Random Acts of Awesome

This keeps coming up. I keep having these conversations about it, with men and women. I have all these thoughts running around in my head, trying to express themselves, but they're not clear enough yet. Hopefully soon, after I let them percolate for a bit. In the meantime, though, the only true perspective I have on this issue is personal. Talking to people I know, and my own experiences. My mother was raped multiple times, as a young teenage girl living on the streets of Boston. She was a reformed Catholic School Girl, she did a lot of drugs, and she trusted the wrong people. This inspired her to instill in all 3 of her daughters an intense distrust of men and of their own sexuality. I'm 34, and I've spent the last 4 years coming to terms with what this has meant to me. Distrusting men, believing them to be weaker, incapable of controlling their urges, knowing that I HAD to manipulate them to survive in this world they've created... it hasn't exactly helped...

I found an old journal today, in the midst of going through boxes and boxes (and boxes) of books. It's from about 15 years ago. I was 18, 19yrs old, and I had just come back from a train trip across the country with my sister. I have a few entries in there from the trip itself, not many, but enough to remember how overwhelmed I was with the newness of it all. Most of the entries, though, are from me sitting in Barnes and Nobles, reading science books and taking notes, all towards the purpose of refuting facts that went against my religious beliefs. Seriously. I have entire journals worth of quotes, with me refuting them. One book in particular apparently got me really riled up. I actually remember this moment. It was late afternoon, and I was sitting in the cafe, reading and drinking coffee. The book is called "Evolution and the Myth of Creationism - A basic guide to the facts in the evolution debate." by Tim M Berra. There are about three pages worth of quotes from ...

I should have known Protestations aside, I've been waiting for this. I couldn't find it on my own, So I ate the cake, took the red pill, drank the little bottle down. And I lay on my back in the grass, Staring up at a sky that had gone mad. Stars pulsing in time with my heart, flying across the velvet expanse, cataclysmic explosions of color and light. Gods, young and old, writhing through the branches above me. Laughing. That sensation began to take over. You know the one. Chug...chug...chugchugchug The rollercoaster nearing the crest. This is what I was waiting for. Buyers remorse set in quickly, though. As the cart topped the hill and began it's inevitable descent, arms up, screaming more in fear than exhilaration, I WANT OFF is all I could think. The journey down through the rabbit hole... colors bleeding into each other, thoughts made manifest, hope lost and fear king. I draw you around me like a security blanket, a rock of reality to cling...

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It's a difficult thing to do sometimes, saying no. Depending on the context, it can be virtually impossible. I've always been a pleaser. I want people around me to be happy. When people around me AREN'T happy, it's a big fucking deal. It's even worse when it's my fault. I've been trying to excise that part of myself, rather unsuccessfully. I deliberately put myself in situations where I have to chose my happiness or anothers, just to try and force the issue of choosing my own. But it too rarely happens. So, how does this manifest itself? Well, in nights like last night. I was out of work early, and went to Baileys to grab a beer. Trevor had spent most of the morning and afternoon pretending my vagina was a mouthy Irish boxer that needed to be jackhammered into submission, so I was a little sore. Or more than a little sore. But I was also WAY oversexed. When that happens, my body sends out signals to all available humans within a ten foot radius that I...

So often its the little things that make me catch my breath with desire. A woman just leaned past me, arm extended and crooked at the elbow. Her fine pebbly skin was tan, and I followed the line of her muscle up to the juncture of her arm and back with my eyes. That dip was stretched and taut, and looked so incredibly touchable. I couldn't help but imagine running my tongue along the lines my eyes had just traveled, and my stomach clenched with desire at the thought. And, for some reason, the lines around this man's beautiful eyes are making me a little breathless. Crows feet. Not a very sexy name. But I'm imagining them crinkling as he labors above me, face grim and eyes narrowed, tongue just touching the corner of his mouth. I want to reach out and run my fingers down the lines of his face.

This weekend... it was a whopper of a weekend. And it was a fascinating study of what sex means to me, what turns me on. It started on Friday afternoon, on a date with a pretty, pretty boy. 6'3, long, thick black hair, gorgeous dark eyes framed by long lashes, perfect beard... just pretty. My type of pretty. I took him out to Gravy, my favorite breakfast place in Portland, and then we wandered around Mississipi. I took him into my favorite store in the world, Sunlan. It's a dusty warehouse of light, run by a giant toad of a woman who sits in glorious splendor at her cash register, and can tell you exactly where any form of lighting you can think of physically resides inside her domain. We wondered the aisles for a bit, and he passed a test I didn't even know I was giving by being excited about finding some old Christmas light bulbs he bought to take home to LA when he leaves. We went to Baileys after that, and he started to get physically flirty. Up till this point I th...