I’ve never had someone tell me they like me before. Regardless of the fact that you had to be hammered to do it, it’s important that you remembered. We were at my friends party and you were upset. you cornered me, you were drunk and upset: The Chicano told me that our sexual relationship had changed from just casual sex to something special in his eyes. He nervously told me how he’s (supposedly) never felt this way about a person before, that I mean something more to him, that he sees me in his future to some extent. He asked me if I only liked him for the sex and I paused, I almost panicked, I didn’t…I don’t know. I told him I liked chilling with him but that I didn’t want a relationship with him. He said he understood. We kept drinking. We went home. We had sex, he passed out, I fell asleep with his breathing in my hair and Family guy reruns. In the morning he made me late to my cousin’s show because he decided to seduce my body and tell me how attractive I was to him while he caresses me into tingles from the inside out. We took a shower together, washing each others hair and giggling beneath the water droplets. I watched them make patterns of decent down his skin and down the drain and I smiled before he told me I never looked more gorgeous, wet and giggly. I made him laugh with my sillyness and he tickled me into my towel and kissed me against my sink. Such a pleasurable morning it had been the other day. He misses me already, since he knows I can’t see him for a while. This is all too new to me.

These were taken while I was in my third eye vortex and while The Goon was hammered. Later we drove around, smoking cigarettes and listening to Route Around by Rebelution and being mushy old friends. We’ve been through some crazy shit together, and I hope this asshole is around long enough to harass me about my wrinkles, and contemplating death by heroine.

Morning romp? Check
Brushed hair? Check
Brushed teeth? Check
Kissed me goodbye? Check
Cleaned kitchen? Check
Smoked bowl? Check
South Park? Check
Sleep? Pending.

The clouds rolled over the city rooftops and I stood watching the breeze twist and tilt the branches of the magnolia tree. It’s summer time, there is laughter in the urban streets and a sigh of relief is being breathed by scholars all across the city. With a head fuzzy with tequila and a stomach satisfied with fajitas I took a moment to breathe as my companions joked about ‘hollering at bitties.’ Let this summer bring good things, and good things only.

There was thunder in the background. The boom came when I did and the slight rumble of rolling sound waves shook the walls, as I shook in waves of a different kind. The tingle was there, as it is with thunder, except this one left me panting and wishing I had a cigarette to wash down the ripples of pleasure that spread from the heat you ignited in my flesh. We listened to the thunder roll and crash outside and I commented on the pleasant sex weather we were having. You made my tectonic platelets shift so violently there were earthquakes of soft flesh all over my body as your Poseidon commanded my oceans, crashing waves into shifting earth, pulling pleasure from the nether-regions of my sensual abyss. The Chicano gave me a well deserved performance of dedication and deliberate strokes. We basked in the light coming from my Living room. We listened to Golden Girls and chuckled at Dorothy’s dryness and Sofia’s sharp tongue. You rubbed the kinks out of my back and bit circles into my shoulders. We slept like utensils until the phone woke us up and you realized you’d stayed later than intended since you have work at 9am. I wish you could have removed your hands and left them for me to play with, but you aren’t a cyborg or a mannequin. So I must await the next time you can accidentally give me a romantic experience, like fucking to thunder or playing with my hair while I savor the sting from your teeth connecting to the skin of my neck. Goodnight sweet Chicano, sleep sound.
Rubi McLaughlin

We always wait till people leave to start any signs of affection. We’ve never openly discussed it, it just happens. We like the wait. The subtle brush of our fingers on each others skin while we sit side by side on the couch. We wait like we would for fireworks; anticipation and the impossibility of having a bad show. With apprehension we glance from each others lips back to the comedy playing in the background. Though you only stay in my orbit for a few short hours while you’re here you shine and shimmer. Our astronomical particles collide and bind, pants and grasps, digging us into my sheets. Sunken in and sore you tell me ‘when you’re turned on, I’m turned on.’ Though we aren’t corresponding kitchen appliances we still work well together. There wasn’t music this time, we didn’t need to muffle our own symphony. You had to go, you had work in the morning, though you said you never wanted to leave. I know that you say you are a straight metro male with low self esteem but telling me you’re wearing makeup in order to feel like your attractive enough to be sleeping with me. Are you kidding me? I’m all about the flattery of saying I’m gorgeous but not when you’re putting yourself down. You asked me what turns me on and I said ‘you.’ Why would you think you need to better your appearance? As long as it makes you feel better. As my lover I want you to be happy, like how you are when we’re together. I kissed every inch of your shoulders and held you around the waist, wishing you’d understand how pretty you are; delicate and sensitive you are nothing like what I had initially expected. I’m adapting, I’m opening up.

The Chicano took pictures of me smoking…

The effects of moving: cuts, blisters and nearly fractured feet. Bleh.

The cat upstairs always spies on me when I pull up. :)

We talked about our scars tonight. The ones on your knees from second grade. The scar on my right calve from the bone eroding infection from first grade. We talked about car accidents and why my right knee is pudgier than my left. I tried to explain what ‘comprehension’ meant. You talked yourself down a lot. You admitted to low self esteem. You told me I was a good kisser and that my hair smelt like real cherries. We talked about childhood. We talked about teeth. About that little wiggle and a click as the root of the tooth finally snapped and freed the ivory bone from the gum when we pulled our teeth out once they got too loose as children. You massaged away the knot under my left shoulder blade. I tickled your skin with tips of my fingers and I got to run my fingers through that thick black hair. You tickled my insides and sent my vessel into a fit of waves. Waves of tensing happiness washed over me like a baptism and I savored the vow as our bodies slowed and sped up to the lazy acoustic reggae in the background. We christened my new apartment and you pressed my face to the floor. You opened my car door for me and kissed me goodnight. Your kiss tasted like Dr. Pepper and I laughed into your teeth. I sent you away wondering if you really will text me.

Followers,
I thoroughly apologize for my recent Duck Dynasty obsession, but I don’t think it’s going to stop.

His Dog Fritz is the most perfect cuddle buddy. If only he was just as tangible.

I’m extremely upset and unfortunately I cannot vent anywhere else but here: why are boys so inconsiderate? No matter what age, 21 to 28 they are all idiots who only think about getting their dicks wet. Celibacy?

Feeling happy and Spacey today. After an evening of wonderful tossing and pushing around under the covers I awoke with the most splendid of moods.

And the Raven sleeps on my floor, serenading me with Janet Jackson remixes while I write my paper and he naps. I don’t mind, I like the view, I just wish I knew what you’d let me do to you. Hah!