Month: February 2012

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“You know, you’re very pretty,” that guy from my frat said as we waited for drinks. 

I chuckled and looked over my shoulder at him, “that’s it? You’re not terribly poetic, you know.”

“Oh, come on, Ivy,” he feigned dismay. “I do science. I don’t do overtures. You want a metaphor, fine? You’re as pretty as a Diels-Adler reaction.”

“A what?”

“A Diels-Adler reaction. It’s when…” From here, he explained something scientific that went completely over my head. Noticing my confusion, he cut himself off and said, “it’s really pretty. There. There’s your metaphor.”

I moved up closer to the bar and shook my head, “that’s a simile.”

“Okay, Ivy, okay, a simile,” he placed his hand on my hip. “You’re pretty like a barium cloud.”

“That’s another simile." 

"It’s beautiful, I promise,” he said and used his free hand to grab me a drink. 

I smiled, “I’ll take your word for it.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

I guess we all have our own sorts of poetries.

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I want to trust you like this. I’d like to imagine that as I heard your car pull away and smelled the exhaust that I wouldn’t panic. Because that’s the way I love someone and it’s the reason why I don’t give very many people a lot of myself, I go hard, for a lack of a better expression.

It makes everything somewhat fragile, I’ll admit, but it’s incredibly rewarding. It’s in the knives, the choking, the crazy acts of exhibitionism. I want to trust hard and I want that trust to be pushed far before being validated. Sometimes it’s frightening and sometimes it isn’t terribly safe, but that’s why I don’t do it with everyone. I wouldn’t let just anyone leave me on that road.

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I want hard spankings. I like hard spankings. I love the way my ass feels afterwards, I love the dynamic during. But when it comes to actually getting them, I’m a big baby. A few hits in and I’m whining for the person delivering them to stop. 

However, if they acquiesce to my pleas, I automatically want them to just keep spanking me. It’s not that I don’t know what I want. I know what I want. I want someone to unflinchingly give me a long, hard spanking while I lie over their knee and squirm and beg for them to stop. Except, they don’t stop.

This is one of the things I appreciate about safewords. It marks a difference between an in-scene “stop” to enhance the dynamics (and account for the natural impulse to tell someone to stop hitting you) and a legitimate, serious word that establishes that limits are being pushed and ends the scene. So, I can get away with being spanked longer, even when I protest and whine, and still have some way of actually ending things when the “stop"s I yell become a little more real.

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I remember when there was that phase in middle school where guys would say that girls’ slumber parties consisted of comparing breasts and practicing kissing. And I remember thinking, “God, I wish.”

Because there’s something about the silly and adventurous sort of fun two girls can have exploring each others’ bodies. There’s a feeling of you’ve got what I’ve got, but it’s so different because it’s on you and I can touch it and not feel it the way I would feel it if it were my own but I can vaguely understand how it feels for you. I’ll never be able to relate to a handjob, but I can assume on a very basic level how a girl feels when I’m fingering her.

It’s not even a skill-set sort of thing so much as a fascination with something that is so much you and also so much an “other”. It’s mine but it’s not mine. It’s familiar and it’s alien. And there’s just something about that which makes it somehow a little more giggly and playful and fun than stuff with guys. I don’t know. Call it slumber party syndrome.

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So, recently, I received a penis pic from a follower with the caption “use me. however you wish.” I cannot begin to describe to you how overwhelming this was. Well, first of all, thank you for trusting me with your dick pic. You have a lovely penis. But, you have to understand, I’m terribly awkward.

I do present myself with all sorts of bravado on this tumblr and that is not far from the truth. I am flirtatious, I do have confidence in many social situations, I feel comfortable about my sexuality in most arenas. However, there’s just something about certain interactions that make me a little weird.

Well, okay, I’m generally perceived by a lot of people as a little weird. I make some awkward comments sometimes, but most people find it endearing/charming/even sometimes sexy. SG likes to call me Liz Lemon. I’m that kind of girl. I’m kind of a nerdy-sarcastic sexy.

So, yes, thank you for your penis. It’s lovely. That’s the best, least awkward reply I could think of. 

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dacrylagnia:

Happy Valentine’s Day to my fantastic Tumblr girlfriend, the lovely and eloquent Ivy.

(I’m trying to make her blush, of course.)

And you’ve succeeded, my dear. <3

(Followers, she’s seen me blush before realtime. And made me blush before realtime. It’s a talent.)

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Sometimes, I just want to be pushed around. No real rhythm to it, no finesse at all. I want to be afraid of you. I want to fear that you’ve completely lost control.

Of course, the reality is that you haven’t. But, there’s such a freedom in feeling as if you’ve just totally tapped into something primal, something completely sub-human that the Rubicon is fading fast on the horizon. 

I want you to drag me around by the hair, shove me into things, make me doubt that we’ll ever return to normalcy again. And once you’ve pushed me that far, I want to show me how well you can restrain yourself. Because pure self-control is dull and pure carnality is dangerous. 

Rollercoasters need agonizing rises and uncontrollable falls. Show me you know how to ride.

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To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely thrilled with my butt.

In the words of one of my best friends, I’ve got a “donk”. My butt does not make complete sense with the rest of my body. I’m a petite girl and it just sort of comes out of nowhere.

The body-con dresses I love to wear squeeze the bottom of it. Jeans that would normally fit are hindered by its presence. My butt is completely incongruous with the rest of my body.

My friends insist it is enviable, but after spending middle school and high school friendly with a bunch of very tall, skinny girls, it is sometimes hard to appreciate “what my mama gave me”.

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“Buy the ticket, take the ride." – Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.