You don’t have to meet me

You don’t have to love me

I don’t really want you there anyway

You don’t have to be so fucking on top of it

Or feel like you are

And I don’t always need your guidance guru

I don’t know what love is? I don’t know where my ass is right now

But I got about as much sense about love as Forrest

And I’m gonna fucking run too!

I’m gonna flee from all that causes discomfort because I can’t fucking stand the idea of some one wanting me, right now

I’d rather shove your ass to the side and make you hate me than have you love me

But I’m torn because the sex is so goddamn good I cant focus on shit

And it’s good yes because its all I’ve had in a while

It’s good because you take your time

It’s good because your lips are sweet

And its good because whether we’re naked, clothed, in bed or out you make love to me with your presence

And no I’m not  a corny fuck, I hate to type or say “make love”

But when I say “fuck” you don’t understand me

When I say fuck I mean consume, blend, tear apart the boundaries that keep every part of me from touching every part of you

That struggle to get past all my shit, that gets in my way with words comes through when I fuck you

And maybe that makes me a shallow cunt but I gotta get there before I get any deeper

Not all barrel bottoms are bad sometimes they’re rotten floating on a pond with only a few inches of water for my little amoeba ass to swim down and black mamba one inch punch my way through

Maybe that is my enlightenment, my centering and ground

But maybe I’m a stupid bitch that doesn’t know what she’s talking about

(Source: whitewashandwords.blogspot.com)

M: Why have you been away from me so much lately?

K: Do you really want to know?

M: Yes, why else would I ask?

K: I don’t know

M: Why can’t you just talk to me

K: You don’t want to hear what I want, just forget it

M: Damnit why do you always do this

K: I can’t have this, I can’t have what I want from you, and I can’t need something so much and not know what it even is. You came into my life at just the right time and told me everything you wanted me to hear so I would want to be near you. And here I am, and you’re afraid to give me any tiny little piece of you, what am I supposed to do? If it weren’t for you I’d be back with _____. Is this what I’m supposed to want? I am supposed to want to be with only you. You selfish asshole! Yes! Yes I want to be with you! I want to be around you because you make me smile.

M: What do you mean you see too much in my eyes? I don’t want you to leave your life behind

K: Who are you to even decide?  Who do you think you are? What are you trying to do to me?

Do you have to break me to make me match you?

M: Don’t say this, you don’t mean it, I can’t do this now

K: Then when, when, can you, when can you trust someone enough to love them back

M: Don’t play with me, you don’t know what you want, I, I’m not ready for this I can’t let you be

K: Be what?! Close! You want me to be here. You want something to look at; to touch…..You can’t say that you don’t need me!

M: It’s not that, I like you a lot, but I’m too crazy right now, I can’t get that close to you, I can’t let myself need you

K: why, why is that so hard?

M: because you lie to everyone, you lied to me; I can’t pretend that I trust anything you say now

K: I was mad, goddamnit why does it matter; I’m trying to tell you the truth now!

M: it doesn’t matter anymore, I, I don’t know if I could’ve trusted you anyway. I need to think that you’re lying to me, it makes it easier

K: makes what easier?

M: The landing, when I realize that you were only waiting for something better to come along

Silence:………………

K: So that’s it,…You don’t trust anyone, You preach so much about giving up everything for love and you are a fucking coward! You cant give anything at all..Because you are afraid of taking a chance and getting hurt.

M: I already hurt, don’t you see, I already care I don’t know if it’s love I don’t know if I can really feel anything but pain anymore, I don’t know if I can really let myself feel what is there, I would rather hurt, and revel in the beauty if that, that the fucking pain that will come, You are crazy and young

K: and you want to love someone

M: yes

K: you want it so much that you never will, because, you love yourself too much. To even show me anything resembling your heart, you’re afraid that I will

M: I’m afraid that if I stay with anyone long enough to actually love them then I will feel it, Then I won’t be able to protect myself. I don’t want you to make fun of me with your friends later I don’t think you can feel anything like that for me and I don’t think it’s worth the chance to even let you know what I might want, what I really want, this isn’t something that I can control, after I say it it’s floating out there in the air and you can take it and make what you want out of it and I can’t protect my heart anymore, and I’m so full of love my heart is going to explode and I don’t know If I can just let enough out for you to see so that you may love me back and still hold the rest in. I don’t want to explode on you I’m capable of taking over your world, if you love me back, I would, I would take everything you have and save it so that when I need to torture myself later I can pull up those pieces of you and hold them when you don’t care about me anymore. I can’t handle that! I can’t let you take that from me, there is this whole world that i can build if I just trap these thoughts of you in my heart, If I can use them, then I can control the pain. And it’s not pain anymore it’s inspiration

K: you are the liar, you lie to yourself every chance you get and you want to blame me for lying to you, You said “you teach others how to treat you”, You did it and didn’t even know it . You taught me to treat you the way I do what did you expect? What did you think would happen?

M: not this, not with you questioning me, not with you, you were supposed to be fun, that’s it, not a fuck buddy, not a girl to date, a young girl to follow the others not to teach me a lesson.  I stopped it i told you that I liked you, to push you away and it worked. It worked; you went running back to him

K; did I ?

M; now you want to play with me more, after what I just told you, you want to tease my brain

K: Fuck you! I told you what you wanted to hear. I told you exactly what you needed and treated you the way you deserved, Now what do you want?

M: not this!

K: not what?

M: I don’t know

K: Then how am I supposed to act? What am I supposed to say?

M: Say that I was sad, make fun of me, say I fell for you

K: fell for me huh? Now you’re saying that you love me?

M: no, I’m saying I fell for it all, I fell for you tricks

K: tricks?! I liked you! I was there when you wanted me or didn’t I was there

M: yeah you came because, you came before anyway, you came here because you ….

K: because of you

M: You came because it was easy, you came because there wasn’t anything else to do, I took up space, I knew what it was, is and would be

K: Fuck you!

M: Yeah fuck me, because, I’m right.

(Source: whitewashandwords)

MeLinda Brown

Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,

For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,

For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop,

Here is a strange and bitter crop.-Abel Meerpol (1939)

The air is warm and sticky.  Sweat runs down her cheek.  A light breeze blows and her bangs droop back over her eyes.  The mosquitoes are so think she might as well eat them as she walks.  It’s been two days since any other protein has crossed her lips.  When she ran from the house, food was the last thing on her mind. 

Dark shadows dance across the surface of the water. Ripples push ahead of her thighs.   Frogs and gators bark to their potential mates. She takes slow controlled breaths.  Her dress clings to her breasts.  The crickets sound like tambourines. Moonlight filters through the cypress trees and suddenly someone is in front of her.  Ten feet away and she didn’t even see him.  He sways back and forth slow as if moved by the breeze.  The light blue overalls he wears are torn.  She sinks into the dark water and waits. 

Saturday work is as usual.  Mr. Sparks comes in drinks three cups of black coffee spiked with about half a cup of sugar and eats five pralines. She carries more hot coffee to him.  I don’t know how that poor man walks around in those old polyester pant suits.  I swear his wife must still think its 1970 the way she dresses him.  Mrs. Sparks slams the screen door open huffing, “Excuse me miss! We need the bill now!” like she don’t know my name.

She’s a browbeater, that angry old broad.  She just strolls down the street like she owns it.   Her nose so far up in the air you’d think she was writing the farmers almanac the way she seems to watch the sky.  I dont know why he lets that damn woman be so mean to him.   Sometimes I wonder if he took her name instead of the other way around.  On the way out Mr. Sparks says, “See ya Tuesday Ms. Dahlia,” as he gently places a crumpled five dollar bill in her hand.

Something swims past her calf, slick and slimy.  She splashes away from it and tries to run in the waist deep water not thinking of the man in front of her.  Something cold and wet bumps into her face.  Fear frozen is the last seconds of his life contorts his face.  His bottom lip is missing.  What’s left of his teeth jut out broken and black.  He smells sweet and spoiled like the paper plant she grew up near.   His right arm is missing.  His legs dangle in the water, meat stripped clean off the bone from just below the knee.  She flails and leaps backward splashing loudly.  Everything goes dark.

After work Dahlia heads home at 3pm to the lovely girl she had been with for two years. The rain starts just as she pulls onto the packed sandy road that leads to their house.  They bought it because the house sat in the middle of forty drained acres of the most fertile swamp land west of the Mississippi. Missy wanted a garden and though she had been worn out on gardening by her mama at a young age she catered to Missy when ever she could.  Tomorrow morning they’ll be out there fighting off mosquitoes and picking weeds away from the tomatoes and squash plants until the sun is high in the sky.  At noon the party starts with bloody mary’s.  For lunch it’s boudins with cucumber salad then biscuits soaked in cane syrup and butter for dessert.

When she tops the last step on the old worn porch Missy is sitting on the swing at the edge.  Missy is radiant. The porch light dances off her olive skin stroking every pore with its faint glow.  Her hair is tied up in a mess of tangles.  Two glasses sit next to a pitcher full of sweet tea on the little cast iron table that was her granny’s.    She sits there hugging her right knee to her chest.  The big toe on her left foot keeps the swing moving at a steady beat as Billie Holiday’s “traveling light” wafts softly out the window. 

A pot bellied stove sits in the corner across from her.  She’s warm.  There is a pot of food cooking on top of it.  The fire crackles and its glow flickers faint orange light around the little shack.  A sharp pain at the base of her skull brings back the image of the man hanging from the tree.  She shuts her eyes and sees the rope around his neck and the sagging skin above it.  Three guns shots crack out side and her head splits open again.  Someone’s coming.  A sloshing sound comes closer, then a faint bump that sounds like wood hitting something solid.  Slowly the door creaks open.  She looks frantically for some weapon.  The stove is past the door, can’t get the pot.  A pair of black rubber boots sit at the edge of her bed.  She quickly grabs one and readies herself to swing with the boot slung over her shoulder.  One red sequined high heel crammed full of hairy toes crosses the threshold.  She starts to fling the boot but gets hung up on the idea of being killed by a high heel wearing gorilla and stalls. 

In walks the largest creature she has ever seen, wearing a full length golden fur coat matted with black mud.  Without noticing her kneeling gape jawed on the edge of the little cot.  He carefully removes the coat to reveal a brilliant royal blue evening gown also covered in sequins and hangs it on a nail tapped into the rafters.  Thick orangish fur tufts poke through the seams of the dress as he turns to face her.  “Hello Pretty Flower!” squeaks out of his mouth in a voice that sounds very helium induced.  Although she is terrified by his appearance she grins ear to ear and tries to keep the giggles inside her trembling body.  Suddenly the stench hits her.  Smelling salts can’t compare to the burn this beasts scent causes to her nostrils, her eyes begin to water and she knows who or what this creature is, bigfoot.  She just doesn’t know why it’s dressed like a drag queen. “Hi, um…..,” is all she can muster before she passes out again.

Missy just smiles at Dahlia and holds up a glass for her.  Dahlia takes the glass and kisses Missy on the forehead.  “How was work baby?” Missy runs her fingers through Dahlia’s hair.  “Boring as hell girl, made five dollars all day, how about you sweetie you find where those chickens are roosting yet?” Dahlia tastes her drink which is she finds is in fact bourbon and not sweet tea.  “No, I think maybe they just left,” as she fingers the rim of her glass and looks off into the darkness over the yard.  They sit on the porch and drink too much whiskey before stumbling upstairs and off to bed for the night. 

Dahlia wakes to a low humming sound coming from the garden.  Missy   is sitting up in bed, tears running down her face.  “I knew they were coming,” she whispers through soft sobs.  “What are you talkin about baby?” Dahlia looks from Missy to the low light flickering outside at a distance.  “Haven’t you been watching the T.V. at all?” Missy says visibly shaking.  “No, wait, is it illegal now? Baby are they coming for us?” Frantically Dahlia leaps from the bed and throws clothes to Missy but it’s too late.  Wood splinters downstairs and dogs start barking.  The girls scramble to the window and carefully climb down the trellis below. Barefoot and in their summer dresses they sprint to the edge of the swamp. The mob is tearing through the house as the girls duck into the tree line. “Fucking Dykes! We’ve been waiting years for this! You bitches are dead!” 

“Oh my god!” Dahlia whispers hugging Missy close. “They passed it? We have fucking black president! And they passed it?” Dahlia’s eyes adjust and her head clears. “Head into the swamp, go deep and stay in the water as much as you can at first, the dogs can’t follow your trail that way. When you get to the lake, climb a tree just in from the shore, so you can see me when I come for you.  I’m going to lead em’ away from you baby. Okay?” Dahlia traces out her route across the yard, behind the barn, no more than ten miles to the lake from there. “Okay, okay,” Missy says desperately searching her mind for memories of their frog gigging hikes through this area. They kiss goodbye and Dahlia darts out of the tree line, “Fuck yoooou! You, coon ass mother fuckers!” The crowd roars after her but can’t gain ground on her before she hits the swamp a hundred yards in front of them.   Missy launches into the dark waters and disappears. 

Dahlia wakes to find she is alone.  She’s in a canoe floating in Lake Pontchartrain. There’s a small troller motor and battery lying at her feet, five gallons of water, cans of food, two live chickens a machete and a pair of rubber boots. She connects the battery and traces the edge of the lake.  An hour later and more than six hundred miles of lake left to search there’s a faint noise in the distance.  A voice she knows, she pulls into a slue as Missy reaches the ground.  “I’ve been eating shitty catfish sushi for three days woman, where have you been?” Missy’s smile sparkles through her mud caked face.  “Oh my hairy fairy godmother had me for one of em’, I’ll tell you all about it, you’re not gonna believe me though.” Dahlia scratches one of the many mosquito bites along her neckline.  “Baby, I’ll believe you, as long as you’ll forgive me.” Missy looks across the lake searching, her eyes dart neervously.  “His name was Hank but now he prefers Vanessa. He’s a swamp monkey, and he’s been my secret pet since we were little.” Missy just smiles at Dahlia who’ll never be shocked again.  Dahlia picks at another bite and tilts her head like a puppy, “What’s up with the sequins, and what are we gonna do?”  “I’ll explain the sequins on the way to Cananda baby, I’m glad you’re finally here.”

            The autumn air is crisp and fresh.  The sweet smell of wet leaves drifts in my car window.  Last night she told me that she had fun, but doesn’t want to just be a fuck buddy.  Truth is, that was what I wanted until I was alone with her.  There in the dark drunk on her and incense I saw something that doesn’t show in the daylight.  She glows.  She radiates energy, a light that she’s not aware of, yet. 

            The parking lot of my favorite Mexican restaurant is empty.  I park at the front door and make my way to the bar and margarita lunch.  Jefe is in charge at the bar and quick with the tacos and liquor.  I thankfully tuck my nose into a book and sip the refreshing lime liquid.  My phone buzzes in my pocket.  I drop book off the edge of the bar, bend over to pick it up and she’s standing in front of me.

            “How many have you had already?”

            “What are you doing here? I thought you were on your way to Nashville for the             weekend.”

            “Nope; changed my mind.”

            “What did you change it to?”

            “Finding you.”

            “Well you’ve got me.”

            “No I don’t, but I’m going to try,” the evil little smile she used on me at work covers her cute face again. 

            “Want some tacos?”

            “I’m a vegetarian.”

            “Of course you are.”

            She’s a Seventh day Adventist, a nursing school student.  I can’t look her in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time.  I’ve never had that problem.  I’m seven years older than she is.  She’s five foot three.  She doesn’t trust me.  I’ve never wanted anyone to trust me so much before.  

My leg’s asleep from the position I’ve put myself in

And it’s spreading up

And its spreading out

and I don’t see a cure in sight

if I don’t move

So I’ll uncross

And unfold

And feel

What it feels like

To really feel…..

And then I’m gonna fly

I sat in a bar this evening and listened to a low distant hum of multiple languages blending together.  I ate olives that tasted like butter and drank Spanish beer, this is the way.  I couldn’t help but think back on my research and remember that it is strange for Spanish folks to see people eating alone, it’s almost and insult.  My waitress said that a job will be hard to come by and was shocked that I’ll be here so long. It’s a fucking adventure; I have no other choice right now. 

Back at the hostel there are a few American haters, they don’t know me, but I really don’t blame them.

I really don’t believe I’m here yet.

 I walked down the streets and have already noticed how the pick-pockets spot the folks with money on ‘em. There is an idle hand guarding the loot. 

I’ve tried to back out of it

 but now I doubt if it

is possible to let go

It seems there’s no end to it

 how’d I get into this

I never really hear the word no

It could be so simple

But life’s kind of strange

The circles you run into

How quickly your path may change

Just a simple favor

one lonely night together

and you’ll never look at me the same

I crave a variety of excess that was fostered by expats.

The lounge,

the energetic exchange in vowels

always on the verge of love,

to some degree or definition.

And I think of my travels

and the women found in them.

Beauty, virility

and youth

are all found in the excess. 

Sweat comingling is the safest thing

to mix these days.

there’s nothing wrong with a taste

is there?

To push the bounds

Hasten the moment

Push the envelope

Have a little measured danger

I think back on rooms shared

in far away places

with those who are in other

seemingly

far away places

and turn to ash.

Humans cant re-feel pain.

Memories of lovers are pure in the senses. 

My cloudy brain,

my body electric,

no boundaries;

the scent of a lovers pillow,

how light cuts across a body,
in a dark room

words so simple

that flash back in remembrance

an everyday utterance

pop new meaning

and old lives.

a deluge of pure self indulgence washes over me

and I’m gone. 

There are few things

more blissful than

cool mornings

warm covers

and the thought of you.

At a glance she looks tough.  At a glance you wouldn’t give her a second one. Something is there though, something magic. She entices without girlie wiles. She dances without moving and I know her name. she rolls cigarettes with clear papers and drapes her feelings across her lap for you to inspect. Smoke trails from her lips. There’s fire behind her eyes and fire in her belly. She uses words like most people use forks and knives. Cutting and shoveling and feeding everyone around her, she is a giver. She doesn’t write poetry or prose. She writes the music of life and notes roll off her tongue and into your imagination. There is where she will be with you forever. Your sometime lover.  She makes you want to take another breath. She makes you want to fight or fuck and eat and cry and hurt and love. Everything beautiful and everything cruel comes from her.  She wont ask more than you offer, but she wants it all piecemeal, in her palm. 

Mania mania mania

Inflated ego driven callous cuntish prick

Juxtaposed thoughtful caring muse

Four fingers each socket pried open

Forced from bed each night then hopeful for function in the morning

Mania tears muse thought dead rips my brain to shreds

No sleep for me

Rats scratching at my door, walls ceiling

Over ripe bladder sleep sagged burning eyes cigarette torn lips

Crack and whip at ease in this dysfunction

This is the life people wish for and dream of in fiction or puberty

Only lies and haggard blaring in my brain

Mama tried!

And we’re everywhere wishing she had

Because somehow in her own mania our faith was broken

With control

And Jesus sung because that what he did

And we breathe because that’s all we have

And write because someone has to

I want nothing more in this world than a big boat and a few funs girls to fuck. One just wont do.  After a while we’d both get bored. Distraction, misdirection, and fresh pussy all things to fuel non-growth with exception of VD’s.  One was 19 I met in a sex studies class.  She was curiously good at hard to get for being so young. Fake tits, not as much bounce but there were other areas she was much more open to what I found fascinating and dark. We’ll call her Barb.  Then her friend Libby. Great fucking kisser, a much underappreciated art.  There are so many things you can tell about a woman by the way she kisses.  Libby was into games, the fun ones where you give it up to the winner.  My dream was to figure out a way to fuck both of them simultaneously.  Maybe I could invent an apparatus. Two dicks!

The collection of women spanned the globe but my heart was always with Marla.  She was a nice Christian girl who’s pussy will forever belong to Jesus.  She’s got a ring and no axe to grind.  The kind of girl you want to retire to and sit on a porch cuddled in a blanket with, but not a sex pot by any stretch of the imagination.  My love, my wife, my ball and chain of honesty she comes into every fucking bedroom with me tucked into the conformist corner of my brain.  Only when overcome by joy or screams or cum does she disappear. In the morning she greets me again with a great big chunk of guilt that screams something different in this picture can you figure out what?

It’s like my life turned into a Sunday paper puzzle. 

Back to Miami.  The beach is wet. The sun is hot and people are shit heads.  Boca is where I met the last one. 

Walking down A1a I duck under a awning to dodge the 4pm rain cloud and in a fountain splashing her hairy hippie legs is a rope headed girl.  She’s too tan to be white but the dreads are white blonde and her eyes are blue.  I think she’s homeless.  She stares up at me in a drunken haze and flashes some come fuck me eyes.  I ask her if I can buy her a drink.  She wants lunch instead.  We walk around the corner into the hotel lobby and flop on some stools at the bar.  She orders a salad. You’d think she’d partake in something more substantial than lettuce and tomatoes, so I ask her.  She doesn’t eat the flesh of animals. Great I say what about the flesh of humans? And again with the fuck me eyes,  hell maybe she’s a cannibal.  I order myself a whiskey and she takes one too. We get to talking and I find out that she’s from Tennessee.  I remember the song my ex wrote, and get all nostalgic for a second.  I order another round of whiskeys  and ask the bartender about the rooms.  The girl says she’s not that kind of girl.  I say we’re going to the beach not the room, and she scoffs at my reply.  Last tomato choked down I pay and we cross back over A1a and weave between the buildings to the beach.  Why people think they can own land is beyond me. I subscribe to an Indian proverb, “dumb fuck, someone’s always gonna be richer, or the government will take it when they’re ready” or something like that.  The beach is crummy it’s raked and artificial.  No life guards, rich people don’t need a stand to block their view.  Apparently they’ve got enough money , god’ll save them.  She does cartwheels along the edge of the water.  I translate them as hippie language meaning, “thank you for lunch, look at my ass.” I think of Marla and how I’ll feel in the morning, because this girl is gonna repay the whiskeys.  I weave in and out of the abandoned beach chairs to the tikibar. It’s abandoned also, although as I jump over the rail I see a hotel employee scramble from the parking lot behind it back into his pants and come running full tilt my way.  No worries buddy just want some rum. A voice behind me echoes “rum,” with a question mark at the end of her high lilt. Apparently miss Tennessee is southern and a light weight.  I may not need to spend much more on this one.  Indeed rum this is the beach.  Apparently she is not familiar with the etiquette of alcohol consumption.  Puerto Rican barrel rum is the way to travel.  It took us from the beach to her friends house.  There we spent a hot night on the porch swing rocking in the breeze, before I woke up in the oven people here call the Florida room. It really is a torture chamber incased in glass windows that somehow cooks you slowly from the inside out.  I stumbled back to the first hotel bar along the walk of shame with Marla caking my sensuous thoughts in a nice crust of where the fuck were you.

Back in Miami I try my damndest at making Jai Alai sound interesting and attractive, maybe.  It’s 6 pm there’s nothing to do but buy a pint of Puerto Rico’s finest and head out for dinner.  Nothing on the strip is worth a dollar but all the places ask way more.  I settle on some pizza and scan the strip.  My buddy Wes meets me after catching the towns biggest music story and we discuss the plan of action for the evening.  Some dancers are finishing a show and he’s invited to the after party.  The place is swank, just outside Little Cuba the dancers banded together and bought out the old owners of a nice old theatre.  The lead is Kat her boyfriend know Wes from the track, he’s a useless lump and Kat is a knockout.  

I live in a basement. Lets not say it that way though. Drama and beauty applied: I live in societies basement. Third down on the left and rats are rotting in my walls. Sickly sweet stench that is surely filling my lungs with some fuzzy fungus that there is no cure for.  Here I sit hammering away fingers bleed, blisters torn in this tangible struggle. Tangible for me because little black babies aren’t dying of hunger in my back yard, hippies aren’t camped on my front steps and it isn’t’ because I don’t have a back yard and front steps. My, fingers are bleeding and it fucking hurts.

I need rum and a round freckled ass to squeeze until I feel better about myself.  An ego fluff is way past due. It’d be fun for her too.  There’s a chilling thought that hides in the back of most peoples minds. We don’t address or acknowledge because then it could burst into a reality, and most people don’t realize they create their own. Little cold fingers wrap around your throat and cut off the air. No more breathe, no more you.  You live in the past, dreaming of how great it was before you gave up on life.  You buy shit so that job you work has some meaning. You pay rent because a house is easy for your friends who work jobs to buy shit can come see you. I’m in this basement for that reason. But I’m about to punch that little cold fingered fucker in the face.  I’m done, and I’m coming out. 

Fuck fashion, fuck your ideology, fuck your cell phone, fuck your religion, fuck your gym, and don’t fucking follow me.

Miami is one hell of a city.  Whores and drugs bouncing off street corners flung at passer bys.  Heat the snakes its way up you like the devils tongue then forces its way into you body.  That city rapes you at every step. I came down to work for a paper. Which one doesn’t matter, lets call it the Star. I can’t write here. I’m too drunk, too much.  Let’s also get niceties out of the way: lots of fucking, cussing, drinking and bad grammar will continue in this story. I’m not a detective so get that rhythm out of your head. In fact imagine my voice as that of a person unable to pronounce sibilants properly and of a gay persuasion, with a Spanish accent. Don’t try and define me before I’ve done so myself. 

I want to talk about how amazing the sex is. I want to re-live and commentate on the images that stain my brain and throb still through my body.  I want to know how good i made her feel.  What I can do different.  I can’t be at peace with my thoughts because they bounce around in my head like a meth-ed out honey bee.  I stammer, I stutter, I giggle. I make her uncomfortable.  I shouldn’t be allowed to experience pleasure like this. I am a fourteen year old boy pumped up on sex drugs staring at a magazine in my parent’s basement wanting porn, live action in front of me.  I am ridiculous. I am insecure.  I am so happy. This is my drug. This is what happened:

Chris has been obsessing over Rachel since she and Melissa left.  His chatter is incessant, his energy contagious. I am sex crazed, obsessed. I drink whiskey like water and imagine sex with every woman I see.  Chris is convinced and insists I go after Melissa.  So when she shows back up I tell her over a cigarette and coffee as we sit on the curb in the dark. 

“Chris is convinced that we’re going to fuck.”

“Why would he think that?”

“I don’t know. I’m obsessed right now. It’s been so long.”

“but why me? I’m straight.”

“I know. But my point in bringing it up is that I wanna fuck with him.”

“how are you planning on doing that?”

“well…. I was thinking that we could go to our room, cover the bunk in towels or sheets or something and pretend.”

“ha ha,  are you trying to get me into bed with you?”

“Well yes, but only as a joke. I like you too much to try and put the moves on you.”

“uh huh.”

“he’s about to take a shower, lets do it while he’s out of the room.”

“wait, doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“No, not ‘do it’ I mean lets be in there when he gets out.”

“ok, fuck it, it would be funny!”

            In the hallway next to the bathroom we bump into the wall and pretend to be flirting loudly.

“Are you sure you wanna do this Melissa?”

“Yeah fuck it you only live once.”

Once in the room I pull all of the towels off everyone’s beds and tuck them under the top mattress on the bunk bed and make a curtain that covers the entire bed.  We crawl inside our little fort to sort out the plan, but all we do is chat about music.  The lock buzzes for the door to open and we fall silent. She moans and kisses the back of her hand loudly.  I follow suit and thump the wall with my fist and she moans louder.  We hear Chris fumbling through his locker then stand silently for a moment before leaving the room quickly.  After the door shuts and a few seconds pass, we burst into laughter.   

“he’s totally not going to believe it,” she giggles.

“Oh he does, he does and it is glorious!”

We wait a few more minutes and shuffle through my Ipod to kill time before going downstairs to watch his reactions.  The shared room and the bar are empty. Melissa and I grab a stool at the bar and order beer.  Chris won’t look Melissa in the eye.  I stifle a laugh.  We giggle and whisper our shock at his discomfort. She puts her arm around me for effect and a chill goes through my body.  Chris catches my eye and I blush.  “Want to smoke with me,” she asks.

“yes, definitely.”

We walk outside and remount our post on the ledge of the building. The moon hangs over our street, high in the navy sky.  We talk about her ex.  He was much older, he didn’t love her well enough.  She had to leave to see it clearly. Todd, he sounds like and idiot.  My feet sweat in my sandals and I slide down the insides of them. Thrown off balance I grab her knee and say “watch out!”  She smiles and smacks my hand away.  I lean into her and say something clever, she smiles I feel her open up as the alcohol floods her blood stream.  She is gorgeous. “I bet you’re a horrible kisser,” the thought isn’t caught in my normal filter. It just falls out of my mouth, my heart pounds hard twice in my chest.  She says, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Honestly the more I think about what just happened the more I realize that worse things could.”

Her words were thoughtful and low “let’s go inside,” she said.  We walked back into the warm lobby.    Chris was over the shock of our little trick and in the mood to harass.  He starts in on Melissa as I walk over to the computers and pretend to care about my emails while I clear my head.  Her warm laugh fills the room.  I bet I could, if I tried.  I listen to her brag to Chris about our fictional escapades for a few minutes and smile.  She’s such a good actress.  Melissa walks into the music room; Chris gives me a huge grin and thumbs up.  I ask, “You got any whiskey man?”

He reaches under the counter and brings out a bottle of Jamey, “I’m Irish aren’t I? Hey watch the bar I need a wee.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

Neko Case starts blaring from the bar speakers as Melissa walks back to her stool.  ‘You want a shot?”

“yeah I think I actually need one tonight.”

“Is Chris giving you much grief?”

“I just can’t believe that he buys it, ya know?”

Chris cuts in with, “buys what?”

“Cristobol,” I stammer, “buying that camel shit laden hash.”

“Oh is he back yet, he’s supposed to share with me the little twat,” he grins.

“No we were just talking about the last stuff he had.”

“Ah,” he mutters and slips back behind the bar.  I put my hand on Melissa’s.  She looks at me shaken by the advance.

“You want to go smoke again?” I bat my eyes at her jokingly.

“Yeah I can use another ciggy.”

Once out of earshot she unleashes again, “Do I look gay?”

“No, I don’t know, why?”

“Because he really thinks we just fucked!”

“Well that was the point wasn’t it?”

“Well yeah, but I didn’t think it would work.”

“You were the one moaning in my bed, and he couldn’t see in, so yeah I think I can see.”

“No, I mean I know. It’s just that.” She bursts out laughing again.

“Girl you know I do have some game, it could happen. But if it’s bothering you we can go tell him that we were fucking with him.”

“No it’s funny, really it is.”

“It’s not funny, I do have game damnit,” I say smiling and wink at her.

“You think I would fuck you?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I’m not gay!”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“What are you talking about?” she laughs and shoves me off our shared ledge.

“We have tons in common, we’re good friends, and we bonded immediately, these things happen.”

“Well I guess if I was gonna go gay it would have to happen in Spain.”

“Come on I need to get something out of the room, come with me.”

“Okay.”

We walk through the sliding glass doors to the elevator.  I ask her if she likes Ani, she doesn’t know who she is. I really want to kiss her.  Her lips are beautiful.  I can’t though; I like her too much to run her off. I walk out of the elevator first arguing with my better senses silently.  I feel her heat close behind me.  She’s thinking too much too.  Inside the room I dig through my locker trying to find something that seems important.  Melissa sits on my bed. I turn and say, “Make yourself at home.”

“Oh I’m way ahead of you,” and she takes her shoes off and lies down.  Do I really want to do this?

“What are you looking for?”

“A reason not to do what I really want to right now.” I really need to install a verbal filter.

“Did you find it?” she sits up and pushes her bangs away from her eyes.

“No and I’m about tired of looking.”

“So who is this Annie you keep talking about, an ex?”

“God no, I wish I could brag that she was though. Here, I’ll play you some of her stuff.” I grabbed my laptop, and save!  I sat on the bed next to her and played the worst song ever to try and change the pace of my thoughts, “Over lap” By Ani Difranco. The seductive lyrics branded the ideas deeper into my mind. 

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(Source: whitewashandwords)