's new as well, because it's been awhile, and it's been forbidden - we've become very good at ~just being friends~. the show is amazing. life altering. incredible. we go some other places, drink, flirt, expectant. we both know, without really knowing. you come into my house under the pretense of chocolate. you lay down on my bed and talk about how it feels just the same, i say it feels different to me as i sleep in it every night. i pour you a too strong whisky, we lay down, talk about music, i pull your arm to use it as a pillow. it begins. my foot rubs into your leg, pushing into i'm sure they're sore thigh muscles, you move in against me - when i stop (to test you) you beg for me. in my head i'm begging too, begging you to kiss me, why won't you kiss me, fuck me please kiss me right now, why aren't you kissing me my god i want you kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me, i'm grabbing your beard and kissing you before i realise what's happening fuck you feel good. you make me feel part marionette part puppeteer. i writhe around under your touch, the knowing here is so important, you know just how to touch me, i know just how you like me to respond, i know how you make me respond, besides your touch there are so many dynamics between us that turn me on more than any fast fingers ever could. i feel myself spilling over your fingers, you bite and suck and moan into me, we float, transcend. i come in a way i couldn't come with anyone else, or by myself. i kiss you, undo your belt buckle and one, two, three buttons, a zip, your pants, white calvin klein underwear (how cliche, how italian? how something, i don't care, get them off), i hold you in my hand and you are so solid and so just the right size, i could cry with how much i'd rather be having you inside of me, but i kiss you hard, lick down your torso, lick and suck your cock as if it were my own, just how i would want it done. you come quickly, i love your sounds, i love that you make the same sounds when i just run my fingers over your belly or your neck, i love knowing how much i turn you on. you taste so healthy. i taste your age, younger men don't care enough to taste that clean. afterwards i lay on top of you and it takes me a few minutes to realise how tightly we are holding one another, nails almost digging in, so hard pressed onto one another. this is the difference. i mean, there are a lot of differences, but this is where i see it most - the difference between having sex with someone who know's and cares about and someone who hates themselves, and you, as much as you hate yourself and them. we laugh, let go, caress, kiss, look at one another, smile. there is love here. you are a loving person and you bring out the love in me. i am so thankful for this. i see that the way you look at me has changed. i realise you can't fuck without falling in love. and this is why things happened as they did with us. it is so beautiful, and endearing, and i wish i could be like that, and less like i am. i wish you would stay forever, i wish you were younger, or i was older, i wish i was you. i wish i was you. i wish i was you. 6:14 p.m. - 2015-10-17 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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