Coffee Date (guy's POV)

The coffee arrives at my table. I stare, nervous, at the steam wafting up from the cup. I'm sitting here waiting for her near a large window. The cold, wet, chill of the grey outside palpable on the left side of my body and the warmth of the inside heating on the right.

She arrives. She seems to be in another emotional frazzled state. She sits in front of me and orders a tea. She smile arrives as she brightly engages me, "Hi. How are you?"

This isn't going to be a fun conversation. "Good. What's up?" Foolishly, I take a sip of the scalding coffee.

"I wanted to talk about something, and I don't want you to jump the gun but shutting down or leaving. I want you to make a decision. I want you to base that decision on the knowledge that if you decide yes that I'm going to follow you."

Wtf! I'm already confused. "Ok. Back up. What?"

She leans in to make her point as if the urgency has become the mainstay of this conversation, and her brightness has disappeared. "Ok. I feel like I can have the total relationship I've been searching for between us, just between us. But I don't want to scare you with that sentence, so I've been holding it back. You seem like you're gonna bolt every time I feel like I'm prepared to talk about it." So now the tense conversation unfolds.

I shift in my seat, clearly uncomfortable. I enjoy how much she clings to me, submissive to please me, holds me on a pedestal, all very sexy traits. This is the trade off. "Yeah."

"Why do you get annoyed whenever I want to have an emotional conversation? I feel like I'm walking on eggshells, stepping so carefully as to not upset you, but then I can't be myself. I'm more focused on you, which is good for you in the short term, but blocking myself from feeling comfortable that we aren't making long-term progress."

Ouch! I can feel that twinge inside. Take another sip, not as scalding hot. "Look, I'm busy with work, my goals, my life. I can only give you so much attention."

"That's fine. I'm not upset about that."

"Then what do you want?" I lean into this conversation, elbows hanging off the edge.

"I want you. I crave you. I just want some consistency."

"And I have limited time available." I underscore my point.

She re-starts. "I have this ideal relationship in my head that I want to work towards. I don't know what yours is because I have to pull even a five minute conversation out of you, but you enjoy me pouring myself out to you. You pick and choose what you like, what you can tolerate easily, and ignore my needs. But then you say that you want to be someone I can lean on and depend on inexhaustibly, and not be phased by my emotions. That you'll just move on unscathed by my tears. But then you claim that you love watching me cry. Is it that you like watching me cry when you force humiliation on me? That you wish it didn't cloud my emotional states and shower the emotional conversations?"

I smile. I like her twists with words. Her writing is more elaborate. I think she has to reign herself in when she says the words aloud. "I don't know."

She re-starts. "I want you to try and engage in the conversations I start before you judge if it really hurts us or you. Ok?"

"Like what?"

"If I ask you a question, stop your barriers. Don't think that I'll use your words against you. If you really feel I might, caution me with a consequence that is in your favor. You have all these ideas that you don't have the total confidence to act on; well, now you have a reason to enact those consequences in a very real way to you and to me because we will both be after something we want. And the things that you don't have total confidence in doing I find very attractive because it shows your vulnerability, which drives me insane with want, and the potential for your kinks to heighten the emotional submissive response in me." She begins sipping on her tea. When it arrived, who knows.

All I heard was a lot of impassioned words. Some of it sounded like the thoughts I have but don't say. I nod.

Hands empty

There is some music that seems more valid and plays upon a part of me that isn't as touched by some songs when I listen without earphones. I feel that same dynamic applies to you. In my mind, you are immense, you are perfection, you are that sweet, intensive voice wooing me into the dark, but the reality is that you are the presence that is fleeting, temporary, and resistant to discussing the stickier parts of a relationship. So with the earphones on I romanticize you, slowly sink back into old habits of waiting for you, pleading for you. Thinking of you without the earphones, I see the backlash I have withstood hoping for the paradise you promise. At the end, my hands empty.

I like your presence in my life. It creates this confidence in me and resilience that empowers me to follow my mind. When you fail to re-emerge, I feel that hollowness in the foundation of myself that hinders me. Its like a foundation that I can't build up because the of the missing pieces of you in my life to build on. I look for other pieces to fill in the gaps, to make me semi-complete but they don't fit. At the end, my hands empty.

My stalker tendencies

I spy with my eyes
...music. It has the ability to pierce an unidentifiable speck in me. That speck swells, subtly exploding, flowing into my bloodstream, etched into my DNA. Now it has become an ongoing intoxication, a hit...

(you get the picture.) My stalker tendency led me to track it down, own it, warm myself with it.

I spy with my eyes
...words. Tangible, flexible, stable. The power to seduce and intimidate in one breath. Deliriously erotic and enticing. A vow to hold me under a spell, become my doom. My failure.

I spy with my eyes
...a fantasy. Unknown ending, in progress.

Bury This

I exist for you.

That's the saddest part. Not to be able to own my very will to do as I please.

And I'm shaking all the time, trembling, fearing its undo-able, wondering if its a lifelong state I should resign myself to.

I bury this. Hiding it. Folding it softly between the folds of old words. Part of me wants to be released and also part of me feels a sort of freedom from it. It doesn't make sense. There's a contradiction in it.

Sleep Sweet

     You used to be this sort of golden compass. Sturdy, determined, there. Now you are the remnant of a time I was neurotic and aching to have your complete attention. Did I bury a small piece of you in me that has become in the fabric of me? I must have, although I can't recall the feeling, I suppose I felt it, a bump under skin, judging from my past actions. I remember how it broke me to receive no word from you, no pictures in return. I went mad, walking the street of downtown Austin in trembling sobs, wishing to be acknowledged by you, wanting to feel I did have a connection, a link. Nothing to soothe me, resting on the fumes I could blurt out at you, fall asleep, and feel slightly cured from the rage of rejection and my lovelorn foolishness.
     Now you're still hundreds of miles away, state lines away, rivers away, thousands of trees away...the delirious, chaotic intensity I used to feel has lost itself, tangled and trampled somewhere in the distance. I don't feel it anymore. I can't tell if I turned it off or it left me. In the last conversation, I saw glimpses of the darling man I used to care so deeply for, crave so wildly, and long to hear from. I remember being so determined to prove myself to you, to be as intelligent, determined, sturdy. I couldn't reconcile the man I was crazy about before and the jerk of then. Ultimately, it didn't matter because the sensation wore thin. The liberty of not wondering your opinion, imagining, no standards to meet.
     Now you expect nothing out of this as do I...

9/6/10, Laredo

Confession of a Part-time Slave

     Converting air's chemical make-up can be exhausting enough for some people. Something drained out of me. I don't know when. I don't know how.
     Somewhere in me, the sting of piss on tenderized raw skin mixed with a kiss. Somewhere in time, I zoned out while licking his shoes like a puppy. Somewhere along the horizon, I became the foot stool his feet rested upon. Somewhere in the rhythm, I began considering under the desk a safe haven. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, I became.
     The oddity of this all is the person who demeans me this way is the same one urging me to in every other way to be a better person. In the real world, the part of me that has been softened this way pushes the rest of me into an actual form of intelligence. A contradiction, I'm sure, but true for me.
     I miss the games of emotions and power. Rebelling to be forced, force him to act. Buttering him up to get a kiss. All of it, all of it. I miss the anticipation of hearing from him again, the time being coy and sweet, and the demented part of me, highly enjoyed the time of tension and red-blinding rage. Something in me loves the thrill of upsetting the one I want most. The games. The struggle to get back on his good side. My own little game of derailing docile, urging, aiming to have him kiss while he pushes me away., allowing my other thrill of trying to get what I want. The struggle against him in this way...
     The games, the games I like to play, Now I need a playmate. 

2/13/10, Laredo

3/4 of you

3/4 of you

i miss touch, force, 

brutal kisses marring 

enjoying your will becoming my will

the serious stable side

the emotional power side

the goofy sweet side

i would love to murder the distant cold side

Limbo

Anxious, spent, and unwilling to continue waiting in limbo - that suspended in time, silence lingers, and remains unanswered. Trying to purge the overload out of my system. I don't have whatever it takes to stay on the line to no reply. I seek the sane, the routine, the average. No longer do I get a thrill from what used to turn me on before. Chaotic, hyper-emotional...

Evidence No. 12

Among the various ideas that are popping

in this mind, as conversation, the most

prominent is always rising and gnawing with

an unexplainable urgency. Your views on just 

about anything usually seem to be thought

through thoroughly. In light of the 

introduction to this question, it is complicated

and intrusive to ask.

The Deplorable World

     In this dimension of the spectrum, this girl developed a fever over the inane boy. Apart, a memory could easily be called and nursed to life, but together clouds had rained to the melody of cables destroyed. For today's tale, let me explain a little more.
     Another...









unhealthy attraction ignited, and eventually unlit in the surrounding and mounting tides.

No Effect

     Amid the delirium your presence once delivered, there's a disgust and a space enveloping the infatuation that stood in its place. The fever in its most intoxicating and potent form was fed by your ability to maneuver your desires as first priority. Your actions disguised as sincerity only developed into something naturally unsettling and comforting. After the drug-induced hallucination, realization settled in to announce all was a sham. This is a declaration of "giving-up"- not surrendering- on a dreary, useless infatuation. 

its as done as i care to do it right now

     Barely started...couldn't sleep longer than 20 minutes through my five hours of dormancy.

     confetti probably still buried in my hair. how to deconstruct: what goes into that decision to where ultimately walking away has the greatest good?

this one condition...

     It lessening. There isn't that relief of a phase ending. I want it back. That craziness pushing for the next dramatic thing I'd do. Maybe its maturity poking its dull eye through...

-4/5/10, Laredo (my last Spring semester at TAMIU)

Disclaimer 1:

This is a disclaimer on all dumb actions
I've done & will try not to do

Wind and Water

These are the elements of my desire. A swing near water. Music flows as the water does. My sustenance as the wind of rocking pulses in rhythm. You are earth, sanity, logic. You speak in a foreign language in that way. My tongue understands ideas stemming from emotions. Sensations built on being worn, torn down, exhausted, revived, used, welcomed, nourished, betrayed by being turned on by it all, and ending up a clump of sweaty skin and limp muscles. 

-10/10/09, Austin