#womandom

[perpetuallyinbetween]

Chester

I’m sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on my bed enjoying my three favorite things in life: Justin Vernon, granny panties, and vodka. The scent coming up between my legs reeks of familiarity; a scent unique to pre-menstruation.Sadly, it brings me some hope. I drunkenly lost my virginity using the all star of contraception: pull out, so even the smallest, weirdest sense (scent) of consolation is welcome. Honestly, if I continue to worry about the possibilities of being pregnant, I’m almost positive the entire family-sized bag of Hot Cheetos I just consumed will morph into a Chester the Cheetah baby.

It ain't easy being cheesy.

Good thing I'm just easy. 

This is being nineteen.

This is my time to make the rest of my stupid decisions. I am undoing all of the mature and responsible decisions and life goals I made in my adolescence. I am pulling the thread of the sutures I’d sewn over my wounds of the world with a dexterity exceeding that of a seasoned surgeon. I am making spirit room for the urgency of my self-inflicted wounds. 

[perpetuallyinbetween]

undulations

Sometimes when I drink too much, I really want to dance with someone. I yearn to move my body in sync with another’s to the beat of an electronic song with a sexy lead vocal. I want somebody’s hands respectfully all over me, appreciating the beauty of my anatomy and loving me the only way I can’t love myself. Drawing me in slowly until I’m completely enveloped in their being.  Until we’re slowly swaying to our heartbeats and ragged breaths:  the encompassing sound of lust.

So I tip my glass back, text the next one night stand, and attempt an underwhelming emulation, in which the lack of reciprocation leaves me with tangled hair and a remembered yearning for celibacy. My inspiration for contacting this person completely erased. 

Until next time.