Wednesday, 25 March 2015

One For The Road 4

“I feel like we’ve shared our girl part of the talk, regarding exes and currents.” I chuckle as we are both finishing off and the question remains do you sleepover or do you just get home back alone to wallow in your own tears and tiredness of some empty hole which had been covered before, as distraction and now you’ve lost the cover and you don’t even know why were you so happy in the first place with a rug replacing concrete on a road. Drunk doesn’t seem to cover it, as tipsiness takes me that I can even trip on flat spaces in ballerinas and Alison grabs my wrist, laughing. 

“Enough of that, enough... boy talk. Let’s shift to something more practical.” Alison says, covering her mouth from a hiccup as we both just get more drunk, going up the street to the next pub and I can’t even recall how many small notes I’ve given already.

“Practical? Like drinks?” I can’t stop laughing, looking at her and she slows down for a while, still holding my wrist tighter. 

“Cocktails.” She says out, randomly and I feel her hand on my cheek. I look at her, alcohol only making a bizarre fog of confusion and I can’t even remember which song is it which I hear from the pub along with screams, as the fog seems to be sharp as I feel her lightly chapped lips against mine, I kiss her back, her arms around my back, the warmth of Alison’s lips wrapping the fog around my mind thicker and I think, I think I yell at myself through the fog as she slips her tongue against mine,

and then I yank myself back, rewinding now her hand on my breast, I look down flushed and she doesn’t look better-


“I have a boyfriend.” I say with haste and Alison just nods, looking down, the music still lulls. She keeps looking at my shoes. She doesn’t say anything. “Alison-”

“If he’s fucking around, why can’t you fuck around?” Alison’s head snaps back at me, as she puts her hands around her thin body. The alcohol gives us boldness we would never wish we’d have. I always turn off my phone on some random password, write it down and then unlock after the hangover. “He is.”

I close my eyes. 

“He fucking is. He’s fucking Miles. What’s the big deal? You know that, you fucking know that, so why can’t you fuck around? Why do you have to sit and mop around while your fucking boyfriend is having sex?” She asks a bit too loudly, as people look, one guy even whistles, but we’re both too absorbed in this argument we’ve gotten ourselves into. “Jesus Christ, you’re even tense. Maybe a fuck would make you realize where you stand.”

She throws her arms to the sides now, looking at me, hurt. 

“You.” She points at my chest. “Don’t even know what you want. I remember when you speak of your ex-”

“Don’t!” I hiss and Alison, bites her lips, avoiding her name. 

“You were happier with her.” I just keep my eyes closed, as if the theatre will give me a different play.

“What’s stopping you?” She raises her voice again.


“He’s fucking Miles. An eye for an eye!” She gestures now at the pub where I see more men gathered, to watch, I wonder if people are drunk enough to realize or sober enough to realize. 

“What is stopping YOU?”

I shrug. 

Alison takes a step and I allow myself to see how her freckles start showing in the night and I sigh, but we don’t touch, as if watching each other’s faces before Alison takes a step further and starts walking downhill as I follow her. She gets the first cab and says my address, looking out of the window. I wonder if anything I’ve spoken says anything.


“M?” And as she turns around I quickly press my lips entirely against her, as she gasps a bit surprised as I lace my hand with hers, pulling her close, moaning in her mouth, as I feel her clench her hands and keep them to herself. 

It’s hard to admit attraction when you don’t know where you’re going. And I can’t imagine her anywhere with anyone these days, she always seemed interesting with how she would live alone and she seemed to give out something I could never get, the fruit of actual solitude, where the mind stays without any thought and she would show me that she could do it, it felt like I could walk through the stars with her, as we kissed and I could feel her entirely against me and I wanted to taste her entirely, I wanted her

It was a sort of twisted lust, where I wanted her exposed entirely in front of me, for her to show me everything and for some rush, I had wanted her physically under my lips and my thoughts. 

The darkest of thoughts come to the lonely, as I wish I could split her open and be with her at least for the end of the night, when the dark veil tears off and reveals the morning with the reminiscence of the night which shouldn’t be the wine of regret. Sometimes I feel like I sell a life which I’ve always wanted and I seem to have, but I don’t really, because I need to remind myself at all times that I am somehow happy when it’s the opposite from the thoughts I’d have as a last night smoke when the stars are dim and I won’t ever admit the time. And it’s not like you can fast forward anything, you’ll just go through life with anxiety blinding you as you’re the deer on the road. Desire becomes less tamed as I clench onto her, devouring her mouth, pressingly myself desperately against her. Her beauty lures me in like a darkened sexual fantasy.

“I think it's the last winter we will ever have." Alison says and why should I even care about Alex’s heart broken state, when I had broken both hearts in one plate under the last winter Alison had coloured now with her night coloured lips which seemed like hypnotizing liquor, trailing too many paths on my neck, as we paid for the cab and walked out to have light of sidewalks and empty dreams of lonely passerby serve as ribbons and accessories as we walk out, holding hands, like school girls shredding everyone’s beliefs of innocence. 

She leads the way, like the cloak of night wrapping in mystery flavors the candy as we enter the heated up apartment and it only becomes more than reasonable to undress, as she just takes my clothes off and I get flared, feeling exposed and her arms as she goes on the floor, pulling me with her, as I sit on her face, feeling her tongue right away as I gasp, holding my mouth at first, as Alison keeps licking and she’s still clothed, eating me out further.

Her hair smells of acryl paint when she’s pinned down kissing me against the floor and I get turned on by thinking of her drawing naked now, as she pulls me closer, rubbing her fingers against my hips, her tongue pushing me much closer to her and to desire.


I was really angry today and this is frankly posted to piss off and frankly I already feel insignificant every day of my life and because I don't fall under society's concerns when I say I do this to piss people off, I feel insignificant because I am ridiculed each day.

and frankly fuck you to all those transphobic cunts. 

And onwards, I had written a back story to this, so I thought it was too angry and radical, but fuck it, I've never held my tongue. My sincerest apologies to anyone who I didn't mean to hurt. I do care about women issues but not at the night when I get a blog dedicated to calling me a joke. 

So here it is, in all it's glory:

I feel like feminism and female expression is a problem I do not hold and I do not understand the struggles of granola crying and staying natural, excluding make-up. I would fight in a way, asking myself why and that women should be entitled to cut their hair short but in the end it only made me realize that I do not hold the granola views for I am not a woman, I seem to be further away from it, not understanding the gender I never seemed to be and I never held, which makes me question my sexuality or gender, since women I’ve been attracted to seemed to push it further, but nevertheless I am a feminist even if it is not my struggle, not my problems to hold in this light of feminism where the problems are very Americanized and consist of hating men, feminism has derailed, and I just get irritated by not being accepted by women for being a transman and their transmisandry. The struggle becomes that because we tell women that they can be anything, we still think we are women when we stop being one. 

Nevertheless, my attraction to women may exist due to my fluidity and they can bend my gender down to become one and that’s all.

Accepting that I am not one, makes it freer and easier to write to women whose struggles I do not understand at times and I feel like I am Almodovar explaining a drama with them and men, because you’re not all your characters but that doesn’t mean you can’t write about them and get to know them and sympathize and frankly I have maybe 20 ongoing stories and only 2 are about women.

If you want honesty, that is. 

So the women I write are just like any other character, really, only I am not one and do not identify as such. I find them interesting and they are built, in this case made from two problematic celebrities which made me get a plot I couldn’t get rid off, I was fascinated by doing a woman in an a sad open relationship, because we need to healthily discuss all relationships, poly relations fall apart like monogamous and we discover our sexuality through the years. 

Hate turns you bitter and shallow so I may sound like that at times because it so happens specifically if it’s aimed at you.

And this backstory was written when I was revolted and coming out as a trans man and I leave it as such. For the angry statement if you must.

Thank you for the support and reading fiction by a trans man. I honestly mean it.

And read my stories clearer instead of sending me random bullshit. I'm more open in my stories than I ever can. From small phrases like "I feel like this is the last winter we'll have" written in haste on my mobile to the desire between Alexa and Alison or the themes of cheating I explore through out, musing and trying to understand because I had a different story, I'm open. 

Thank you and fuck those which will stab my back because I'm a man. Suck it up. 



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