mdsays

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Saturday, May 31st, 12:39 AM

G: You think we’re getting out all our aggression of our past relationships on each other?

To answer your question: no. But that may be because I don’t perceive my refusal to have sex with you as a form of aggression. It is, however, strikingly apparent that something in your sexual development has left you with a hatred of women, or at the very least, a complete and utter disregard for the fact that they don’t exist for the sole purpose of pleasing you.

Being the charming and handsome guy you are, I suppose it could be possible that you have never made a move on a girl who didn’t genuinely want to have sex with you. However, it is far more likely that you have encountered girls who yield to your desires because they want you to like them or because they thought submitting would do less damage than trying to refuse you.

Read More

Open Letter to the Guy Who Kicked Me Out of his Apartment After I Refused to Have Sex With Him

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the miles between us weighed heavily on his gentle voice. he sighed rhapsodies of “someday” into the receiver as I sunk into a bed sheet abyss, anchored by an iron heart. we took turns grasping for comforting coos in our divided darkness. every word he spoke inscribed his name in yet another swirling script just under my skin. try as it may, this breadth of terrain could never erase it.

(one thousand seven-hundred and forty-two by madly_deeply)

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he’d ask, “are you ready to go home”,

with “home” meaning his apartment.

but in that question, it was ours;

it was the place we shared.

on the train, while he calculated our

transfers, or how many stops were

left, I’d wrap my arms around his

waist to steady myself, as opposed

to using the handrail.

his eyes would be on the subway

map as he navigated aloud, giving

me kisses on the forehead – like

breaths in between words – and his

sentence remained seemingly uninterrupted.

during the walk between the station

and his building, we wove our fingers

together like a basket. every couple of

blocks, my hand received a gentle

squeeze, to let me know he was still there.

he would torture me in the form of

merciless tickles; pinching and squeezing

my waist and thighs with his scruffy,

smiling face buried in my neck, until I

didn’t have enough breath to fuel more laughter.

late at night, I’d toss, he’d turn;

he’d turn, I’d toss, like waves that rise and

settle. our movements were synchronized–

a ballet in bed sheets.

sometimes you take for granted how nice

it is to be able to touch someone without

permission, as if their body was an extension

of your own. I can say with somber certainty

that he was my favorite feature.

  (Body Talk by madly_deeply)

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