i’m TRAPPED.
TRAPPED in this place, these FOUR walls divided by those double doors. there’s not enough room in here to BREATHE!
i open up the windows and want to cry because i can’t GET. OUT. OF. HERE.
Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles,and even Ottis Redding can’t help me to feel any better.
clean.
cook.
eat.
sleep.
that’s all i’ve done, and i’m so SICKOFITALL!!
won’t anybody try to save me?
I feel like I was born in the wrong time, I feel as though today’s music, culture; today’s personality just doesn’t seem to be one to welcome me with open arms. I should’ve been born during the time of Duke Ellington, Ray Charles, Etta James, Ottis Redding-oh how I would’ve loved to fall in love under the milky twilight to a Frank Sinatra classic.
I should’ve been born during the times where women still wore dresses everyday, and men knew where their waist was. Where education was more rigorous than what it is now, and football games helped the world spin around. Back when war was inevitable, but we kissed Johnny good bye and waited on his every letter, and if Sue Ellen was going with Bobby, it was the most important thing to get her ready for their first date.
I should’ve been born into car hops, skirts, and lockers.
Jordyn was a nut, and Ginger was a nut, and together they made a cute couple.
Then Jordyn was a douche, and Ginger was a witch, and together they made clowns, naggers, teeth smackers, younger siblings, and gum chewers hide in annoyance. Ginger would nag, and Jordyn would yell, and Ginger would cry, and Jordyn would yell some more. Then Ginger would scream, and Jordyn would throw things in a hissy fit of rage. “You never give me any money!” Ginger would whine, “You can have ten dollars, but you better not buy cigarettes.” Jordyn would say. And then Ginger would nag, and Jordyn would yell. “You’re such a lazy slob, wash a dish!” he’d pout. “I’m never good enough for you!!!” she would whine. And then Ginger would nag, and Jordyn would yell; it was a never ending pattern. And that twisted little witch had us all believing she was in such a terrible place, and that he was so mean, and that he was so abusive. And I believed her, and Cameron told me it wasn’t true.
And then she got a “new” phone and a new tablet, and she was okay for just a minute.
And then she’d whisper lies into my our ears, and we started fighting, and Jordyn found out, and he told her he’d send her back to California. And then Ginger would nag and Jordyn would yell.
Then, once upon a time, they just HAD IT. And Ginger moved downstairs with Becky, and Becky is a whole other story for another day, and we moved in with Jordyn. And two weeks later, Ginger was on her happy way home, without a phone, and without Tigger-I wonder whatever happened to that feisty cat; and, of course she was miserable. Was there ever a moment when she wasn’t?
And Jordyn went into depression, and then he met G, oh lordy, but THAT is a story for a rainy day.
What about Cameron and I? Ha, well this isn’t our part of the story.
We drove. And we drove. And we drove.
And he held my hand and slipped his fingers into my shorts. And I grabbed at his thighs, desperate to pull over.
Past Poteet.
Past Jourdanton.
Down a curvy road, just turn around…pull over right here.
And i kissed him and he pulled my shirt off, pulled my bra down. My hands searched his body, and his skin on mine sent chills down my spine. And I kissed him, and he touched me.
So gentle, so passionate.
And I found that forbidden place and let my tongue dance around it before actually TASTING it. It teased my lips, and I preyed on it’s taste.
And I kissed him. And he touched me.
And I found that one thing we needed to make it happen, and he slipped it on, and i slid down onto it.
Back and forth.
Up and down.
And the sweat dripped off our bodies: my sweat mixing with his and his scent mixing with mine.
And the climaxes came, and he spilled onto my lips, and it was over.
And it was the best.
And I kissed him and he touched me.
And he sang to me, and I sang to him. And we found our clothes, and we sat and talked.
And then he kissed me. And I kissed him.
Touch my tralala
He won’t sleep with me. Its been months now, but he still finds it so difficult to sleep with me.
I want to make love to him, but he doesn’t like to. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I try so hard to be what he wants, to seduce him the way he wants, but nothing.
I’m only allowed to use hands and mouth, and if he says we’ll make love tomorrow, I have to remember not to believe him.
It kills me inside and I’m not sure whether he realizes it or not. I don’t know what to do anymore. He’s the only one I want. But I guess it’s not enough anymore.
I don’t think I’ll ever be enough for anyone; I wasn’t enough for either of my fathers, I wasn’t enough for my family, i wasn’t enough for him; I’m not even enough for myself anymore. Hopefully I find out today that its cancer.
The very first time he ever touched me, really TOUCHED ME, I lost my mind.
We sat in that backseat of my little hatchback, and we kissed. Passionately. Hot, sweet, harder, deeper, desperately. His hands searched my thighs, and my fingers rested in the brim of his boxers. It was so awkwardly smooth, so natural. It came so easily, and when his hands found what they were searching for, my fingers found his zipper. And as he touched what had been aching for him for so long, I took him into my hand and stroked.
The entire atmosphere in my little hatchback changed, our sweet smell filled the air, our breath fogged the windows, our body heat warmed the air surrounding my little hatchback. The seats were pushed forward as far as they could go to allow us the room we so desperately needed.
Those kisses, those hands, that smell, our bodies.
His hands, our tongues, our juices, that blanket.
Louder, faster, heavier, his breaths! I hear that breathing: faster, faster!, heavier, deeper!!
LOUDER. HARDER. FASTER. SLOWER.
That sigh of relief.
Done. Clean. That blanket.
He wiped his hands on that blanket, I wiped mine. We wiped the windows.
Winter wind, winter chill.
Just two teenage lovers cleaning their hands, kissing soft lips.
I realize now that we were all just playing house, Cameron, Jordyn, and I.
Jordyn was living the dream: he had his own apartment, full time job that paid well, and fiancée that loved him. He was very happy, that is, until his fiancée started making his life a living hell. And after he sent her back to California, everything went to shit. His finances went down the drain, his apartment fell apart, and his manager forgot where they came from and went on a power trip. He slipped into a state of depression, until he met Griselda; but that’s a different story (a waaaayyyyy different story).
Cameron and I started basically living with Jordyn, and everything was fantastic. Then I stopped cooking, and Cameron stopped trying, and we started drifting away; but that’s a different story (a waaaayyyy different story).
So, the dream ended up turning into a nightmare.
And then the nightmare turned into reality.
And now we’re all just kinda stuck.
