A perfect night

     Perfect nights can be rare. The ones were lucky enough to experience can't be copied, yet the chase in of itself can lead to beautiful disasters, broken hearts, shame but it's still fucking worth it. Here's my idea of a perfect night or at least a pretty darn good one.

     I like to get really drunk when I'm hanging out with you. I'll hang out with you in a car with a loud radio. I used to have a car with speakers that fucking slapped and when the music was full blast, the bass would make my ass jiggle when I bent over in the back seat. I like rock and roll playing while we drink and smoke cigarettes. I like you giving me a small snapshot of who you are and what youre up to when you arent here with me. I want you to make me laugh and I want to make you smile too. That's why we're together. To have a good time. I dont like to notice how fast or slow time is going. Alcohol helps. Im always a little stoned anyway and that only helps make me horny. Why else would I be drinking with you in some car if I wasn't going to fuck you, like really? I'd be wearing Jean shorts and probably a black tank top, my typical slut bag attire for the summer because perfect nights are easier to have during that season, it's science. It'd make it easier to climb on top of you while your sitting in the front seat. We'd start kissing, passionately and you'd hold my waist while I grinded my ass around on your lap. You'd work your hands up my body, and reached your hands up my shirt and pull it up. I want to feel your teeth graze my nipples and run your tongue up over my titties. I want you to run your fingers through my hair and pull it, I want you to run your tongue up to my bare neck and start biting it there. I want a dark mark the next morning where you sucked on me, right in the spot under my ear that gives me goosebumps and soaks my panties. I want you to stick your fingers inside me through the bottoms of my shorts so you can feel how wet I am. I'll moan into your neck until you pull out your fingers and stick them in my mouth and make me suck off my juices. I want to look you in the eye so you can see the other side of me that takes over at this point. I don't want anything anymore. Now I need it. 

     We have to get in the backseat. I prefer banging on pleather or whatever it's called. When I eventually squirt I like to be able to see the damage. I like my face violently pressed into it. Before all that, I have to show you how good I am at sucking too, I won't be upstaged by a hickey. I pull down your pants and pull out your dick and put my mouth over it, working it in and out of my mouth. You were hard before but I can feel you getting much more solid now and I take it it and out and play with your tip with my tongue. Eventually enough drool comes out of my mouth over your dick and I can slip your dick in and out of my throat. I always gag when I do this but I've practiced and manage not to throw up. Your hands are holding my hair while I'm doing this to you, unsure. I know you don't want it to stop. Your going to cum, I can tell so I keep going until I feel your veins pulsing and I know your going to bust. When I feel your load start coming, I pull out your dick onto my tongue hanging out of my mouth now and let your cum drip off my tongue onto my lips, and hopefully some of it drips on my titties because now I'd hope you'll lay me down on my back and start eating out my pussy. I like being pushed into a corner with one leg up over the head holder in the back and the other propped up on a frontseat while you lick my clit and stick your fingers back up in me. I hope your cum got on my titties because it makes me super hot rubbing it into the skin of my titties, it gets even more hot if you help me. I'm a small lady, you can easily reach my breasts if you grab them from under my thighs while you bury your tongue in me. It feels amazing but I need to get fucked now. I grab you by your hair and pull you closer to my face and let you kiss me while your easing your body over mine, that sexy embrace that happens when your getting ready to slide your cock inside me. I'm so wet I can feel it all over the seat under me and your dick comes into me so easily. I let out a cry letting you know to fucking pound it and you don't disappoint. You start thrusting into me at first as I'm on my back but we switch up and I end up back on your lap, naked and riding you as you still hold me, kiss me. Nothing matters. I wonder if I'm falling in love. I don't want to look you in the eyes anymore just in case. I turn myself around and keep riding you reverse cowgirl and you play with my ass.

     Then you bend me over the center console, my waist tucked between the seats and my arm grabbing onto the steering wheel, holding myself steady while I get fucked like that from behind. The safety brake needs to be pulled on and the car better be in park. I can feel all of you and it doesn't matter if I look at you or not, I feel you pulsating in me and I know your cumming in me and I'm so sure it must be love. We moan together and you pull me onto you in the back seat and you just hold me like that for a few moments, as if I'm gonna tear out of the car into the woods, which honestly, sometimes yeah for real. Not this time though, I'm stuck on you in that instance. I get up though, it's over for a minute and I put my clothes back on and you laugh at me for that but you probably still at least put on your boxers. We open another beer there in the backseat and sit close to each other, that half cuddle thing that happens in back seats. This happens the whole night and it's disappointing when it comes to an end. This is my perfect night though so for that sake, we're by a river or a lake and we stumble out as the sun rises. We watch it come over the horizon. We might hold holds. My feet will be in the water. The bits of gravel or sand between my toes feels best this time of day. I'm not sad it's over. I smile as I run my fingers over my bruising neck. You come closer and put your lips gently to it. "I'm so sorry, babe, this is a stupid question but what's your name again?" And I crack up, that's the deal sealer on whether that night was actually great or not, because the better nights I'm not focused on something as small as names. Our names don't even matter anymore, I'm crazy about you. Now I won't let you go, I literally can't. 

     As we hold each other, I can feel your mood shift to unease and now it's time to shut it down. The sun on my face washes away all my charms and I fade into a sickly hue while my hair darkens to a mossy near black-green color. You look in horror upon me, mixed with a terrified amazement. It's an ugly type of beautiful change, to where at first you assume you've been drugged. I look back at you and wish it was that easy. I know how this ends and I long that you could be so lucky, that I could walk with you back to the car and do what lovers do, like get breakfast or FaceTime or whatever. Unfortunately i know this perfection cannot be recreated and you must pay the piper for that. 

     I smile, hopefully to help ease your mind as I grab you wrist. As I do I can feel your pulse rapidly beating. You try to pull away but it doesn't convince either of us. When you gaze back into my eyes, I show you everything. The men before you, the women before me and everything in between and you understand fighting me is useless. I comfort you as you drop to your knees in emotional agony but I want to make this quick for you. I fucking love you. I grab you by your throat and now when I look into your eyes, you see the same woman from the night before, then as swiftly as that, nothing.

     I see a different perspective. My long, sharp nails are buried in your neck right in the area when the hickey you gave me is but instead of a bruise your veins running through your neck are spraying my monstrous appearance with blood. I hold you and weep, my tears eventually washing up your face to the point I can see your glassy eyes still peering, but into nothing. I can't go with you but I can take you with me. I put your lifeless body into the river, in that sexy embrace that lovers do. We sink to the bottom of the river together. I show you my playground. My watery grave that I now share with you. Welcome home.

     

Secrets and why I'm fine with being alone

      It's a strange feeling realizing when a story you planned to share as an old adult may as we be told now, the reason being to protect the people in the story from being judged by anyone who may know them. They've all been gone for a while now, making the feeling that much weirder. I met a young man yesterday and we got to talking and he told me a story very similar to mine, though his family really dropped the ball in his situation. That's his business though. With 23 and me and that, this same story has been increasingly more familiar. I'm talking about biological family, more specifically parents and the rhyming history behind them. I don't really like thinking about mine all that much honestly. Thinking about still having them is like looking into the life of a completely different person these days. They were really good parents, remembering back but the awful ending really overshadows that fact. My mother was a smart woman and she certainly wanted the best for us. She had me enrolled in college classes and that the moment I turned like 12, the age our community college started excepting students. In her mind I had the possibility of being someone important, like a doctor or some shit. She was probably right. I understand now that she was pretty complex and that's probably what drove her into what was thankfully a short and quick madness. Not long before her death when I in the middle of my freshman year in high school, she started drinking, though she had been abusing prescription meds before and during that. I don't know for sure, but my dad said it was because of that, her heart couldn't take it. That night was terrible and traumatizing and a little over a year later, my younger sisters and I were left orphaned. 

      My father's suicide was not seen coming. He was absolutely struggling with my mom passing but to most of us, he was a fucking savage. He kept himself healthy and was really involved with martial arts, diving, some random arts he thought were cool, hunting, other stuff too like he was actually very versatile although maybe socially slow but my mom was talkative enough to where it wasn't very noticeable. That's my dad though and I read his last words and found him cold and frozen the next morning where he wanted to be. He wanted the best for us too and he believed we would have turned out better without him too. Maybe he was right too, that's the thing for me. We'll never know. As I've gotten older, it's mattered less and less. I consider myself and my sisters pretty successful these days. Not like monetarily necessarily, but the lives we live now are nothing to scoff at in my opinion. 

     These days I'm more thankful for the fact my dad even gave us the option to try and live on. He could have easily taken us out the night he went and I don't know if the thought crossed his mind to take us but he didn't. Those stories of family murder-suicides seem very common and that makes me just angry, I guess. Those stories hit different surely. 

     Before all that, there was a death of a guy named Brandon. I was about 8 or 9 at the time and my mom pulled me into her bedroom, kinda crying. A couple days earlier he and my dad got in this big fight and I don't think he was around, I don't remember. She explained that there was a possibility this guy who just died in a car accident might be my biological father and my dad didn't know but she had to tell him, Like since his family wanted to meet me all of a sudden and I don't know, I guess know me? I said I would because even by then I understood that they were probably hurting as family's tend to do during unexpected tragedy and frankly, it didn't seem like home life would take a great turn with that shit happening. She also gave me the option of getting a DNA test to see if my dad was my dad. I told her no and she said my dad didn't want to know either. I still don't want to know. I made pleantries with Brandon's mom and family but that relationship with the family was never pursued. I've seen them around here and there. They're still in the area. If they recognize me at all, they don't show it and neither do I. 

     This was all years ago. I still won't be putting my DNA online. There are things I don't want to know and I'm glad I have that information to make that decision. So many people are lied to it seems like. I'm only a year older than my mom was when she birthed me. Literally if I was pregnant at the time of me writing this, i could confidently say I wouldn't know for sure who the dad hypothetically would be. It would be nearly an absolute repetition of how I was born and the secrets behind that, and even the secrets of how my mom was born herself. My grandma didn't even raise her. Our choices may be different but the situation would remain the same. That's probably a toxic thing to be running in the family. Lies and coverups, that's just alot. And really, we're all assholes anyway I'd rather not deal with mini ones. As for boyfriends or marriage, there are clear patterns of us making men crazy. Interest is suddenly lost. Their insecurities eat them alive. I'm tired of hurting people. Those are stories for another occasion though. Maybe this helped create a bad apple now. I'm not really bad, I just come from bad things. Like that Hollywood Undead song. The people I'm closest with in this world are the same way. Emphatic conversations about tragedy, growing up fast, and selling ass is a comfort that's sad to need, but to get is a blessing. I'm glad I have those choices now.

Weird bummer rant

 I just saw this documentary on Netflix and watching it really rattled me a bit. The movie was an examination of hook-up culture and everyone's feelings about it, mostly professors, British party douche bags, and college students. It was shot down at one of those big spring break parties also, probably to intensify how shitty giant groups of young people can be. The big ending was an overview of an awful gang rape that happened right on Florida's crowded beach. How people are raised and how everyone is confused and the media is awful. That wasn't all the rattling to me though, it went pretty much as expected, although it's wildly concerning they got some random dude on the beach say verbatim, "oh yeah, all these girls are fucking sluts, just give them a couple vicaden, a percaset, and a few shots and yeah their panties just fuckin drop" which last I checked is at least a prelude to date rape but like, what do I know?  

    The rattling thing to me though was how new they made all of it sound. They dove hard into gender norms and how that come into play but I don't remember any mention of personal accountability. That was the biggest lesson I remember being stressed in history classes when we were learning about nazi Germany in school. Large groups of people will do terrible shit like torture burn millions of people and participate in gang rapes and that. It's literally probably a science by now. So that the documentary still had divisions, I guess it'd be called. The problem that wasn't addressed was why there were so many people just recording the rape, and no one did anything. I mean, everyone went off about how terrible it was of course and blamed hook up culture. It is terrible. I hope those people feel awful. And they usually do in the aftermath. They should have focused more on that.

    The story reminded me of Kitty Genovese, a woman who was brutally raped in her own neighborhood out in the middle of the street over somewhere on the east coast in 1964. It was like early evening and she screamed and screamed for help. So many of her neighbors could see but nobody came to help her. Not one person even called the police. It was like in Brooklyn or somewhere like that, many apartments facing the street. Many of the residents just watched as kitty was defiled and eventually killed by that bastard. Not their concern but what a show. She was a good woman too. Just trying to get by. If she wasn't a "good" woman, I know I wouldn't have been able to Google the story later on. 

    Hook-up culture is my fave, I'm partial to it. I can't actually say I've even had a hookup where it could be compared as assault. It's usually someone i know and/or love where i probably  could say things have gotten out of hand. I'm actually just realizing that documentary wasn't even really about hook-up culture, that's straight up rape-culture and it's being used to discriminate against being a hoe and having fun. The real lesson is a personal choice we should all make and think hard about that's not necessarily partial to rape. If we see someone doing someone wrong, do we take action? The strongest ones at least try in my opinion and the chances are great we all have to make that choice someday. Some of us have to make it a few times over already, and if you have I think you'll understand what I'm on about. The times I chose to do nothing are the times that leaves me the most sick with myself. It was so easy though and I get it. I don't want that for myself. I don't want people around me being victimized and I sure as fuck don't want to be that asshole filming it either. I'm not a scared girl anymore. I'm a woman now and I aim to be a good one. A strong one and how I see fit. I hope other folks feel the same too. 

     

      

Where art thou, Eddy?

 Boys and booze always have been and will likely always be my downfall. Anytime I've ever been in some kind of troubles, it can be said with near absolute certainty at least one of those two graces are involved. The best and the worst times always involve both, and this one night that turned into a different night leaves me with questions, even after nearly seven years. Odd enough is why I even want answers. Booze and boys is often all I need to know and knowing anything else is usually just cringy and/or unnecessary. I was 19, I don't even know about Eddy. I know I enjoyed his company and at the time, that was enough. 

      That was the year I agreed to drive my younger sisters into San Francisco for the middle ones fasion thing she had planned for a few days, like a workshop or some shit. To save on money, I got us a room in downtown Oakland. Oakland sounds alot worse than what it was at the time, I don't know. Downtown seemed nice and the hotel was pretty cool. Cheap but old style with many rooms. We went and saw the Harbour and that. Being with my sisters and steadily seeing someone back home (not steadily like a boyfriend, steadily like a dude with extreme apathy I'd fuck a couple times a week), I had no plans on meeting anyone but that changed about the second day when I went to the parking garage for a smoke. 

      Eddy was down in the garage at the same time and we got to eyeing each other. He wore a ball hat and probably was smoking menthol. I think he told me he was 24 then and worked laying power lines or something. He was in Oakland for work. We got to talking and he asked me to come out with him. The bar was only up the street, though I was underage. He just bought me beers and I didn't even have to go near the bar. He really liked that country bar there, that's where we started. He actually reminded me of the dude I was seeing back home except fun and actually nice to me. And he had a tongue piercing, which embarrassed him to show me but I liked it, you know,I ain't stupid, I hear tales of how good that shit feels! I'm not all that smart, I suppose, going with random guys really anywhere I guess and getting drunk either them, like I watch crime shows and that. He did harp on me a little about that too and that's really more common for me than not. 

       He didn't ever complain about it too much again we made out as passionately as we could in a babymama Honda civic, which was mine at the time. He had me in his lap with the seat leaned back and I could feel his tongue ring in and around my tongue. I can still remember his hands moving up under my shirt and pulling my ass closer over and over on his dick, which I could feel was Hella hard under his jeans. I slid my pants off on top of him and he pulled his partway down. I left on my underwear but I was able to just pull the middle part to the side so he could enter me and I could ride on him. I don't remember having to ride him long at all before he slightly pushed me and came over my lower stomach where it dripped down over my pussy and ran down the middle if both of my thighs. Car sex is one of those rushes to me though where even if it isn't very long, if it's done right it still feels fucking awesome. I was hooked on him then and we kept texting after my sisters and I left Oakland. He told me he didn't have any social media. Thats where my questions began and end. I can never find him again and I likely wont. Would I even want to? I'd think so. 

    Our ending was stupid. It's so stupid, I'll just skip to it because the next story I write about Eddy is that actual good shit and I don't want to taint that story. About a week after our second and last meet up, I lost my phone and lost his number. I didn't have Google contacts or none of that set up. I didnt even think to write his number down. I never heard from him again and didn't know how to track him down. I don't know his last name. Or even how old he really was. I don't know. I ended up dating the apathetic, rude version of him and stuck that out a bit before I fell in love with some other whole guy from college. I did like him though and it's unfortunate about the stupid ending.