… I would have thought nothing of it until she leaned against the dining room table eating a caramel cheesecake with a plain-but-sweetened graham crust and sipping her tea and declared that not only was I being nice today, but I was also a half-decent cook.
...read more hereYes, yes, I know I’m a day late, but better late than never! Here’s a classic NYC story for you: a few years back, a clash between my parents and my now-ex husband caused us to get put out of their house on Christmas eve night. Actually, only my husband got put out. I was [...]
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I took my jeans off again when I got home and took a good look at myself in that dress. It might be the shortest dress I own, with a hemline that stops a couple of inches above my knees and shows off my surprisingly-thick-for-a-skinny-girl legs. It has a somewhat clingy material, which accents curves in places where I don’t really have them. It is certainly one of the few articles of clothing I own that fits me as well as it does. Holy shit, I look good in that old dress.
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I told my mother and cousin earlier today that my friend in Harlem had said this. My mother’s reaction was that he had no right to make comments about her children. My mother doesn’t like my friend in Harlem. Granted, I don’t like him all the time either, but my mother doesn’t know one tenth of what has gone on between us over the last couple of years. All she knows is that he’s older than I am, and to her, that’s a good enough reason for both she and my sister not to like him.
...read more hereSorry, I’ve been reading tea party rhetoric. That’s where that last joke sequence came from. “Classic, why were you…” Shut up! But no, seriously though folks… actually I don’t even remember where I was going with this one. Eh, fuck it. They can’t all be gems…
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I want to be so obscure that only the diligent and dedicated (and perhaps a privileged few) will be able to distinguish me from all the other ghosts that haunt the streets, such that all the demons, vampires, and snake-charming ex boyfriends will pass me over when they come by looking for blood.
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I found this earlier this morning over at NYC girl at heart and realized that I complain entirely too much, so I made a mental note to think about it and blog later this evening. Well it’s later this evening now, but I haven’t thought about it until now. (Why am I so negative?) But, better late than never, n’est-ce pas?
So here goes: The Ten Happiest Days of My Life (in chronological order or as close to it as I can manage)
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He picked me up with his strong arms like I was a feather pillow (oh, let’s be real: I weigh like seven pounds), set me down gingerly on a low mattress and dominated me like a gentleman. There was no wine and no food and he chose to play the Doors of all fucking choices (which explains why the boy can’t sing, come to think of it) but in a moment of wrapping my arms and legs around that body which was so perfect Michelangelo could have sculpted it, I realized that this was exactly what I had wanted, and in fact was what I had wanted for the entirety of my sexual awareness since puberty: a large, gentle, and dominating man.
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I think I’m not ready yet to talk about Saturday and the series of bizarre events that led up to Saturday. It burns the inside of my chest when I think about it. It agitates me. It makes me tense up and pace and it makes my muscles and brain hurt.
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The strange part about it is that he’s walking around the kitchen now as I type this in the adjacent room. I’d say I’m tempted to ask about the aforementioned incidents, but I’m a little nervous that they might be true. If they are, then I don’t know who that stranger is who is claiming to be my father.
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