Archive for October, 2008

minutia

Posted in cusak, real life with tags , on Thu, 30 Oct, 2008 :: 303/44 :: 13:19:14 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

Sometimes I’m dreadfully uninteresting. I occasionally write in here from the fishbowl (my affectionate name for the reception area at my job, behind which I sit eight hours a day, like the proverbial fish on display) during my lunch break, or a late afternoon lull. Today I’m doing so while eating an instant rice noodle bowl, and drinking a vitamin water. I told you, uninteresting.

I wish, sometimes, that my life had the sensual cachet of she who I have cast myself after, Ms. Nin. I wish I could make this noodle bowl interesting, this vitamin water leap out of the page and into your own mouth. I wish I could write about how it’s all related for me, the sensuality and the sexuality. But you have to take my word for it. I’m a creature of feelings, not of rationality.

Sitting at work today, as I type away at the keyboard, engage in the pointless paper game of filing, I fantasize instead about being at home. I paint a picture for myself of the delicious treat of my birthday, someone to eat cake in bed with me, someone to touch me just so. These fantasies all resolve themselves into images of drawn out play, lingering seductions that start at waking, and gently tease me through the day. Like the slowest unwrapping of a gift, each word and glance and touch laden with promise, sending the tiniest sparks of pleasure through my skin and mind.

I find refuge from my own boredom at least.

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secret

Posted in thoughts with tags on Wed, 29 Oct, 2008 :: 302/44 :: 20:26:14 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

He gets the carefullest of whispers, “yes sirs,” “no sirs,” each measured out in my head. Looking for buttons to push, or buttons I have pushed that I want to back away from, unready for the intensity I see myself staring at. No matter how much I want it, crave it, desire it…I can’t quite bring myself to tip over the edge into that blinding darkness of him.

But it isn’t just his darkness, I am forced to admit. It’s mine too, and perhaps that’s why it terrifies me so when I find myself snuck upon and startled, confronted with the angular planes of its shape. The way I flush to think of his hands pulling and pinching and scratching. The way I think of my flesh as a sensation, touch or taste. It is not skin, any longer, but the taste of sweat in the hollow of my throat or the shiver as his breath raises bumps on my arms.

I confess things to him, little tiny baggage sized pieces of the darkness. The strange fetishes I have, the fact that I find playing pretend in bed sexy. But I want to show it all to him. Not that I can. I can’t map the internal landscape of my sexuality, can’t spread it bare. Can’t explain that sometimes when I look at him I think of sliding to my knees while he sits at his computer, or plays his video games, and taking him in my mouth until he’s panting and as desperate as I am. Until pushing me down, face half pressed into the carpet to achieve his outlet is as natural to him as setting aside the controller and taking me to the bedroom.

This tiny scrap of my pillowbook. Remaining hidden between weightier pages.

toys

Posted in real life, thoughts with tags , on Mon, 27 Oct, 2008 :: 300/44 :: 20:56:07 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

I’ve been trying to frame into words this desire. This fantasy. The lingering needs and wants tangling themselves into a knot and burying themselves in my core.

I want him to dress me, to pose me. To put my hair just so, and part my lips gently with his thumb, to tell me to stare glassy eyed at the television, or the wall, or whatever happens to be in front of me until he wants to play with me again. I want to be taken into public, and given only the basics of movement and speech. Enough to laugh at his jokes, or agree with his comments. To stand and sit and walk.

To be set on the bed, and feel the pressure of his hands, perhaps even the faint warmth. To be so perfect at the game we’re playing that I can hold still as he brushes a nipple lightly, or circles my clit with a fingertip. To be able to hold my head still while he presses his lips to mine, not kissing back but just receiving the kiss.

To find perfect stillness of letting go, and being his treasured doll.

wistful

Posted in cusak with tags on Wed, 15 Oct, 2008 :: 288/42 :: 18:14:44 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

Radio silence commences soon, not that I update this thing as often as I thought I might. But the move is nigh imminent (tomorrow morning I will hold shiny new keys in my hand) and that means I finally have to get off my ass and pack. It’s nice, knowing that I only have two suitcases (and a box or two now) worth of stuff…but at the same time, it’s a little chilly.

At least it’s almost done. Then we’ll drive it all to the new apartment, unload all the boxes, stash the dodgiest stuff that we don’t want his parents to see in the attic, and enjoy a few days together off work. I’m trying not to have a sinking feeling, but I’m just ready to be finished with it.

I keep thinking about how I left the west (oh, there goes some anonymity). I threw everything I could fit in a couple of suitcases, threw them on a train, told my best friend in the world I didn’t want to cry in front of her, and somehow made it all the way to the desert before the tears started. Then it hit me in a rush what I’d done. This place that had been my identity my whole life was suddenly miles behind me, and I was wading into the deep unknown of the mountains.

The travel, living with Mr. Wayne, these things were moments. Tiny stops on the way. But now that Cusak and I are moving in together, like for real and with intent, I find myself missing my town out west. I miss the Pacific, and I miss brunch at the diner that only took cash. I’m scared that this is the rest of my life… Not bad, just…indifferently in limbo, waiting for the future to happen to me.

Maybe it’s just the loneliness talking.

infatuation

Posted in cusak with tags , on Mon, 13 Oct, 2008 :: 286/42 :: 19:24:57 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

A good word for the addiction I find myself with, this constant craving for his company. He looked at me in the grocery store today and said, “I love you.” As is my habit, I murmured that I loved him as well, and he smiled. Shook his head. And emphasized, “No, I love you.”

Girl-body came early this month, and with it a host of neuroses. I’ve been feeling less myself, and fearing that it’s unattractive to him, so this has been good to me and for me.

And of course I miss him.

This has meandered, so rather than torture the entry any longer, I shall simply post it.

untitled quote

Posted in thoughts with tags on Tue, 07 Oct, 2008 :: 280/41 :: 19:18:51 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

Me: Okay. So. My thought is that masturbation is totally different, because sure, you’ve been doing the same thing for fifteen years, but it’s like, the perfect thing. You know exactly how it works.