I'm going crazy. It's been months. It's not like I didn't choose this for myself, but I don't know how long it's going to hold up. Learning to say "no" was difficult for me at first, but now that I've learned this powerful word, and how to use it, I don't want to say "no" anymore... I want to say "yes," "yes," "YES!"
What's so wrong with a girl getting fucked...
That's what I use to describe the best orgasm I ever had. How do you describe yours?
Did you know some people never orgasm in their whole life? Isn't that sad? Are you one of them?
I started the Pill. I resisted for all these years but my gyno told me there's no need for me to suffer undue pain every month when I have debilitating cramps for two days in a row. I thought it was just the price I was going to pay for the rest of my life as a result of my being a kink and not wanting to get married. That and it was convenient that I didn't have to lie to make a guy put a condom on. But anyway, she told me no, that I didn't need to suffer for that. And now I don't know which pill is supposed to give me my period, because I am spotting every day. So in the paraphrased words of one of my favorite rappers (Jay-Z), in reference to a great movie (The Matrix): "Green or white pill? / You live and you learn."
Okay it sounded better when he spit it...
And clearly not intended for this context, lol...
Callinda held her tongue, and her breath, as Diana's thin face emerged from the darkness. It looked different this week. The drug interactions were robbing her of any long, wavy hair left on her scalp after the hair-pulling panic attacks were over, so she was refusing to take her Seroquel which should have been fattening her up. She was destroying herself. Last weigh-in was 96 pounds, and even for a 5'2" short female, her features were losing their definition of a classically thin beauty - now she was just looking bony. Her bone structure was underdeveloped like that of a 16-year-old, with wrinkled, leathery skin of a 36-year-old that had been smoking cigarettes and crack cocaine since 18. And knew she was hot shit since 16.
"Would you like to tell me about the time when you wore makeup, Diana?" Callinda invited.
"Yeah…" she spoke slowly, as though every word was a preciously somber memory. "I used to wear makeup. And my hair like this. I was sexy."
Callinda smiled inwardly at her spot-on analysis of Diana’s 16-year-old self esteem. Diana proceeded to part her hair to the side and brush it in front of her face with her fingers. She brushed it over the side of her face that had the mysterious scars, raised one shoulder and puckered her lips, as if posing for a camera. But her head was pointed downward and she looked up at Callinda through the hair with her dark eyebrows lowered. She looked dangerously attractive. "All the boys wanted me. Like those girls you see in corny movies. 'All the boys wanted her, and all the girls wanted to be her.'" she mocked, raising her sparse eyebrows for emphasis. She was sounding a lot like a phone sex operator today.
"Well, that wasn’t exactly me," she continued. "The girls never wanted to be me… they wanted to… screw me…'have sexual relations with'… wanna write that down on your little clipboard?"
Callinda thought to write: "Over-inflated ego results in lesbian fantasies" under today's date. But her hands didn't move. Wouldn’t have been able to write even if the pen had been in her hands. She was glad to have stuck her hands between her knees earlier, so Diana couldn’t see them shaking now. These were games intended to scare her off. Or turn her on. Both were half-successful attempts. But if Diana was telling the truth?
"I don’t think that’s necessary, Diana," Callinda tried to say without stumbling over the words. "We’re in confidence here and I want you to be able to trust me." It sounded forced. So she continued, "In fact: fuck my clipboard."
Then, throwing the clipboard to the ground, Callinda managed to feign a smile. It landed near Diana’s feet. A free offering of all the "CONFIDENTIAL" information that had been kept on file.
Diana didn't blink. "You'll lose your job," she muttered, and walked back to her cot, ending their session.
“Boo.” said Diana, sarcastically.
“Well hello there, Diana.” Callinda dropped her bag on the floor, placed her clipboard on the desk, laid her pen down and turned her whole body to face Diana in one natural, sweeping motion. It looked as though she had been through this many times with other patients. She thought.
Diana looked blankly in Callinda’s direction, motionless. Only the whites of her eyes shone from the dark corner.
“Won't you have a seat over here next to me?” Callinda replied as sweetly as possible. Just do what I goddamn say, Diana, she thought.
“I used to wear makeup, too,” Diana replied in her raspy, barely audible tone. Callinda waited for a moment, expecting Diana to continue, but she kept staring into nothingness.
“I sell Avon in my free time. I’ll let you have a lipgloss if you come talk to me,” Callinda bribed. Anything to get her to sit and be civilized: she looked like an animal ready to pounce. Maybe Callinda came off as too friendly, like an over-enthusiastic babysitter before the parents left for the night.
“I said ‘used to:’ past tense. Didn’t you learn that in your fancy psychology school?”
At least she had enunciated these words, and began her movement from the corner. Callinda decided the intimidation was just one of those strategies these mentally disturbed used to test you, see if you’re really trying to help them. After all, they are human beings too; they’re just not the same human beings. Because they’re disturbed and all.
“Thanks Cliff,” Callinda sighed, as she opened the outer door leading to a small, dimly-lit entryway before Room 516 of St. Joseph's Psychiatric North wing. There were no windows save the one-way mirror into 516, no embellishments on the walls, and the paint may have been white at some point, but could hardly pass for beige anymore. Callinda had been warned that no one would be around to watch the session this time, but assured everyone that there was nothing to worry about, she was confident she’d be able to handle Diana by herself. She closed the outer door and locked it behind her as Cliff disappeared down the brighter, external hallway.
Callinda faced the inner door of 516. There were no lights on in there. Was Diana actually sleeping for once? Callinda knocked, out of politeness and respect, but hearing no response reached for the doorknob with her right hand, unlatched the lock with her left, and walked inside. She was now completely alone with the disturbed bitch for the first time.
Before her eyes became accustomed to the dark, it was difficult for Calli to make out the shadowy outline of an emaciated figure which sat on her bunk in the corner.
At least their eco-friendly sex appeal seems to be working, unlike a certain PETA attempt a few weeks back...
Diana Carver, age 19...with menacing blank spaces next to “diagnosis” and “comments.” Under “treatment,” a laundry list of about five anti-depressive and anti-psychosis drugs that would be lethal for a normal human being. It was a little more than intimidating for a 23-year-old like Callinda to take on a case like this, fresh out of grad school, but she felt it was about time people respected her around the ward.
“She's all yours, Calli. Good luck,” Cliff said with a dubious glance. He’d been unsuccessfully treating Diana for eight months – with everything from Zoloft to Prozac to Valium – and the drug interactions only resulted in a frightening hair loss and frenzied bursts of binging and purging anything of nutritional value that went into her. But Callinda had begged to take this case. She’d been shadowing Cliff for five of the eight months, and thought it was time for a female figure to take the lead. Cliff’s deep baritone voice was almost more intimidating than taking the case alone, anyway, and all the head doctors were busy with some hopeful family crisis in the South wing. So they let her have this “Class 5: ambiguous peculiarity.”
I'm going to start a short story, and post it here in chapters. I've seen other people do this and I think it will be fun and hopefully interesting. I don't know where this will go but it's cool to be creative and not just talk about my own life all the time. Please comment! Chapter 1 will be up tomorrow :-)
Scenario 1:
When I try to take it slowly with a guy, he ends up wifey-ed up with another chick within weeks of meeting me, thinking I'm uninteresting OR not interestED. Just because I don't sleep with him, he thinks I'm not interested. Am I that incapable of loving? Or do all relationships really need to start with sex? Is it possible to be celibate and still have a real relationship with someone?
Don't get me wrong, I can cook, give a mean back massage, and provide all the cute cuddly moments you could bear. We can go to movies, galleries, resorts, watch the games, etc. and behave innocently as sheep to the joy of both parties. He can be un-pushy and understanding and loving. But then it ends up nowhere. He meets someone ELSE and falls "in love" or thinks "she's the one" or just has another random hookup with one of my best friends... it's happened a few times. Does all that mean we were "just friends" to begin with, because there was no actual sex and we were just hanging out? When is it dating and when is it just trying to see how long it takes to get in my pants and give up in favor of one of my whorish gal pals?? Or some other chick who seems like the wife type and bones well?
Scenario 2:
If I do sleep with him, we either continue sleeping together and it really goes nowhere, or he stops calling abruptly and I basically never hear from him again. Usually getting wifed up and starting to feel guilty about the two-timing. But the sex is always great with this one. He's attracted to me, I'm attracted to him, and we both get what we want. Except commitment. Except a title. Except a relationship I can call my own. He doesn't respect me and doesn't want me as anything more than a fun time. It never lasts.
Summary:
I don't do this intentionally. But the guys I really like, I wait to have sexual contact with. The guys I could care less about or just think are hot or know-that-won't-go-anywhere, I get whenever I want, minus the title. This is the story of my life and I can't seem to change it.
I want to be respected, like the guys in the first scenario, treated as a friend and someone to hang out with. But I don't know how to move from being "that friend" to "that girl." I want to have great sex, like the guys in the second scenario - raw, fun, hot and steamy, spontaneous, etc. - but I don't want him to have another "that girl" while he's doing this with me.
I'm either the whore or the best friend. I need to find the middle ground. So when is the right timeframe to have sex? One month? Two weeks? Six months?
How do Mormons do it??
Lingering ex-girlfriends are the worst when it comes to new relationships. Aaron is "undecided" between me and his ex, as she's whispering in one ear "I love you," "I can't live without you," I'm pleading inside my head, "Pick me," and "Just give me a chance, for goodness' sake..."
It worked for Meredith in Grey's Anatomy a few seasons ago, but I'm not sure if desperado is a role I'll ever play well. I just can't put myself out there like that, and I definitely don't want to get hurt. Although Aaron has NOT lead me on and NOT slept with me, I am still falling for him in a way I've never felt about another guy, and it scares me to death. I don't want to lose him but at the same time, if I do, I feel like I'll only have myself to blame.
Why is this so complicated?
Should I make my feelings known to him, or call it quits before I get my heart broken by a semi-taken man?
