Day- 10
Jennifer hasn't called or written since that last morning, and that dispiriting note, I miss her, and I don't miss women any one in particular, and anymore, that is. But I won't call her, I'm too aware of what that would mean. That would be an act of weakness, an admission that I care, and that I have somehow allowed myself to become vulnerable for her. So I'll move on, the way I always have, the only way I know how, on to the next one, and should she, Jennifer, find her way back to me somehow, well
I got a letter today from my Anais. She has impeccable timing-
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-Anais,
I've waited too many long days to write to you again, and I regret my delay in part, but only because I love the mindset I'm in when I'm writing you. It's as though I'm on a mental retreat, which as late has been more necessity than luxury. Don't think I'm goin to let your stolen quotation of Abraham Lincoln go uncalled by the way, albeit quite certainly the truth. My ignorance is vocalized daily so I need never live in fear of being assumed any worse than I am (that's a gross misinterpretation of those words I know, but it's my pen). You seem to have a good beat on where your head is. It's a beautiful recognition for your own good, and quite inspiring for mine. I've suffered as late at the hands or mind rather, of a fantastically divine romantic muse, but what problems to have, yes?
I am curious about your shutting down at revealing that my words influence you somehow? Tease, if you wish by elusion, by all means, it's an incredibly sexy tactic, but don't withhold for sake of self-consciousness. I know full well of what is unspoken between us. It's a gorgeous dance of palpable tension. But it serves the greater good to motivate a hand toward creation rather than... well rather than Jonathan's path (see story Day 2). If words are not your medium, draw it for me then, share it and without shame, and without fear that it will influence me one way or another, I respect you, and sex and physical pleasure too much to allow judgment or self consciousness to enter the equation.
You said in your last letter that you want to read the exploration and perspective of my physical needs? But how much can you hear Anais? Where are you prepared to go, even on paper? Have you read the books I gave you yet? Did they inspire you the way they were meant to? Did your hands wander beyond your control, did they become someone elses? Mine? Did you close your eyes and feel a hot breath across your neck, feel the prickle of a stubbled cheek against your own? Did that same hand reach to those dark rimmed cat eye glasses, removing them gently to fold them as you pretended the fear inside you didn't exist. Let it exist. Let it shiver, shake you. Feel that trembling, it's a dance so much sexier than the clichd taunts of a stripper, even my stripper. That's freedom, knowing you want to fuck, knowing you want to be fucked, to have someone's fingers inside you, wrapped around you, tearing your panties off and leaving bloody scratches down your back. Or correction that's fantasy, freedom is knowing you can share it and knowing you will never be judged for it. How much are you ready to hear Anais? How much can you hear, before it hurts you...?
Yours,
A______-
Finishing the letter, reading it to myself I wonder if somehow I'm hoping another set of eyes lands on these pages, her eyes. I cannot afford to miss anyone right now. But I suppose the stores of my heart will supply what I feel I can't afford, whether I wish it or not.
Jennifer hasn't called or written since that last morning, and that dispiriting note, I miss her, and I don't miss women any one in particular, and anymore, that is. But I won't call her, I'm too aware of what that would mean. That would be an act of weakness, an admission that I care, and that I have somehow allowed myself to become vulnerable for her. So I'll move on, the way I always have, the only way I know how, on to the next one, and should she, Jennifer, find her way back to me somehow, well
I got a letter today from my Anais. She has impeccable timing-
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-Anais,
I've waited too many long days to write to you again, and I regret my delay in part, but only because I love the mindset I'm in when I'm writing you. It's as though I'm on a mental retreat, which as late has been more necessity than luxury. Don't think I'm goin to let your stolen quotation of Abraham Lincoln go uncalled by the way, albeit quite certainly the truth. My ignorance is vocalized daily so I need never live in fear of being assumed any worse than I am (that's a gross misinterpretation of those words I know, but it's my pen). You seem to have a good beat on where your head is. It's a beautiful recognition for your own good, and quite inspiring for mine. I've suffered as late at the hands or mind rather, of a fantastically divine romantic muse, but what problems to have, yes?
I am curious about your shutting down at revealing that my words influence you somehow? Tease, if you wish by elusion, by all means, it's an incredibly sexy tactic, but don't withhold for sake of self-consciousness. I know full well of what is unspoken between us. It's a gorgeous dance of palpable tension. But it serves the greater good to motivate a hand toward creation rather than... well rather than Jonathan's path (see story Day 2). If words are not your medium, draw it for me then, share it and without shame, and without fear that it will influence me one way or another, I respect you, and sex and physical pleasure too much to allow judgment or self consciousness to enter the equation.
You said in your last letter that you want to read the exploration and perspective of my physical needs? But how much can you hear Anais? Where are you prepared to go, even on paper? Have you read the books I gave you yet? Did they inspire you the way they were meant to? Did your hands wander beyond your control, did they become someone elses? Mine? Did you close your eyes and feel a hot breath across your neck, feel the prickle of a stubbled cheek against your own? Did that same hand reach to those dark rimmed cat eye glasses, removing them gently to fold them as you pretended the fear inside you didn't exist. Let it exist. Let it shiver, shake you. Feel that trembling, it's a dance so much sexier than the clichd taunts of a stripper, even my stripper. That's freedom, knowing you want to fuck, knowing you want to be fucked, to have someone's fingers inside you, wrapped around you, tearing your panties off and leaving bloody scratches down your back. Or correction that's fantasy, freedom is knowing you can share it and knowing you will never be judged for it. How much are you ready to hear Anais? How much can you hear, before it hurts you...?
Yours,
A______-
Finishing the letter, reading it to myself I wonder if somehow I'm hoping another set of eyes lands on these pages, her eyes. I cannot afford to miss anyone right now. But I suppose the stores of my heart will supply what I feel I can't afford, whether I wish it or not.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
the first is going to be the world "adorelo" in times new roman script on my wrist. it's a phrase that's gotten me through quite a bit, and i definitely want it to be as much of a part of my exterior as it is my interior. (:
the second is going to be either on the other wrist, or the back of my neck. it's going to be the hebrew phrase "tohu va vohu" in classic hebrew script, which translates to "without form, and void" and refers to the state of the universe before it had any shape or order. it's also the cover of my favorite godspeed you! black emperor album. (:
the third is a pair of sparrows on my hip bones, because i think they're the most beautiful things ever.
(:
Adorable little chihuahua dog in the pics below. Yours?