Your skin is the most beautiful dress you will ever wear.
My good mate Fade, who is a trance DJ and ex-professional footballer from Bury, Greater Manchester, England, has decided he wants to be called Orion now. Orion was my companion to see Keoki and come within mere inches of the original club kid (James St. James notwithstanding). Later on, at Orion's apartment, he said, "You can sleep in my bed, if you like." Not knowing if he meant "I can give up my bed for you" or "You can get in bed with me," I said I'd happily sleep on his couch.
Orion, being divorced for less than a year, lacks a lot of standard amenities of domestic life, including a desktop PC and extra pillows and blankets. This is not a huge deal for a die-hard pyromaniac and fire performer like your humble narrator, who always keeps fire-spotting towels in her trunk. One for a pillow, one for a blanket. Sorted. My trunk always has a suspicious, nearly narcotic, dreamy scent of fire-performing fuels in it, since it's also where I keep my fuel buckets. You pour the fuel back in their original containers, leave the buckets out for the residue to evaporate, but the scent remains. It's like a olfactory lullaby for fire spinners - evocative, nostalgic, anticipatory, magical.
After Orion went to bed, I took over his bathroom. The hall has a door going into it, and the room itself has another door which goes straight into Orion's room. One of his cats, Lydia, shoved her way into the bathroom when I had one leg already in the shower.
Days later, Orion said, "It was really hard not to join you in the shower."
I said, "Did Lydia inadvertently give you a peepshow?"
"It took a lot of effort not to go in there."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"That's a yes."
And for a wild witchy woman like me who has been through so much body issue crap, I just tilted my head back and cackled with ripe amusement. No shame, no embarrassment, nothing but amusement, even before Orion said, "You have a nice body." It's like when a certain friend of mine hit her late twenties and decided to let arkhamrefugee take nude pictures of her. Liberation, any way you look at it. Men who've hit their Saturn return just want women who are interesting and not bitches. Case in point: I'm not going to be tapped for modelling for Maxim any time soon and I can't count the number of guys I'm seeing on just one hand any longer. I don't say that to brag, but to let girls with body issues know that the idea that you have to be skinny to get guys to like you is absolute and complete bullshit. Well, guys... maybe not boys. Sorry that you'll probably have to wait until you're older to avoid the twats...
Orion, being divorced for less than a year, lacks a lot of standard amenities of domestic life, including a desktop PC and extra pillows and blankets. This is not a huge deal for a die-hard pyromaniac and fire performer like your humble narrator, who always keeps fire-spotting towels in her trunk. One for a pillow, one for a blanket. Sorted. My trunk always has a suspicious, nearly narcotic, dreamy scent of fire-performing fuels in it, since it's also where I keep my fuel buckets. You pour the fuel back in their original containers, leave the buckets out for the residue to evaporate, but the scent remains. It's like a olfactory lullaby for fire spinners - evocative, nostalgic, anticipatory, magical.
After Orion went to bed, I took over his bathroom. The hall has a door going into it, and the room itself has another door which goes straight into Orion's room. One of his cats, Lydia, shoved her way into the bathroom when I had one leg already in the shower.
Days later, Orion said, "It was really hard not to join you in the shower."
I said, "Did Lydia inadvertently give you a peepshow?"
"It took a lot of effort not to go in there."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"That's a yes."
And for a wild witchy woman like me who has been through so much body issue crap, I just tilted my head back and cackled with ripe amusement. No shame, no embarrassment, nothing but amusement, even before Orion said, "You have a nice body." It's like when a certain friend of mine hit her late twenties and decided to let arkhamrefugee take nude pictures of her. Liberation, any way you look at it. Men who've hit their Saturn return just want women who are interesting and not bitches. Case in point: I'm not going to be tapped for modelling for Maxim any time soon and I can't count the number of guys I'm seeing on just one hand any longer. I don't say that to brag, but to let girls with body issues know that the idea that you have to be skinny to get guys to like you is absolute and complete bullshit. Well, guys... maybe not boys. Sorry that you'll probably have to wait until you're older to avoid the twats...