I'm your average part-time God and full-time joker.
I know you want to fuck me, there's nothing more to it than that. You're a decade older, my body is firm and tight in all the right places.
But you're never going to allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to make love to me now would you?
I like sleeping in his arms, he holds me tight and I feel secure like a child. He hugs my abandonment issues away.
You're so fucken Brian Kinney when all I really want is a Mike to my Phoebe
Modern day relationships are hard. Harder still if you don't like conventional things and patterns.
I hate the "what are we" cloud that looms over when you start spending a lot of time with someone. I guess I've been so busy having affairs and fairy tale romances that I've forgotten what the correct dating etiquette is.
My brain goes into panic mode when we start to fight. "Why am I fighting with him, he's not my boyfriend...but he is, isn't he? Oh shit!"
I haven't done this for so long, for fuck's sake, I don't do boyfriends, I have lovers. Sure, I'm telling myself that under my breath but the moment he arrives I know we're back to doing coupley things like cooking and lazing and fucking and cuddling and sleeping and that.
I won't lie to myself but he feels more like a partner than just a lover, a muse. There's something about the sex too, I feel like I could let this one be a longer story than I'd originally anticipated.
But oh well, what do I have to lose, I'm in love and that makes all my anxiety go away.
I miss feeling lightweight, carefree and soulful.
I miss you, I really do.
I let my mind wander, relive lazy days of monsoon, snuggling on my makeshift bed.
The city's dull, everything's all wrong, my heart is not in it anymore.
When you come back I'll shower you with kisses and cuddles and everything sugary sweet.
And even when you insist, I won't let you go..
The man with grey hair and a sparkle in his eyes,
he tells me what he will to do to me,
he whispers naughty, naughty things.
I'm wet so wet so wet.
"Keep your eyes open"
Baby, I will miss your big strong arms around me.
I will miss the light in your eyes, your face, your taste, your touch, your smell.
I will miss all the laughing and all the cuddling.
I will miss the intimacy, the stories and the adventures.
I will miss listening to your heartbeat.
I will miss the warmth of your soul.
I'm going to miss how easy you made it to fall in love with you, stay there.
I will miss you, I will miss who I am when I'm with you.
Beautiful monsoon, lover, thank you.
"It's okay...it's okay" he says as he comforts me with his kisses.
I am in pain, well out of my comfort zone and rather intimidated.
"Can I come?"
Later, even after we've showered, I smell of his cologne. I smell of sex.
He enjoys my body. I enjoy his instructions.
"I don't do boyfriends...I have lovers"
Monsoon, you've turned out to be real special haven't you!
It's begun, the race against time.
The clock's ticking so fast, you'll be gone before I know it.
Beautiful pain.
Beautiful heartache.
And yet it doesn't scare me when he holds me and we sleep.
He's deep, so deep inside of me. I am vulnerable.
Gentle kisses, firm grip.
Our bodies entwine in ways unimaginable.
Lover, thank you for loving me.
So deep rooted, it runs in my blood,
perhaps it is an essential part of my being,
I cry a little after the alcohol has hit my system,
unwillingly reliving some dark moments,
of unimaginable trauma.
I grow up, grow apart.
I run run run,
like a shadow,
it follows,
my long history of unimaginable trauma.
The vulnerability of familiarity,
the subsequent trauma of attachment,
I feel terribly sad.
I want the moment to last forever and after.
Kiss me, keep kissing me.
That's the only way to cheat time.
Hold me, hold me like our first time.
I want to stay in your arms forever.
The night is long but unfortunately finite.
Disease, like a drug.
You're all I think about.
I'm impatient.
I want your touch, I want your taste, I want your smell.
I want you inside me,
again and again and again.
You leave me in a daze, my sense of reality is warped.
I only want your company, your time.
Sublime.
It's a feeling I haven't felt in a long, long time.
It feels a little bit strange to see my beautiful boy this way. Of all the people I've cut out, he always found a way to claw right into my inner circle, my pillars of strength.
There've been so many birthdays of the boys landing up at 12am to wish me and get me hammered till I've knocked myself out. It's excruciating to not have him by my side as I go on my adventures. We're the same age now, I tell him. I remind him that it's my birthday. His stare is empty.
Beautiful boy, oh my beautiful boy, it's a long long road but you'll find your way home. We're all in this together.
I'll have these recurring nightmares where you're still married and I'm the whore.
I'm so young, so young.
You're so charming.
Even though we'll lay after, cuddle and talk about who we are, I can't help but feel overwhelmed by all the baggage I unintentionally carry.
I see his eyes change. There's no longer laughter but a deep concern. "Don't, I'm quite alright now"
...but am I?
I try and break my patterns, so careful to not set new ones. For a brief moment I forget, I forget it all. The scars heal, they become horror stories that often incite more sadness than disgust.
"I'm quite alright now...I guess" detaching myself to go smoke a cigarette outside.
But I crave for his touch, run back to him almost immediately.
I hate how safe I feel in his arms as he coaxes me to fall asleep. I hate how good it feels. I hate how he holds me and I bury my face in his chest. It'll be different when we wake up. I hate him for being so incredibly wonderful. How do I demonise him, my lover? I hate that I can't.
I kiss him, I kiss him for long. There's no music, only the sound of rain. I swear it's better than what they'd show you in movies. I eventually fall sleep, worn out, he holds me. I wish he wouldn't, it'd make it easier to let go later but he holds me tight. He doesn't let go.
When it ends I'll pinch myself so I know it wasn't all a dream.
Like the frames straight out of a porno, my body contorts in strange new ways.
Off the ground, holding on.
He says he likes how tiny I am. To be fair, I equally enjoy how big he is.
Wet wet wet, so wet.
Hard to imagine I'd be dry like the Sahara a few months ago. I guess the wait makes it all worth it.
26 in a few days and I'm easing myself into a brand new phase. Physically, I feel great. With all the hours of asanas I put into my body, I see it do wonderous new things. My body feels firm and yet supple. My body feels mine. It helps my pride that the men I've been with lately have been good lovers in every sense of the word. No games, no sadism, only love. So I guess there's no point of looking back, the present is all I have. The present feels good.
My bed feels lonely without your presence, my head is all kind of distracted.
It's so beautiful, the sound of rain against the windowsill.
I can't wait to see you again. I won't wait to see you again.
Go on your adventures as I go on mine.
Come back when you want to, I'll still be your little girl.
Always and forever.
He bends down unexpectedly to kiss me, oh wow, he's really tall isn't he.
We're in the room of mirrors. Infinite images, a moment preserved in time.
Monsoon is for romance, monsoon is to find myself over and over again.
With another birthday round the corner, I'm strangely indifferent about it. What do I want from life this next year? I don't really know. At this point I'm grateful to be alive, somewhat sane.
It feels a little bit strange to not have the usual pillars around but I guess the good thing about ageing is that you start looking inward for peace, meaning and you learn to slowly stop projecting on others all the nasty things in your head.
I feel strangely young and so old at the same time. Maybe I'll run again, for this birthday but the soberiety feels really good. It's only helped that all my recent romantic liasons have been extremely sober men with extremely progressive minds. There is no fuzzy cloud around my brain. I am very well aware of moments and I'm very eager to keep it that way.
I walk around town with a lovely man, we end up spending a lot more time together than expected just talking...about everything and anything. There is no rush, in true Calcutta style, we take it slow slow slow. He's so tall and lean. Eyes blue and shining bright in the monsoon sun, I like the physicality. But I like his head, the stories more. I guess that's what growing up does to one, you start looking for deeper relationships, ones that fill your soul a little bit in their own ways. Every story is different, every story matters a lot more.
Still working my way around abandonment issues, my brain is careful to not get fixated on magical occurrences of the recent past. Sure there are explicit memories and some photographs but I'm learning to let go gracefully.
It's like a boomerang. Comes back, whatever you send out, into the universe.
Hate for hate.
Love for love.
I have been doing the best I can to please him. My skills feel juvenile but my intent is gold.
Baby's so big, you might choke me.
I know you like it, I like it too.
I could do this all night long, pleasure you.
