Friday, May 9, 2014

weirdness: dr. philness

it's raining but just threatening most of the time. infuriating.

so i left the TV on and walked back back in. sucked into this story. she does seem to be lying but it seems to me she's too angry not to look her rapist in the eyes but looking at dr. phil all the while. she may be talking about the last incident after the time he's crying over. that would make him credible.

they often do that, remind you of the time things were consensual, be it another, steamy night, before you figured out you didn't like the sex or that he didn't deserve it? hmm? men can block their drawbacks for as long as they think they need to keep their guard up.

like fatso. yes, we all lie. i never tell people about being told by fatso that he refused to touch or look at, or lick, my pussy because pussy tastes nasty.

i laughed and said i heard very differently from everyone else. he told me a few detailed stories insulting women we both knew. i cringed for my friends. he was all, ick, ick, ick! and incidentally--and he said things i don't often think about. my outrage is justified. i said that all the forced blowjons over the years had tasted horrible and burnt the skin off my tongue, dashed my tastebuds so everything tasted mayonnaise.


so i said, quite brilliantly, that i oughta just say no to sex altogether forever, since he was averse to pussy but expected me to stay a slave to his gagworthy mucus. never!

he'd swaggered into my room with a letter. "too bad!" "what now?" "too. bad!" and he flicks the envelope so it bends sharply at one corner. "you coulda been my first."

"what makes you think i was so eager for that? why are you so sure i want you now? i had a lot of fun." i had lost my virginity to my incidental virgin josh. i was heartbroken until the tip of his penis reached my vagina and then there was an incredible surge. in the dark, his black condom gothier than his wardrobe, his sandy hair glowing and his eyes wide clear flowers leading into thoughts that couldn't ever stop, thoughts that shared their multitude of transcendence and burden...

and he said, sort of shaking me, deaf people know how to touch tenderly for attention but not disruption, "i have to tell you something."

i was dying of sadness looking into the face of someone who fucked a ton of girls and was just gonna forget me tonight. i was glad he didn't ask whether I was a virgin. i snuggled him and he was on his long skinny elbows. "what?"

"it's my first time."

"really!?" (he really did love me. he was the perfect first love. when he'd asked i was sure he was worth the sex before inevitable heartbreak.) "it's my first time too!" we glowed smiling into synchronicity.

"here's the letter." i refused to read or look in its direction. "x wrote me from college. she talks about it. haha! she beat you to it."

"and you think i'm interested? just go find someone else to bother."

my lesson was being locked in his closet in cogswell/krug with the light off most of the time. for 3 or 4 hours. three separate times. then his roommate was like, "what's that all about!?"

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