Sometimes I think about all the men to whom I’ve given myself to and I think, “none of you deserved me.”
Funny enough, the first man I let see me naked and to whom I promised my body and to whom I gave my heart, used my body and destroyed my heart.
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Sexy Times
Writing a sex scene that doesn’t come off as just plain smut is hard.
Like porn without a storyline.
The penis went into the vagina, and it felt good.
I remember the first sex scene I wrote. My friend, it feels word writing that word when referring to him, but life is complicated and that’s a different story for a different time, my friend at that time told me it gave him a boner when he read it.
So for me I felt satisfied in that it was interesting and felt real but at the same time was sexy.
I think sex scenes in a movie are hot. I think porn is boring. Because there’s no back story. There nothing to make me interested and turned on.
Because for me everything is mental. Arouse my mind and the rest will follow.
I’ve written more sex scenes in the years to follow the first one. Some funny, some sad, some just plain hot, but all in all trying to keep it feeling real.
I want my fiction to feel like truth.
So why am I rambling on about writing sex?
Because I’ve been struggling with my writing for the past year. I feel like I’ve lost my voice and so I’ve been forcing myself to write.
I’ve written a sex scene and I felt like I needed to preface why it might just really suck.
So there.
Almost done with it. Will post soon.
Who knows, I might also dig up the first one and post that too.
Happy writing. 💋
Sometimes I have nothing to write
I must admit that certain aspects of my life have taken a toll on my creative process.
Mostly I’ve hit that point in depression where nothing you once loved brings you any joy.
So I force myself to write even if it’s something silly like this of no real importance.
Today I went shopping and I spent an absurd amount of money.
I don’t regret a single penny.
Bone Fragments
I was shattered.
Millions of pieces of myself were spread out far and wide– quirks and habits and ideas now merely flotsam in a sea of self-doubt.
He had taken everything that I was and corrupted it.
He’d made me a weaker version of myself; a distorted version of myself I didn’t recognize.
I was never enough.
And then without a word without a warning he was gone. After making his way into the far recesses of my fragile heart he disappeared.
He left me. A broken China doll that he was done playing with.
When you don’t know who you are, how can you put yourself back together again?
What do you do when there are too many fragments of bone and skin and laughter that don’t fit together anymore?
What becomes of a puzzle with too many missing pieces?
I wanted to let myself disappear– to let myself be absorbed into the atmosphere and become nothing.
I wanted every piece of me that he’d ever touched, every dream I’d ever whispered to him, every emotion he ever elicited, to be destroyed forever.
But matter cannot be created or destroyed.
You can never stop being.
There are traces of you in everything you’ve touched.
My words were still flying in the wind, the trees are full of, “Remember that one time…” And sassy little quips.
And I remembered that even something beautiful can be created out broken pieces of glass.
And bit by bit I’m piecing myself together again. A colorful mosaic, whose design is ever changing.
I am being made new.
Love languages
“You know, there’s a book about that.” She said.
“About what?” He asked, walking faster to catch up with her.
“About why every time we fight, you buy me something.” She turned around and stuck out her tongue.
“Oh yeah? Does it say how you like pretty things and I’m the sucker who goes and buys them for you?” He grabbed her hand and pulled her close.
She laughed and tried to pull free, but only half heartedly. He tightened his grip.
“Nooo…” She whined. “It’s a book about the different way people show their love. You show it by giving gifts. You know ’cause you’re a big brooding meany pants who doesn’t like talking about his feelings.”
“Hey!”
She laughed. “What?”
“I’m not a ‘brooding meany pants,’ whatever that means.”
“It means that when you’re angry with me you get mopey and quiet and then I get all paranoid trying to figure out what I did wrong.
And it’ll be something like I DVR’d over one of your shows, or I wouldn’t let you order pizza for dinner again, or I forgot to put away my inks and you stained another pair of jeans.” She trailed off quietly.
He squeezed her hand. “You know I can’t get hot pink and gold ink out of my pants.”
“You gotta talk to me babe. You know I hate that cold shoulder shit.”
“I know, I know. Look, my family wasn’t big on talking things out. I’m not used to it. you know that. We’re all repressed. Look at my mom.” He pulled her into his arms.
“But I’m getting better aren’t I?” He whispered into her ear.
She could feel her face getting hotter.
Public displays of affection both embarrassed and thrilled her, not having been accustomed to them before he stumbled into her life.
She squirmed in his arms trying to break free.
“Remember,” he continued, “when I told you you were gross for drinking straight out of the juice carton?” He brushed his lips against her jaw and down to her neck, breathing in deeply.
“I’m not gross.” She muttered. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath against her skin.
“You are.” He kissed her lightly. “It’s cool though. I still like you.”
“People are staring.”
He looked up and saw a small group of teenage girls giggling in their general direction.
He turned back to her. “Those aren’t people.” he said as he moved his lips to the other side of her neck. “Those are teenagers.” He ran his fingers through her hair and moved his other hand to the small of her back.
“Now what was I saying?”
“You were telling me about how gross I am.” She reached for his face and pulled him away from his neck. She looked up at him.
“Tell me I’m not gross.” She demanded.
He smirked. “Oh you’re so gross. You leave your dirty laundry all over the house. Panties and socks everywhere.”
She laughed. He loved the sound of her laugh. It’s what drew him to her the first day they met.
“Oh yeah? And what else? You have a list?”
He kissed her forehead. “Oh, if I started going over that list we’d end up missing the movie.”
“That long, eh?”
“You’re a brat and a mess.”
“Damn. Should we file for divorce then?”
He sighed. “I think so. Well, we gave it a good run.”
“Three months were long enough.”
“I’ll call the lawyer.”
She smacked his arm. “Oh shut up. Let’s go in, I wanna sit in the back.”
“Ooh it’s gonna be one of those movie visits.” He pulled her towards the theater door.
She giggled and hurried along. “No! I want to actually see this one. I just hate having people sitting behind me.”
“Damn tease.”
“Shut up.”
He winked at her as he opened the door.
“Hey, so what’s your love language?”
She stopped and thought about it a moment. “You know something? I’m not sure. I didn’t get very far in the book. Why don’t you try and find out?”
The Secret Life of Pandas 