bean-is-trying

[bean-is-trying]

Will this haunt you

As it does me?

[bean-is-trying]

These extended days we spend together.

It's always those final hours where our words and touches lose their consequence.

You find an excuse to hold my hand.

My fingers glide, without thought, back

And forth, across yours.

It's difficult to hide the tension in my body, my quickening breaths.

Behind our words are quiet confessions, shrouded in so many layers of nuance.

My rational self pleads from behind my eyes, banging her hands on the window.

What are you doing. You're only making it worse. Can you please control yourself?

I do not hear her. Reality melts around me and drips onto my shoulders.

In this moment, there is only you.

[bean-is-trying]

We exist in limbo, wishing we could lay down and sleep while lamenting the hasty rules that keep us from living true.

Until dawn cracks our view in half

Serious talks are had about love, interrupted by

"Broken record posting, or something"

I don't think I've ever tagged something on my main blog like that.

[bean-is-trying]

You had planned to go home that night but it got late again, so you stayed and we had one of those nights that won't leave my thoughts. Stealing glances and brushes and touches under the guise of friendly affection, this is normal, friends should do this. I barely sleep when you're here.

The next morning my landlord and his shitass friends came to fix something, so we snuck out.

Where nobody could see us you said goodbye like usual, we hugged, spoke some appreciative words in our embrace. When we pulled away we didn't fully, our eyes locked, still holding eachother. My hands cup your face, and we kiss.

It's only a split second before we pull away, realizing what we're doing. We play it off as the usual friendly flirting and teasing and that we should be careful with that.

You go home. I wake up.

[bean-is-trying]

Do you know what you do to me?

I'm scared to speak it into reality.

I wish I could relinquish the responsibility, just have you find the truth written where I pretend you can't find it.

The guilt of what I'm backing you into is suffocating me.

Keep dreaming.

[bean-is-trying]

It really is that simple

Horny out of my mind for days on end

Lay down for a quick nap after work and

My darling joins, puts her arms around me

My breathing speeds up as her fingers only

lightly brush over my clothes.

I'm reminded of the talk we had where she told me she doesn't like how we can't just cuddle without me getting turned on. How she hates constantly having to reject me.

So I worry. How do I take the pressure off her? How do I calm down my rabid brain? How do I switch off my desires?

Turns out all I had to do was get in my own head about it.

About how I'm too much. How I shouldn't want her to touch me that way. How my desires are harming my beloved.

Drown away the horny with quiet sadness and guilt.

There we go, now I can nap while she holds me.

It really was that simple.

[bean-is-trying]

When it's just the two of us and time is infinite it all comes so naturally. It all feels so right. When you stayed over the other day I so genuinely felt the warmth of what could be. A taste, and of course a taste only makes the yearning worse. Am I just reaching? Why does it feel like you think the same things in those moments?

You leave.

Guilt.

You laugh.

It consumes me all over again.

You tell me most if not all of your friendships started with someone falling for you. That this is an evil thing you can't help but do to attract attention. I think this is the scariest aspect of it.

Why I can't tell you.

I'm scared I'll just end up another example.

[bean-is-trying]

I shouldn't. I'm hurting both my partner and hers by wanting. The simple act of wanting.

But in the moment it's alright, we're just good friends after all. I acknowledge and accept the feelings and desires and tell myself I am not a bad person for it. I live true as far as plausible deniability can take me.

After I leave comes the guilt. Not just that, I'm acutely aware how the touches and glances I stole will stick in my brain and haunt me. But I can't seem to help myself.

You're doing this to yourself, says my conscience, how much longer before something gives?

How much longer before you can't stop yourself in time, her sharpened breathing igniting you?

You nearly told her. You started to, at least, before uncertainty took hold.

Maybe someday.

Until then, guilt, acceptance, back to guilt.

[bean-is-trying]

The more time I spend alone

with you.

The more these feelings are cautiously

acknowledged.

The more I feel myself slipping.

I look back and see myself grasping

to hold on to what I have.

But at the same time

I want to show you

I want to slip.

I want to give myself to the fall.

[bean-is-trying]

I get quite literally paralyzed by desire. Doing something else to take your mind off of things? You fool. My thoughts will stray for a fraction of a second and then keep dwelling on it. That little what-if, that tiny fraction of i-wish, the smallest flash of want. They'll stretch and reiterate for hours, they overwhelm any other coherent thought with their potency. They're not just intrusive, they're invasive, outcompeting whatever native species there were before their arrival. I don't wish for these thoughts to disappear, but I'm not in a position where I can act on them. Every fibre of my being screaming, aching for that connection, but my conscience tightens the leash.

And there I stay, frozen.

"Hey are you okay? What are you thinking about?"

Oh, haha, just a song stuck in my head.

[bean-is-trying]

Another one from the Little Book Of Secrets™

Are all my writings just thinly veiled gay yearning? Perhaps. It's my blog and I get to choosehow to stop being self-conscious about only sharing "good" art (whatever that means.

Transcript:

"You're not predatory,

she just looks great in

that skirt" , affirms

Social Media Post № 159.

As I'm driven to insanity

by that cursed little dress

she's wearing.

[bean-is-trying]

I think the difference to me isn't where to touch and what the limits are, to leave marks or receive them. It's intent. When I am consumed by lust for someone it's them I want to touch, and I want to do everything to them. I'm not necessarily occupied with what they'll do to me, however fun. Will they leave their mark? Perhaps. I need to bite down on something or dig my nails into your back not because I want to "mark" you, but because the pleasure is overwhelming. Will they touch me in places I allow them to? Perhaps. Hands will go where hands will go. But in those moments it's my need for them I am consumed with, what they do to me are reactions in a conversation. When we have sex I am yours. All of me belongs to you and wants to be touched by you, every inch worshipped. I want to be the thing that turns you on, I want to instill in you that same ravenous hunger I feel for others, and submit myself to it. Give myself to your desires like I wish I could give myself to mine.

[bean-is-trying]

This one needs some context, it's a piece written in Dutch (translation below) for a small performance. The writing was memorized and told to people one-on-one with a black box enclosing mine and the listener's heads. They'd be inches away from my face and there was nowhere else to look but eachother's eyes. Very intimate. It made some people cry so I like to think it's pretty good.

Transcription:

_________________________________________

[Ball pen writing with some words crossed out and others inserted]

Ik verlang naar mijn eigen plekje.

Waar ik vrij ben om lief te hebben, te bewonderen, en te waarderen.

Lekker eten, verse koffie, omringd met vrienden en geliefden.

Niet het meeste, maar genoeg.

Niet het beste, maar goed.

Ik kus mijn vrouw, loop naar buiten, en zie hoe de ochtendzon mijn plantjes streelt, ik zie de schildering van de vederlichte wolken. Ik steek mijn blote voet in het warme zand en bewonder de sculpturen die ik achterlaat met elke stap. In de verte zie ik de boomtoppen zachtjes wiegen, en de wind fluistert me in:

"Het is goed zo, je bent waar je hoort te zijn, je bent thuis."

Dat is mijn verlangen.

_________________________________________

Translation attempt:

I desire my own place.

Where I'm free to love, to admire and to appreciate.

Good food, fresh coffee, and surrounded by friends and loved ones.

Not the most, but enough.

Not the best, but good.

I kiss my wife, step outside, and see the morning sun caressing my plants. I see the brushstrokes of feather-light clouds. I put my bare foot in the warm sand and am in awe at the sculptures I leave behind with every step. In the distance I can see the treetops gently swaying, and the wind whispers to me:

"It's alright like this, you are where you should be, you're home."

That is my desire.

[bean-is-trying]

Fridge poem about a crush