Saturday, 29 December 2012

Let's Talk

"Let's talk about sex baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be. Let's talk about sex." - Salt-n-Pepa

She loves sex. There's just something about the intimacy of two people connecting physically. Being inside another person, having another person inside her. She loves sex. The stuff before and after, that's what she dislikes. Women are fucking difficult. Riddles too complicated for her solve. She finds herself time after time treading water with no sight of dry land. Fuck water, she's treading quicksand that stretches for miles around. And it's been years since she's found solid ground. Women to her are as convoluted as that metaphor.

She strikes another match, watches it flare up, burn til it's almost reached her fingers and lets it go. It falls into the water with a small hiss. Nearly inaudible. That's every flirtation she's had with another woman right there she thinks rolling her eyes at her own melodrama.

It would be better is she was better at pretense. But her problem is that she starts a lie and then gets bored of it. How many people has she presented herself as at this point? Too many by far. But none of them are anyone she wants to be. And as the constraints she puts herself into begin to chafe, she starts to resent the person she's put herself in them for.  But she keeps doing it. Because anything is better than letting someone know her for who she is. Because she learned the hard way that rejection hurts more when you show up as yourself.

But celibacy is shit. That's the problem. That's her biggest flaw. As much as she hates the bullshit that comes with the performance you put on for another person to get them into bed, she hates celibacy more. She's so hungry for touch, for intimacy that she plods on playing games she has no business and no interest in playing. Because that's what it all is. A big game of Let's Play Pretend. Let me pretend to be someone I'm not. Someone less awkward, someone less shitty and someone infinitely less fucked up.

All for a pair of soft lips press against her own. All to feel another woman's arms wrapped around her, to lie between a woman's legs.. to run her hands over her body, learn it by touch. All because. So she keeps dancing to tune after unfamiliar tune. She's so tired of the bullshit but it's her only option. Humans are a funny lot. Full of want. That's what she is really, a big ball of frustrated desires. It burns like a sun inside of her, just beneath her solar plexus. This want. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink she thinks to herself. She shakes her head. Stupid. 

Friday, 1 June 2012

Follow Friday: Shibeeb

So this is a new thing I'm going to do now. Instead of having an #FF thing where I list a bunch of names each week on twitter.. each week I'm going to pick one person and do a post on them.

My first #FF is going to be @Shibeeb because my first #FF is always Shibeeb. Some of you may not know this because I don't talk about it as much as I used to but.. he's one of the people dearest to my heart. I actually don't feel about anyone the same way I feel about him, and I'm going to explain why.

To explain how I feel about Shibeeb, first I have to explain how I feel about my brother.

Yes, I have a brother. An older brother about Shibeeb's age.

For the first years of my life, it was just me and my brother. And even when my younger sisters were born, it was still me and my brother. He was my whole world you see. My strong, beautiful, funny brother. Everything he did and said was special. Because he was my big brother. And I know it's silly but no one could make me feel as safe.

We fought, we played, we loved and hated each other. And then my brother grew up. And some time after that, I grew up too. And we didn't really know each other anymore. He was still my strong, beautiful, funny brother.. but I was someone else. And the older I got, the harder it became for me to tell him who that was. And the more of a stranger I became, the less safe he made me feel.

Eventually, I came to terms with it. I didn't need my brother anymore. And maybe I didn't want him either.

I met Shibeeb on twitter and he's not like my brother at all. Except for all the ways he is. Even though they're very different, he reminds of my brother so much. Except I can tell him who I am and he never has anything but love for me.

See, Shibeeb is strong, beautiful and funny just like my brother. But his mind isn't as closed. And it seems to me that his heart is so much more open. And he makes me laugh. And unlike my brother, he sometimes laughs with me. I mean, obviously they both laugh *at* me all the time. But sometimes Shibeeb laughs with me. And he's one of the sweetest, best guys on (and off) twitter. Seriously, he's such a good person. It's crazy. But also, he's not too good to be the perverted asshole I love.

And that's why you should follow him this Friday.

Sunday, 6 November 2011

Overcoming Perversity

Or not.

I have a habit of getting bitten by my Muse during days significant in the Islamic calender I think. After so many months of writer's block, I thought I shouldn't let this opportunity go to waste.

It's a little trite. More than a little. But god, I'm so fucking rusty. I didn't think I had it in me to put words together anymore. So, there's that.


Seduction is in the eyes. I used to think this was an urban myth, some silly story kept in circulation by the overly romantic. Until.

It was a party and I was having a good time. She was a friend of a friend and I didn't pay her any mind. She was funny and cute but it was a party and I was having a good time. Wait. I lied. So I noticed her. But we were joking and flirting, nothing serious, until her gaze caught mine. Caught, like a butterfly in a jar. I couldn't look away. Until I could.

I was flustered. My breath had caught for that brief moment. But I shrugged it off. There's nothing there, nothing. And I convinced myself I'd imagined it. Laughed louder and talked more and it was forgotten. Until she passed me the bottle and even though it was chilled I could have sworn that I could feel the warmth of her fingers on it still. Or maybe it was my fingers lingering on hers since she's caught my gaze again. This time it was worse. Her eyes were hotter, and I felt I was ablaze with want. I looked away again, terrified. Got up, went to splash water on my face, try to chase that heat away. I looked in the mirror, no one else could tell I was blushing. I hoped.

I came back to a room full of raucous laughter. The moment was gone. I was a little disappointed and a lot relieved. When I came back, I took a seat closer to her. The more fool I. I couldn't help it. I itched for her now. Fuck that, I burned. I fell winded, like I'd been running. Everyone could tell, I was sure of it. I flushed to think of their eyes on me, but I had eyes only for her. She looked at me again, and smirked. This time I didn't look away.

Was I making a fool of myself? Probably. Too much influence on my system. The only courage I had was liquid. But my body was aflame. That look in her eyes, it made me forget to be sensible, if I ever was. I wanted her. I was hoping that she wanted me too. So I held her gaze, and walked out of the room, heart pounding.

With that smirk still on her face, she followed me out.

Saturday, 12 February 2011

Guest Author: Sweat

I might be suffering a prolonged bout of writer's block, but I would never deny you fiction.

My friend Sarah, whose writing I enjoy & respect recently wrote a little piece of fiction, and I was lucky enough for her to let me host in on my blog. Enjoy guys, I know I did.



"He wasn't my first love. He wasn't even my second." I said. I took a long drag from my cigarette, forgetting I had quit the night before.

"What was he then?" He said. He paused, then asked "Did you even love him ?" His voice contained... something. Something unfamiliar I couldn't figure out.

"Of course I loved him. If I didn't do you think I would still be here, doing this with you, all in an effort to try and get over him? To try and drown out the sound of his laughter with the sound of your breathing?"

"I guess not," He said. "Why him? What was it about him? Why can't you just forget him?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I don't know where to start. It's difficult to talk about, I don't know how to explain him to other people."

"Tell me how you met, and we'll go from there" He said.

"But I thought we were going to..." I said.

He dismissed my question with a careless gesture. "Don't worry about that now, we can get to it later."

I brushed my hair out of my eyes, leaned back, and remembered.

It was really hot that summer. The heat had flowed in thick waves of frustration. On a whim, and in need for some change, I had gotten bangs that week. They would hang there, dark and heavy framing my eyes. Looking back, I suppose they were a social canopy of sorts, an ebony barrier meant to intimidate rather than intrigue. They had looked out of place and uninviting between a sea of highlights and curls, but I liked them and that was all that mattered. The only problem is that they would get in my eyes, and so I'd have to push them away every few minutes. That's when I first saw him. I wasn't even looking, and yet there he was.

He was your typical guy. Nothing about him caught my eye, but as these things happen, our gazes had met and it had felt like the only introduction we needed. I suppose I'd held his gaze for a moment too long, because I knew felt something there for a moment. I like to think we both had. Some cosmic connection had crept in underneath my clothes and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Just like that, I felt light-headed. Not thinking anything of it, I pushed my bangs out of my eyes for the last time that day and made my way home.

"So that's how we met." I said.

"But that doesn't count! You barely glanced at each other, you didn't even speak!" He protested, confused.

I could sense he felt some sort of betrayal. He had been expecting a passionate exchange of sorts, some sort sexual tension that sparked off this love affair. He wanted to hear me tell him it was extraordinary, to ease his own mind. He needed to know that I was hung up over something magnificent, something he couldn't dismiss. What he needed, I couldn't offer.

I shrugged "Bad beginnings make for happy endings, I guess." I paused. "Well sort of. Not in this case, but you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," He said.

End of Part 1

- Sarah

Saturday, 20 November 2010

Letter of Apology

This isn't a story. And it's not easy for me to tell. This is something I carry with me. It wasn't easy to write because it was pretty personal. I would send it to the person herself but.. if someone reads this and it helps them realize how hurtful they can be, then I'll be glad. It's so easy to be cruel when you're part of a group. But that doesn't make it any more acceptable.


Here's the thing. I was bullied as a child. But that's not the story. That story is too easy to tell. Covered in a patina of humor and nostalgia, that story is kind of a fun story. It's a story I pull out and tell during lulls in dinner conversation.

The story is that I was a bully.

I never spent very long at a school. Grade school wasn't particularly special. It flew by in a haze of jump rope, school yard taunts, oddball teachers, and kool-aide. At the beginning of middle school, my parents, in their infinite wisdom decided to move me somewhere new. Awkward and new, I didn't fit in very well. I never managed to make any real friends and I disliked most of the kids around me. Not to be outdone, most of them disliked me too. I was subjected to some impersonal bullying and petty little taunts. I had some people I was friendly with, I had some people I was unfriendly with... it wasn't really a big deal. Then I moved again.

I moved to smaller school where everyone seemed to be the same. Determined that I wouldn't repeat my last experience I decided to be friends with *everybody*. Except this one girl. Because there's always a girl in these stories. If I wasn't that girl, then someone had to be, right?
The girl wasn't our friend. The girl wasn't *any body's* friend. She was different you see. She didn't understand us and we didn't understand her. If I was a better person, I would have felt a sense of kinship for this girl who could not manage to belong. That wasn't the case.

I hated this girl. The girl who did nothing but be herself. This girl had so much pressure bearing down on her. Daughter of a teacher, new to the school, different, afraid.. we could have been friends I think, if I was a better person. But you see everyone else hated her too. So why should I be different?

I wasn't. Except sometimes I think I was more cruel than anyone. I tortured this girl. I snubbed her, I mocked her, I called her names.. one time I even raised my hand to her in anger. I wish I could say I felt but about it but.. the more horrible I was to her, the better I felt. You see, I said to myself, she deserves it. She's too strange, too different, she doesn't belong with us. After all, everyone else was doing it.

The only person I know who was smart enough and brave enough to say no was my friend, M. She refused to judge the girl for being something other. She was kind to her. Often she would tell us to lay off the girl. M couldn't stop us though, no one could. I wish someone had.

I will always regret my cruelty to that girl. Who was brave enough to keep being herself through three years of torture. Who tried her hardest not to let us break her. I hope we didn't break her.
The story could end here, with me carrying these regrets, wondering what happened to the girl I bullied. But we live in a digital age. We live in the era of facebook and twitter. Every life you touched will find a way back to you.

The girl, she got back in touch with me a while back. She was friendly and sweet to me. She's happily married with kids. She seems well adjusted. We've never really spoken of those years we spent in the same school. I've never asked her to forgive me. I don't think I have the right. But I will apologize.

A? I'm sorry. I hope you don't carry any pain from those years. I hope you know that I regret every horrible thing I said or did to you. I hope you're happy, I can't think of anyone who deserves it more.

Saturday, 13 November 2010

Bad Romance

Disclaimer: I don't know that I like this really. It was simmering for a while then it kind of died in production. It feels a bit like a place holder just because I didn't want to get out of the habit of weekly posts. For some reason I'm finding the male psyche particularly inaccessible tonight.

Mild heterosexual content. Practically G-rated. Romantic? Atypical male pov. I guess.


She's the kind of girl who'll always take that first sip of coffee too soon, no matter how many times it burns her tongue. She can't hold on to patience. Besides, she tells him, it's worth it. That's how she is.. grabbing every moment and living it like it's special. Ordinary everyday things like coffee and newspapers and walking across the yard. She wants to touch, taste, smell, hear, see everything. She tells him she wants to eat sunlight. Sometimes he's afraid she'll devour him whole. Oddly enough, he's not afraid.

He once told her she was the most adventurous girl he knew. She laughed and shook her head. I'm not though. I'm not anything really. I like living, that's true but sometimes I'm very boring. I like the fact that I'm pretty ordinary. I've got.. you know... She waved her hands in an all-compassing gesture that could have meant anything from chaos theory to dish washing... layers.

You're like an onion. Because he was a moron. But she only looked at him fondly and told him he didn't really have a way with words tonight. Then she removed his palm from his face, touched her fingers to her lips, then to his cheekbone. I like it.

The thing is, he could see his future in her. Every moment stretched into forever. It wasn't just love. It was all his years with her laid out before him. He could see the house and the children and the life they'd have. With all it's ups and downs, its joy its stifling domesticity even the fights they'd sometimes have. He couldn't believe how much he wanted it. Only with her. She didn't know it yet but he's already committed to her.

Still, it was almost like he couldn't tell her. A thousand fathers, brothers, grandfathers, uncles, friends stood in his way. That wasn't what guys did. Endless generations of men in his head demanded to know what kind of pansy he was. Maybe he wanted to give her one of his little handbags, balls included.

You're wrong he told them. You've always been wrong. He was glad that he's never really listened to them. With some guys it took an extraordinary moment to shove those voices down, and there were always those who never managed to do it. Maybe he wasn't quite as good as the guys who never heard that crap from their selves to begin with, but he was proud of the fact that he'd never bought into it. Not once in his life.

He caught her wrist before she could dance away and told her. She smiled with delight and said it back.

I love you.

Saturday, 6 November 2010

Playing Favorites

Disclaimer: Pure smut. Seriously, this is porn with absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever. You have been warned. I wash my hands of this. Seriously. It's just wrong. If you're not legal and I find out you read this I will personally find you and kick your ass. Not in a good way.


Sometimes we'll fuck in the daytime, warm and lazy in our unmade bed while the golden afternoon sun shines in through the open window. Curled up together exchanging whispered endearments... sex is slow and sweet as molasses. Our lips touching and our limbs intertwined I can't tell where she ends and I begin as her fingers move inside of me. My heart feels full to exploding with all I feel for her and I know that I have nothing to hide. I love you I tell her. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. I whisper it over and over as my lips brush over her mouth, her nose, her cheekbone. I can't get enough of those moments. Making love.. it sounds so trite, so clich├ęd but at that moment, I don't care. There's nothing quite like it. It's beautiful. But it's not my favorite thing.

Sometimes it happens that we're out... and we can't resist the urge. Surrounded by bodies and music, I whisper in her ear, I want you. We'll scramble out the back, into the dark alley. It might be stupid but I feel like I'll die if I can't have her right there. I push her up against the wall, push her collar aside, bite down on knotted muscle and then lick and kiss the pain away, an apology of sorts. I palm her breast and push her dress up, grind my thigh against her. Theres nothing but damp thin cotton between my skin and her pussy. I press harder as she rubs herself against me. Her fingers dig into my skin as she grabs my shoulder. Harder she grunts, and I give it to her. I laugh, I'm so turned on but this is fucking crazy. It's dark and there's no one near but anyone can walk in. I tell her that and it turns her on even more. Fuck but she's hot. Gasping harshly, she comes right there with the brick wall digging into her back. It's the wildest thing we've ever done, but it's not my favorite.

She loves to be in control and she loves to force me out of it. She loves to drive me out of my mind. She's slowly, purposely, driving me crazy. I don't know how long it's been but it feels like forever. Her wicked fingers and her sinful mouth bring me to the edge over and over again. I'm drenched in sweat and every muscle in my body is rigid with tension. It's been too long, so much.. too much. Every single fucking time I think this is the time, she draws away and leaves me grasping at the feeling she's denying me flees with her touch. The sheets are starting to feel like sandpaper against my skin. Her touch is torture, too much and not enough, never enough. I curse her name with every ragged breath. And still she denies me. I feel like I've been crying, begging, pleading for ever but every time I think she'll relent she proves that her heart is made of fucking stone the cunt. My breath is harsh to my own ears and I can hear my heart pounding. I fucking hate her, why won't she just give me what I need? I promise her anything, everything if she'll just let me come. But she won't, she'll only let me when she's good and ready. When I've lost every shred of sanity. My fingers scrabble at the sheets, simultaneously wanting contact and shying away from feeling. I can't anymore. I'm seconds from pushing her away and taking matters into my own hands. I just can't take anymore. I can't. Just when I think I'm about to break, just when I think I'm about to scream, it hits me. She finally letting me find my release. I am blindsided by my orgasm. I don't know who or what I am anymore. All I know is pleasure, white hot sliding through me. It's the most intense thing I've ever felt.

I'm wrung out, barely able to lift me head as she lays a gentle, almost chaste kiss on my lips. Good? She asks. I smile and nuzzle her face. She always knows how to give me exactly what I crave. And that? That's my favorite thing

Now Playing: Mercy - Duffy