Whenever I see a picture on here of a girl with that sort of look in her eyes, it’s like something inside of me says, “whatever you want."
I’m a sucker for powerful gazes.
legs
“We sat in the car
& the night dropped
down until the
only sounds were
the crickets &
the dance of our voices
& for a moment
the world became
small enough to
roll back & forth
between us.”
– Brian Andreas, Hearing Voices.
Submitted by a follower.
Standard
read this while looking at the picture or after reading or a little of both
look at the texture of the water, it looks like a pool, now move your eyes to her shoulders, the sun is shining off of them, they’re warm, then move your eyes to her hair, it’s wet, she’s been drying in the sun, notice the sun ray over her head, it’s bright out, it must be shortly after noon, the moments are going by lazily, but time’s passing fast for her and it wont be long before evening, remember doing this, remember how your skin felt after swimming in clean water and drying in the sun on soft fabric or concrete, your skin felt sleeker than usual, imagine how her’s feels, in that exact moment in time, when the camera took that picture, imagine being there next to her, not noticing her, just feeling these things, remembering them, imagining these things, and remember, the eyes only suggest a picture, the brain paints it.
—
Thank you, tastepreferences, for this photograph and your words. I love that feeling you’ve described so well. Though, confessedly, I don’t think I would be able to not notice her were I next to her.
<3, Ivy
Okay, I admit it, I’ve done this a few times.
But sometimes a little prod in the right direction is just fine. And sometimes the blanket just falls that way on its own. And I don’t always like sleeping with that much clothing on. And I really can’t be blamed if I’m more comfortable sleeping in a position that makes me kind of available.
So, maybe I’m not totally asleep. And maybe it’s a little bit deliberate. And maybe I’m overstepping my role a little bit.
But who doesn’t love a brat sometimes?
Tell me I’m something beautiful. Something precious. Something you would never want to part with. Because, ironically, it’s the only way you’re really going to be able to share me.
It’s not that I want to imagine that the process of sharing, of lending me out, is painful to you. I want you to enjoy it. I want you to do it because it turns you on. Moreover, I want to do it because the way it turns you on also turns me on a lot. Not to mention the way it turns me on, well.
It’s just that somewhere in the midst of someone else’s hands moving over me as I respond to someone else’s words, I’ll start to lose a bit of myself and who I am when we play like this. And so to be told those things, it’s an anchor. It’s something I can attach myself to and steel myself for the next blow.
I like buckles. They’re considerably neater. They even feel a little bit institutional. That rubs me the right way.
Oh, tumblr, I just can’t make myself sleep. I hate this feeling.
Things I am stressed about today:
- Last night, I accompanied my best friend out and may have allowed her to get a little wasted at a party. At one point in the evening, she pounced on me and tried to make out with me. I managed to wrestle her off, knowing she was totally not in the right state of mind, and she almost started crying because of some trouble with a guy she had been hooking up with. Awesome.
- During the evening, I completely said the wrong thing to that guy from my frat and I am fairly sure I may have completely screwed things on even a friendship level there.
- The evening ended in me, her, and her ex-boyfriend in a shouting match in the student center at three in the morning when she wanted to go home with him. He was absolutely awful to her and he got ultra-defensive when I asked her if she was going to be okay with this decision.
- Today, I finally heard from her. She doesn’t remember last night, partially from being blackout drunk and partially because they had such violent sex her head knocked the headboard and she got a concussion.
- When I told her what she did last night, not realizing she was just getting out of a hospital, she broke down crying and called herself the worst person on Earth.
- I am now headed over to her room with cookies so we can sit around and bitch about men.
Seriously, tumblr, can I ever just catch a break?
It was super awkward, confessedly, when the Southern Gentleman first arrived at my place. There was – and hopefully I am not putting words in his mouth – a general pervasive feeling of wanting to jump each others’ bones.
But, there’s things like formalities. And so we greeted each other with a hug, we spent a little time discussing our holidays, we shot the breeze.
Eventually, I moved over to the corner of my room to fetch something. He followed me. I’ve noticed that men tend to do this thing when they want to start something but words wouldn’t be smooth enough. They just start encroaching on you. It sort of helped that I was in the corner.
I turned and said something to him, something completely vague and a little snarky but not having to do with the fact that he had been gradually closing in on me. He just reached down, took my chin, tilted my head up, and started kissing me. Our hands roamed, settled into comfortable permutations on each others’ bodies, his eased up my shirt then back around my back then up into my hair and around again. He shoved me against the wall and my rear hit the windowsill. He pulled my head back by my hair and started biting my neck. Somewhere in the middle of pulling my shirt off, I suppose he realized that we were right in front of an open window and pushed me over to the bed.
I don’t know why, but somehow his clothes seem to manage to stay on much longer than mine. But, I kind of like the contrast.
What was I saying about formalities?
SG and I took a few days away.
I’m back now and I hope you’ve all been well, tumblr.