hooray self-diagnosis!

http://www.nbc.com/news/2009/03/16/president-barack-obama-will-appear-in-studio-on-the-tonight-show-with-jay-leno-on-thursday-march-19/

An hour and a half later on the other end of the outskirts a wooden pole bisected the line of trees flanking the highway.  I pulled over in the shoulder with mystical vocal music on my stereo and every window open.  The stars dropped through the moonroof.

I thought I was having an emotional day.  Two divorces in my family, one on either side; my high school unrequited but now tepid love inviting me to his wedding; last official long-distance real love boyfriend calling, now out of corrections and speaking with solemn gravity; and then I texted about the nonreciprocal side of love with the young man I love without fear, only adoration and elastic patience.

And he is with someone else he’s not sure he loves, just like with every other girl since the one that killed his best friend.

Plasticene imitations pollute the pearlescent shells of humanity, separating soulmate molecules into unstable, dense atoms that would rather tear themselves apart than exist.

But there is the illusion of time and the omnipresence of history in the bones in the teeth in the fingers and skin.  Black and shining naked Aphrika of peace and beautiful queens.  And breathtaking warriors with uzis in city projects paint their skin with tattoo and exit wounds.

There is nature, omnipotent, waiting patiently for the Rapture to reorganize her water supply, wistful of agrarian civilization and love among the people. Outside of old things and growing things the core of Earth digests the seafood of 8 billion years and doesn’t care about money.

The trees that remain, whispering and roaring with laughter about the weather and community news, stretch and stabilize like possibilities and perseverence.  Green leaves making love like emeralds, illumined gold tumbling blindly through the spaces, the infinite universes between the leaves dance till they shoot like stars.

Here we are.

MR. COSBY:  Wow.

MR. RUSSERT:  …and it’s structural and systemic racism that’s the real problem.

MR. COSBY:  Wow.

Meet the Press interview Here

So it seems.  When I was seven eight nine I wouldn’t let D___ take my panties off.

In two thousand five six seven I wouldn’t let Rogeiro fuck me but we did everything else.  It was from him I learned how much patience I needed to masturbate without a vibrator.

I would hum and spit and gag on his dick and he would French kiss my pussy and my asshole with real tenderness.   I was an asshole.  He used to let me sleep over and stay till he had to leave every time.  He didn’t see my apartment for two years and I never once left his apartment of my own accord.

His bedroom was organized and colorful, posters and flyers on the walls, flags and a jersey from his hometown.  I would look and look in the dawn light, the smell of us in the sheets and pillows.  Everything felt soft and I was naked.

I watched his face and body sleeping.  He was small like me, maybe two and a half kilos heavier than me but much stronger.  The skin on his arc’d belly was thick and firm and warm and his toes were big making his feet look square and edible.  His arms looked like any soccer [football] player’s, angular and slightly delicate.

He had the face of a child sometimes, his blackish hair curling into his ears, smashed against his forehead.  I would part it and style it up with my fingers to make it look daring and dangerous.  He liked that I was the only girl who didn’t tell him to straighten it.

I want to tell him even now that when I’d confessed to sleeping with someone else I was lying.

We would turn off the lights and he’d have something else glowing through the dark.  I’d blink and sidle closer to him.  He’d fall asleep.  I’d let him for a while and he would roll over and put an arm or a leg upon me if I didn’t upon him first.  There could be hours of waiting.

Once when I knew he didn’t love me but I wanted him to more than ever he showed me bits of porn in the living room till I felt he was torturing me. I told him we had to go upstairs.  He wasn’t very rushed about anything, and a simple transition from going in the door to getting in bed could take thirty minutes.

I was furious inside, but too excited to protest.

His eyes staring into mine then closing rapturously with his dick between my legs becoming slick from pretend-fucking, I pictured his dick head peeping out behind me, the half-circumcised foreskin sliding back and the wet look of it.

The world and time skipped as we lay still, him pushing microscopically against the holes in me, feeling the slippery resistance of membrane and muscle against his baton.

I stopped breathing, lungs full, waiting for him to fuck me raw but at the second of penetration I flinched out of his reach and grabbed him, embracing, starting the pretend-fuck again till he couldn’t agree with me anymore.

Unforgivable, I slid down his body sucking and biting nipples and flanks and fucked him with my breasts, masturbated him with my mouth, turning for him as he moved me to part my lips with his fingers and suck the inside of me.

His fingers and tongue, fingers and tongue; I loved him and his twitching cock.  I smelled his balls and my breath and breathed deeply with my tongue moving like a cat’s.  Massaging his balls inside my mouth together, humming, doing every experimental thing I’d done with someone else, I didn’t come but I loved him and his smooth hips.

I lay flat later on my belly and he was on top of me with all his weight.  We were kissing and his head was on my shoulder, my arms outstretched with his fingers pressing my hands hard into the mattress.  Everything was soft around us, under me, and his feet were on top of my toes.  I felt everything and I was nowhere else.  Words were stupid.

He was using the cleft of my ass as a casing for his dick after fucking the lips of my pussy and the space between my thighs and the forbidden holes in me.  He slowed down and pressed against my perineum, hard.  I was rocking my hips with each breath, centering my entire person on the point where there was pressure, feeling both of us in one place comprising a universe, then feeling everything from the hair on my head to my jeweled toenails but still I didn’t come.

His cock slid up in millimeters.  It was against my sphincter; it was wet and hot and natural.  We were quietude and stillness, only hips moving with breaths, his belly on my ass, and he moved forward.

Resistance.

I felt it of my ass on his dick and his dick’s steadfastness.  I breathed harder and faster, telling him with my breath that I was losing control.

He was inside me.

It was less than an inch, but it was love.  I was screaming between my ears, I love you, I love you, give me your children, and as I hissed the breath out of my nose he separated from me again, then pushed the slick smooth tough love against the kiss of my ass a moment later.  He was stillness and quietude as my heart pounded, just pressure.

I pushed out as he pushed in and I wanted to be his, to be owned and his owner.  I stopped, froze, flinched, evaded.  He caught his breath and slid up and down the canal of my ass until he came in the small of my back.

Our rampant sexuality, pervasive, through-and-through, pleases and elevates but it is born of cigarette burns and little murders. We were only big heads with skinny greenstick necks and ever-growing feet; angels savagely pinched, dragged, blindfolded from the ether of childhood.

What was it like for people who adolesced and adulted “appropriately?”

[how I felt after reading this:    the-thirty-first-post]

I can”

he said

almost shy

mischievous twinkle

honest appraisal

of

effort

A small thing

helpful

rightly self-titled

Patient

translate: “quietly

tenacious”

grateful 4 the quiet

[I almost want to kiss

his cheek

with gratitude]

*

he is warm

he listens

and banters

volleying words

and deliveries

Playing

[but i've seen

too many dicks + cocks

to be objective]

*

I push and pull

myself

He rests an arm on

my knee

and shifts

I miss him sometimes

and there is

gentleness

with reluctance and

and

and

my force field

glowing like an aura

*

I’m not protecting

maybe it’s him

or my ancestors

or a test

or a

parallel universe

*

relieving me of

loving and

not loving anymore

not being loved

HERE & AGAIN

*

it’s a

3rd eye

shutter pane

with light

splitting into

shines.