(no subject)
STORIES. STORIES. STORIES.
That's what I think I about. That's what I think I am. That's what I think I love.
To the ladies: I cannot be that person/man. I cannot be the person to kiss, to hold, to touch, to kiss, to touch, to rub, to kiss, to grind, to grind, to feel, to fuck. I cannot be that person. I can hold; I can smooth; I may rub; I can kiss. But I cannot be that other person.
And lately(since I've been looking), All the ladies I've met either want nothing or want that other person from me. But an asking for that, I'm supposing(and inserting some psycho-babble, please forgive me)is very personal, so it is rarely expressed so out right, and rarely if ever discussed. So, my refusal of that kind of intention often seems like a refusal of a person, a body, a lady; and mabye it is: I don't know. But I'd like to be given a chance. Another chance. (Sorry, but as inevitable any type of personal expression must also come with its own disspassionate vision of the failings in a Brian-centric world.)
Oh, now I remember( for the second time this night: a night in high school that I haven't thought about till' now. A WARNING!! A VERY PERSONAL, DISGUSTING, AND DAMAGING TO YOUR OPINION OF ME!! READ OR DO NOT READ WITH CARE) :
SO, I was at a high school dance, and I was sixteen. I was uncomfortable as I have been at every dance. The dance was all hip-hop: we were at the CLOUD ROOM. And all the dancing was butt dancing. I did not dance for the majority; however, boredom, the need to fit in, and the want to be manly, combined to make me start dancing. I danced with this girl. (I was at the time wearing my old big black sweat pants, for anybody who has meet them.) Since I had rarely, if ever (never) had such a close experience(and since it was intense and crazy and really no "sinces" this is just what happened), I got a hard on. At this point, I had no idea what to do. And from the confusion felt in front of me and the girl's pause, I sensed she didn't know what to do either. I had the urge to run away or go sit down indian style on a mountain forty miles and many years away. Instead, I stayed there..And to my memory, She started again; although, this time pushing down harder. Needless to say, although I shall say it; the crescendo of this story is that I crescendoed in my pants. And we finished the song out. I went to the bathroom, then peed and did some cleanup. I passed the rest of the dance sketchily and anxiously talking to guys and a couple sitting down. And I distinctly remember rolling the window on the way home hoping my mom couldn't smell, and hoping to god that she had no idea what had happened, as mothers so often do..
So, now the long drawn out warning dosen't seem so neccessary. So, It was one of the most embarrasing nights ever. Hmmm...Mabye this should have been two posts. No one's going to read all this. But maybe I don't care. Nope, I do.
SO, I had some more I was going to say about this, but I've already thought about it tonight. And lingering on it is only going to cause potentially damaging circles of thought.
That's what I think I about. That's what I think I am. That's what I think I love.
To the ladies: I cannot be that person/man. I cannot be the person to kiss, to hold, to touch, to kiss, to touch, to rub, to kiss, to grind, to grind, to feel, to fuck. I cannot be that person. I can hold; I can smooth; I may rub; I can kiss. But I cannot be that other person.
And lately(since I've been looking), All the ladies I've met either want nothing or want that other person from me. But an asking for that, I'm supposing(and inserting some psycho-babble, please forgive me)is very personal, so it is rarely expressed so out right, and rarely if ever discussed. So, my refusal of that kind of intention often seems like a refusal of a person, a body, a lady; and mabye it is: I don't know. But I'd like to be given a chance. Another chance. (Sorry, but as inevitable any type of personal expression must also come with its own disspassionate vision of the failings in a Brian-centric world.)
Oh, now I remember( for the second time this night: a night in high school that I haven't thought about till' now. A WARNING!! A VERY PERSONAL, DISGUSTING, AND DAMAGING TO YOUR OPINION OF ME!! READ OR DO NOT READ WITH CARE) :
SO, I was at a high school dance, and I was sixteen. I was uncomfortable as I have been at every dance. The dance was all hip-hop: we were at the CLOUD ROOM. And all the dancing was butt dancing. I did not dance for the majority; however, boredom, the need to fit in, and the want to be manly, combined to make me start dancing. I danced with this girl. (I was at the time wearing my old big black sweat pants, for anybody who has meet them.) Since I had rarely, if ever (never) had such a close experience(and since it was intense and crazy and really no "sinces" this is just what happened), I got a hard on. At this point, I had no idea what to do. And from the confusion felt in front of me and the girl's pause, I sensed she didn't know what to do either. I had the urge to run away or go sit down indian style on a mountain forty miles and many years away. Instead, I stayed there..And to my memory, She started again; although, this time pushing down harder. Needless to say, although I shall say it; the crescendo of this story is that I crescendoed in my pants. And we finished the song out. I went to the bathroom, then peed and did some cleanup. I passed the rest of the dance sketchily and anxiously talking to guys and a couple sitting down. And I distinctly remember rolling the window on the way home hoping my mom couldn't smell, and hoping to god that she had no idea what had happened, as mothers so often do..
So, now the long drawn out warning dosen't seem so neccessary. So, It was one of the most embarrasing nights ever. Hmmm...Mabye this should have been two posts. No one's going to read all this. But maybe I don't care. Nope, I do.
SO, I had some more I was going to say about this, but I've already thought about it tonight. And lingering on it is only going to cause potentially damaging circles of thought.