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Synecdoche, New York (2008) dir. Charlie Kaufman

The Firsts, Part One

We were sitting on an air mattress at a friend’s. It was arranged in a rough circle with a couch and a few armchairs around a coffee table. On the table sat the cards. I’d played with them once before, at another one of these parties, and the results were pretty damn interesting. Despite my previous success, I was nervous.

Compared to last time, this was a rather small crowd. There were nine of us in the room, and it was Pup, Leo and I on the mattress. I was wearing a tight, long-sleeved crop-top and a short velvet skirt. Because, y’know, velvet is my power fabric.

The game thus far had been pretty tame. People were drawing milder cards. It was all swapping of sexy stories, cuddling, kissing. There had been one tiny awkward snag for me when I first arrived and a guy asked:

“So, you’re Ivy, then? Not Ivory.”

“No,” I replied, furrowing my brow. “My name’s not Ivory.”

“Well, uh.” He gestured to a pretty girl talking to the hostess. “Her name is Ivory.”

(This is my attempted translation of this name thing from my real name to the name I use to write this blog. But, yeah, there was a girl there who basically had my name. But like, one letter different. It was a thing.)

Anyway, Pup decided to be a little daring and drew a card from one of the braver piles. It was something along the lines of biting a volunteer on the spot of your choice. He had been away a few days for a work trip, and had returned that afternoon. I’d missed him, I was craving him, so I raised my hand.

He slid in front of me on the air mattress and pushed my top down one of my shoulders. “Shame you’re working on Monday,” he said. His lips brushed over my neck and settled right beside my shoulder. He bit down and I tilted my head, lowering my lips to his neck to kiss it. 

I wanted him. So goddamn badly.

So I laid back on the mattress, but Pup just pulled back and stood. He grinned down at me before taking a seat again.