Archive for the thoughts Category


Posted in thoughts with tags on Fri, 02 Jan, 2009 :: 1/01 :: 01:58:33 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

I have been remiss. But it is a new year, and so my resolution is to write more regularly. I often make this promise, and then fail in it, but hopefully 2009 will be kinder.

As a gift to those of you out there who’ve managed to stick with me…


I lie in the dark. It’s late night, early morning. Stray light spills through the window. I see only shadows, but you have enough illumination to actually see. And so, as you turn in your sleep, you reach for my form, your hand settling at my hip, warm and soft.

Your fingertips idly trace designs against my skin as your breath comes warm against my neck. No words, only soft kisses. Eventually you reach up to free my hair, twining your fingers through it to pull me back, roll me over, in my sleepy haze. “I was dreaming, love,” you whisper. Then you kiss me, before I have time to respond.

You draw your body the length of mine, your warmth settling into my hollows and curves, as your lips move from mine to my jaw. Behind my ear. My collarbones. Your breath sending shivers through me, one hand pinning my hips to the bed as you shift. My breathless whimper makes you smile, and you tease my legs open with your knee.

“Mine,” you growl softly against my cheek as you enter me…


Happy New Year. May it bring you everything you want.



Posted in cusak, real life, thoughts with tags on Mon, 08 Dec, 2008 :: 342/50 :: 13:26:56 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

Sometimes I wonder where my Prince Charming is.

Don’t get me wrong, I love both my boys very much…but every so often I want a white horse, shiny armor, and a sunset. I, however, have to come to grips with the idea that this is an unrealistic fantasy.

The boys send gifts. They take out the trash. They let me watch the movies I want to watch, and don’t even complain when it takes me an hour to get ready…to go to the grocery store. They love me, and they’re in love with me, and they do everything they can to show me and make me happy.

Which is why I feel like I sound like an ungrateful loser for whining about this.

Cusak points out that he’s got romantic plans in the wings, that we’re waiting for financial instability to pass. But some part of me is pretty sure that given that we both like our creature comforts, and that supporting two adults in an apartment is pretty expensive, that statement is a bit like saying “I’ll get to it about when the sky turns green.” I’ve never been good with the “wait for Christmas” mentality, and it’s much like that on a cosmic scale.

It seems greedy to want this, when the sex is good and I don’t have any complaints about his living habits. I feel like I’m telling myself I should settle, only it isn’t settling if I think he’s mostly perfect…right?


I’m just a whiny princess who needs to get the hell over herself.


Posted in bruce wayne, cusak, thoughts with tags on Sun, 02 Nov, 2008 :: 306/44 :: 22:45:22 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

I am watching one of my favorite films right now as a sort of birthday icing treat, Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain. One of the most striking things about it for me is the little things Amélie takes pleasure in. Sticking her hands in bags of grain, skipping stones.

I am struck by my own simple pleasures. I too love sticking my hands in bags of grain, cracking the top of crème brûlée. I love the feeling of clean sheets on my skin, and the way Cusak’s breath tastes when we kiss. I love Bruce Wayne’s superman curl (right in the center of his forehead), and the sound of rain on window panes.

The simple pleasures are certainly some of the best.


Posted in real life, thoughts with tags on Sun, 02 Nov, 2008 :: 306/44 :: 14:09:34 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

I have a complicated relationship with aging. When I was a child, precocious and unreasonable, I was much older than the years biologically assigned to me. Given the vagaries of my troubled childhood, this comes as less than a surprise to most who meet me.

Now, in my “adulthood” I regularly find I’m the youngest person in a room. My best friend, the same age as I (or perhaps younger, I can never quite remember) is emotionally so much older than I that in some ways seeing her next to me is like picturing a 30 year old next to a teenager. (I envy that she has her shit that together…I certainly don’t.)

This meandering is a long way of getting to the fact that I’m celebrating my birthday today. (Hence the pot noodle ruminations of a day or two ago.) I’m conflcited as to whether or not I’m enjoying being older, but the birthday itself can’t be knocked.


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.


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.

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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.