If only the pre-games at my university were like this. Seriously.
lingerie
I want her to control me.
I want to be unrecognizable. I love how a relationship (I’ll just leave that right there for all of you to define how you like) can just completely drop like a bomb and leave everything scattered. I love that feeling of when we’ve gone our separate ways and realizing that suddenly I’m not the same person you were stepping into it. Anyone I’ve been intimate with in any way has left an imprint on me. I’ve been branded metaphorically with so many marks of who’s been here.
And I can reflect back and see exactly who’s done what. He made me like this. She made me get over this. They taught me this and that. Every time I open myself up, it seems those I’ve opened myself to take the opportunity to, if I may steal DYC’s perfect metaphor, rearrange the furniture to an arrangement that suits me better than that before.
I just love that strange feeling of wandering around right after a storm. You can smell the rain and the air’s still electric. And everything just feels a little different. There’s this kind of freshness in the fallen branches and the leaves stuck to the windows of cars. It’s how I feel right now, entering this new phase of my life. He literally changed around so many things within me for the better. He was absolutely the thing I needed. And he’s put his mark on me just like everyone else, his certainly being one of the most prominent.
I once read somewhere that if forest fires didn’t happen, the entire forest would just die from all the underbrush clinging to it. I don’t want to say that I was being stifled or anything. But, I do want to say that if I don’t let go, I’m bound to just wind up hurting myself.
I’m trying to look at this whole thing from the positive spin of the fact that he and I really helped each other and changed each others’ lives. And, while sometimes it hurts to say that, for now, the buck stops here, it puts a little spring in my step to know that I am beginning an incredibly new phase of my life whilst changed so profoundly by him.
Sorry for being so cheesy. I promise, the regularly scheduled smut will resume momentarily.
I’m going to smudge the lines of your self-portrait. I want to make the colors melt and bleed. I’ll climb in your head and rearrange the furniture. No one will recognize you when we’re done.
vrbw:
Fantasy currently keeping Ivy tossing in the night:
I meet them at a party. Or maybe out for coffee. Maybe on the train. We exchange pleasantries. They’re artists. Or they’re suffering through the constant rat race of academia. Or they in some sort of reputable position that they put on the second they leave their home and toss right off once they come back to descend back into the perversion that society has so confusingly frowned upon.
We see something in each other. We’re all not sure just what. They’re mature, beautiful, interesting. I feel so young in comparison, so naive and untamed. They’ve fine-tuned their sexuality to a more refined standard, they understand how to control their energy in a way that I cannot. They seem so in love with each other, so infatuated with each other, so connected.
I just want be along with them. I want my own Henry and June without the drama of a crumbling relationship. I just want to learn. I want to be under their wings. I want her to do my makeup and pick out my clothes. I want her to show me all the places she goes. I want her to show me herself in such a way that I can only hope to glean her best qualities over time as he watches with a satisfied smile as their girl grows with them.
We arrange to go for a walk, get a cup of tea, take a drive. She wears something so conservative that it’s nearly scandalous, he keeps it simple. I suddenly feel so ostentatious and childish, like I’ve been going through my mother’s closet and I’ve stumbled out into public in shoes six sizes too big and lipstick smeared on my chin. But they still see something in me, it seems, some little glimmer of something that they could make me into. I want to be changed.
I want them to come in like a hurricane and blow my roof off. I want them to take me places, to introduce me to people. I want to be their girl, their project, their source of some sort of amusement at how reckless I am and how much restraint I lack.
And the day when I’m finally in the situation when I have him nude and her breast presented to me, I want to feel as if I’ve earned it.
I’m going to be spending a lot of time in the library this coming week. Hopefully I find her somewhere in the stacks.
Heart,
You leave me the best things in my askbox. Besides this “thank you”, I’m speechless.
<3, Ivy
Sasha Grey, in elegant form.
Sometimes, you just have to be a good girl and take it. The obedience is necessary. The pain is incidental. The progress is inevitable. The payoff is incomparable.
“The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul,” – W.B. Yeats.
Aw, someone’s a pouter.
Why I don’t post pictures of myself: Because it’s waaaay more fun hearing what you folks imagine I look like.
This girl wants to make some fact out of a little photo fiction.