They say that the sex is good if you laugh during it.
Does that mean every single time even, if you're gagged and it's a BDSM act?
I throw around so many words lightly in my mind, as I just look at him, knowing that worry will only hit me right after the morning. But for the night, I'm fine.
But what if I had filled some quota for being loved? What if I can't make more people fall for me?
My mind just keeps rushing to every act and every turn, making it all like a giant puzzle put together where I can only see his face and wonder how will the rest fill out and turn out. Once I walk out, I'm intoxicated from the whole act and tender, trying not to think much of any consequences and knowing that my morals had gone out of the window because of a pair of darker eyes and curly hair. It's about low self esteem and hearing dreams call it a temporary fix.
How pitiful is it to actually start liking someone you hooked up with once? Where does it all end? Must all have an ending? I light a cigarette just to walk further, trying not to think of wives and how our nights should have been spent wrapped in their legs rather than each other's, symbolizing some heterosexual photo where everyone is paired up with the opposite gender like kindergarten to make it look cute.
I keep shaming myself even if he had run the tips of his fingers all over my body by the end of it and I felt passion all over again, something I hadn't had with Kate, making me wonder about our marriage far too much. Maybe it's because no matter how many times I replay it I still cheated and somehow people never find trust in each other. No matter how much champagne is poured over one's head during a wedding and how much cake is stuffed, love ends up dying and it will end at the shy motion to leave before the other partner arrives. There is always shame in every action when all turns to colour from deep depression.
Days pass and it all becomes aggression, a deep desire of wishing of some romance upon oneself that ends up unravelling into another ball of yarn which isn't even a perfect ball, it's just a mess and somehow you can still properly knit a sweater out of it. So does it matter how messy it once was? Can you even label the ball of yarn a ball of yarn then? I don't know where I'm swimming or where I'm heading.
All is whirlwind and it should become a full blown affair where I ask myself with nails dragging upon the skin, what's holding me down? I feel like all I get is emotions with no actions, just words getting thrown harsher and feelings being held down by horses. I can't even be myself anymore. I don't recognize the depression and anxiety I had once faced. It all takes a turn from being suicidal, because now it's all the fear of some incoming love which can't really and shouldn't knock on the door because it's not wanted here-
Instead it's all like holding hands above water. Never to drown and feelings of failed pasts impending because the sea is too damn shallow now. There is no point in dancing anymore either. I don't know for how long can one step aside.
I would knock on his door as he tells me to and I know far too much.
I would never show up on his doorstep just to say that if the cards were played right I would allow love to enter my doorstep. I haven't blushed in years, while brushing my teeth and thinking how long has it been that I had new feelings stir in me and ponder to look at Kate, wondering how deep does all love go. Do we discard old love just to consume someone else and spit them out like gum, used to the flavor?
If love really was a losing game, we wouldn't be holding cards at hand, but do we even have cards? It's really just tumbling and running in a forest at night, not knowing the stars, what stories they tell because you're far too busy asking of my own.
Love is a see-saw. I wouldn't know it now.
Why does one morning change everything? Why is there so much desire to break the coffee pot with the wrongly served coffee?
Love is a see-saw, I get scared of both sides.
There are days when I can't think at all and all is clouded with no judgement, because there's no thoughts. I feel like I start losing the grasp of things. I feel like there is no point in putting ink to paper. Because everything can get scattered so easily and somehow me having a glimpse of luck makes no sense, because someone has it worse even if I have too many torments and I was contemplating suicide at the tip of a blade.
Even the thoughts become jealous of themselves and all becomes far too close to home. There's a desire to live until there is a next time. But the thoughts keep going on and on, because one doesn't ask if the other would like somehow.
When do thoughts become destructive and stop being a journal? I light a cigarette, not feeling Kate at all today and knowing that she would never see me fade, because when you're in love you don't see others fade. There's enough colour to share in the mind. There's enough fear to hide.
It all becomes a dreadful lukewarm wait, where I don't know where my feelings go and why is there a lame see-saw in the first place. Depression hits again, no matter how many cigarettes I smoke and how many people I see crossing the damn street. They all look the same because I don't know them. It's all terribly messy because I wanted it so. And one can never guess the future.
I hit an odd slump where I caught myself thinking... Damn, I've never written anything like what I'm experiencing for once. So I ended up being stuck, because there was no story I could choose to pour my feelings into. This story was the wisest choice because Blunderbuss is everything really, it's non-linear, fanfiction of itself and whatnot. If I have an idea and I have nowhere to put it, it goes directly into Blunderbuss if it's a short of short story of it's own which I want to have meaning.
So it picks up the original line of the story with a different, intense story telling now.
I really enjoy just baring my soul in the backstories, but now it's a bit different. I think I've grown far more secretive, I guess. I had my heart broken not so long ago and I really put myself out there because that's how I deal with heartbreak and yeah. It's been quite a ride so far, so I kind of wanted to strip my feelings down immensely so that I could also proceed onto other projects and see where else my feelings could go after this.
I've been really battling anxiety and depression big time, so bear with me. If you have tips on how to fight anxiety, please share xD
So I'm in this place where I'm very protective over what's going on yet really baring my soul out there that I even felt shy and uncomfortable showing my work to Callie who has a full on idea what's going on with my feelings and the whole thing because I really kind of bared everything.
This is all new to me, like terribly new even if I always thought I was experienced in relationships and whatnot after being in so many and with people of different genders. It's the first thing that I've properly wandered into after coming out as gay and male I guess. I've had crushes and dreadful fails, so this is all new. I even didn't want to do a backstory, but I don't really erase a lot of what I've written, so here I am.
But then a writer will write and make it autobiographical by the end of the day.
Now, onto the story. I know, I haven't had proper backstories for a while and I'm shying away from one. But then I spilled a lot already.
I think it's one of the most true sayings that the sex is good if you laugh, it doesn't mean really every single time, but it's important. I kind of really agree with that even if I'm into bdsm and whatnot.
I did this in quite a few sittings and my last sitting, was really while I felt a bit numb and depressed so the ending could've been better I guess, but it's not something I can erase from something autobiographical because that's what I was feeling now, since I just wrote that.
And of course many things were bent to match the story and continue the main arc.
I actually blushed for the first time in years while I was talking to Callie, so I used that. Have another confession. xD
I hope you enjoyed it and I just decided that if I would force myself to write this to publish it, I would actually get some proper writing done and I really wanted this to be out. I'm sorry for the long breaks and I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please tell me so