Monthly Archives: March 2013

The Art of Being Alone

Yesterday was Good Friday, and true to weekend form, I had something or other lined up for the night. On the agenda last night was a quiet dinner with old friends at a nice, homey little Italian restaurant in a corner of Newtown. In the jolly presence of good natured banter and huge helpings of comfort food – the cannelloni with spinach and ricotta I stuffed my face with was so good I couldn’t have cared less that it was probably bringing back all the weight I had lost intermittently throughout the past month with a vengeance – it had been easy to forget the near-constant heartache that had been following me around for the past three weeks or so. Continue reading

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The First Time

As with all romantic comedies, this one checks all the boxes. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, there is angst after the honeymoon period, and then finally the fairytale resolution. Except boy has a prospective partner he is in love with, and girl has a “dude”. Also, their angst was born out of very awkward, apparently very bad first time sex. But it all gets resolved in the end despite pesky hurdles like pride, useless relationship advice, and parents who don’t meddle in their children’s lives. While they finally get their respective heads out of their arses and get together, it does make you wonder what the future is going to bring for these two, with Dave going off to Columbia and Aubrey still having a year of high school to work through. A year is an eternity when it’s high school.

That said, I loved Dave’s “love confession” to Aubrey at the end of the movie. Compare, his written declaration of love for Jane Continue reading

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Protected: A love letter

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A boy like you

It’s like you weaved a spell around my senses and all I can think about is you. My head is filled with you. I close my eyes and I see you, open them, and I see you. Your blue, blue eyes, that cheeky smile, the way you’d wink and laugh after you’ve said something particularly naughty. The way you’d sprawled on the grass, framed by sunlight, the carpet of green a stark contrast to the dark blue you were wearing. The way you would nudge me with your foot in apology while knowing you’d be forgiven anyway. Your eyelashes are long and golden, framing your eyes, fluttering with every blink and I’m captivated, I want to touch them. And then there are the memories, of moonlit parks in the small hours, of you with your lips wet with spit, eyes blinking open to reveal dilated pupils as I moved on top of you, shielded by the night. The way you moaned as you suckled at my breast, teeth gently grazing at the nipple. Your murmurs of encouragement as I whimpered and shuddered, caught up in the newness of it all. The way you grabbed my arms to pull them around your neck, silently asking me to hold on, the way you’d plead, “Oh baby I want to feel you, let me feel you”. It’s all you, you, you. I remember you and there is a wetness between my thighs, growing, seeping through the thin cloth, and I want you, I want you, but I don’t know how to want you and I was afraid you wouldn’t want me if you knew. But now you know and you still call and god is this really happening? What would a boy like you want with a girl like me? A girl who has never been kissed or touched, yet is as easy as a twopence slut? You wouldn’t, I know you wouldn’t and I’m terrified, so terrified of falling for you like so many others before you except this time the odds are bigger, the risks higher. You were the first boy I kissed, you will always be the first boy I kissed and I can’t help but wonder if you like that in a way, in your possessive way. But if I give myself to you what will I use to lure you in again? After all, the only reason you’re still around is because of the novelty of getting to fuck a virgin; a boy like you would never in a million years want anything to do with a girl like me.

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