If you hadn't expressed your disappointment at the fact that I tried to keep my poise, but mostly my distance, I would have continued to drive around the hell of intersections known as the South with a sober, less inebriated body. My friend -- she said you must be a romantic to have bought wine as we sat in the open trunk of the car I was driving (its unlimited gas taking us where we dared leave our trail) and later walked towards the open field from where we watched the stars. Is this too far, I had asked; no way, you had replied -- and later, as ee cummings would have said, I asked myself, Is this too far, as you pulled me closer and we whispered sighs and giggles through words wet with each other's desire. Now, however, I wonder how deep-seated your desire was as I admit the restriction to explore you and the places we had found ourselves in each other's lives tempted me to keep. (Oh, but guilt left such a sweet taste in my mouth and I now water in my secrets about whether or not this torture will go on. Yes, S & M, as I said, is my fetish -- as yours are girls; you said that too.) I attempt to leave an imprint of the subtle ways you tried to hold back, the more blatant process of you giving in. (Now, this is weakness that I like. Like in the garden, the beautiful dirty garden where Original Sin was committed. That night too, or I should say morning, we had walls and rules and silent unseen guards checking that your eyes did not meet mine as we talked about the things that slowly undressed us of our pretensions, our formalities. I didn't know you were so sensual, you said. At that I felt successful, because I like being a child; I like it when my naivete is perverted on.) When your fingers crawled past the darkness and the bushes, touching mine as they rested on the soil while my entire drunken self relied on the steady grip of the dirt under my fingernails, did you think I would fall if you held tighter? And when I did and you suggested I sober up, did you plan to breathe so deeply that you pulled me closer? Maybe now, in retrospect, I can slip in some regret as you -- or I? -- held your breath and the serpent of your mouth tested the air for safety only to find mine doing the same.
Driving back, behind the car I drove, as I sat in the passenger seat of yours, giggling through disbelief -- I have to say it is a very guilty pleasure of mine to laugh in the face of faith; I asked how much farther you had to go, but you shrugged it off and said it was your pleasure. Now, clearly, I just sit, still amused at the irony. (Maybe you were the most fun I've had in a while.) How unlikely and unexpected, but really, I think this is the reason why I write: how unlikely and unexpected? Fearlessly, I tell you, there is no need to feel obligated; only respectful. I have myself here a dancing fury of the giddy things a young girl's heart contains. It would help if you were a romantic, and then I remember the wine. It would help if you meant it when you mocked my loathing of your kind with a little cockiness; I'd like it if you were pleased with yourself. It would help if my guilt is your guilt, my fear your fear, and my burning desire the sun that met your eyes as you drove away from me and you wanted nothing more of it as it told you that you were getting older and I was having just another day in my youth.
But don't get me wrong --
I despise boys
Despite their lovely hands
And the temptation
In their pants.
- Mood:
Unheard - Listening to: Sound - Peligro
- Drinking: YES all the time now
my love is a fortress
Miserable
Uneasy
Screwed
Repulsed
