Heartbreak Nymphomania » the Emperor

Presence & Acceptance

Wilhelmina Wang — Sun, 09 May 2010 16:26:30 +0000

… are the two things that I want the most right now, from a lover. Or from anyone I’m close to, actually.

This post is made up of edited excerpts of an email exchange I’ve been having with the Emperor. I’m just sharing it here because I’d like to see if anyone has an opinion on it, or had experiences similar to this they wanted to share. I think I want what everyone in this world is looking for, in some shape or form.

—

I am a very lonely person. Today, I was thinking about how it’s been ages since I was next to someone and felt like they were fully there with me. Completely present in every fiber of their being. Lately, I’ve been very aware of being in the same room – same bed with someone, even – and feeling such distance. And thinking that it’s not so much that we’re there with each other, than it is that we both happen to be in the same place at the same time. Right now, I don’t feel like anybody is so much a part of my life, or me a part of theirs, than we are simply bystanders of each other’s lives.

I also want very much to let people close to me. Really let them in. It’s hard first of all to find someone to trust with that much of myself, and then there’s the issue of feeling like I’m forcing lots of baggage on someone. It’s a weighty act for the other person to be able to see me else completely. I would imagine it to be an unwanted burden many times.

I was talking to Sir a while ago, and he said something like, “it’s no good to have a partner you can’t unleash yourself on.” And for me that applies to close friends or close… anyone, as well. I want someone to just be able to take and accept me in all my ridiculousness, but I end up feeling guilty for not filtering myself in case they won’t be able to handle it.

More and more, I’m realizing the intimacy that comes from the power, violence and extreme acts that constitute BDSM. I’ve had little tastes of it, and want so much to experience it with someone on a deep level, but have no idea how to find it.

I want to meet someone and look at them and think: I know you. And to look at them and realize they’re thinking the same thing. That we understand each other without having to say anything; that we are the same.

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Goddess (Valkyrie): 1/2

Wilhelmina Wang — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 14:30:11 +0000

[Press Play]

You’ve known her for more than half a year; and you’ve slept with almost everyone who you’ve seen in her immediate vicinity by now. Well, not everyone, but it feels like it. These were people who you weren’t not attracted to, but they didn’t drive you particularly crazy, either. They were… comfortable. You liked them well enough, but didn’t like them so much that you’d be disappointed if they turned you down.

She was always the one you wanted the most, which was probably why you could never bring yourself to approach her. You remember seeing her dancing at Zeta Mu’s disco party that one time: tall and awkwardly graceful, like a swan who hadn’t quite learned how to cut cleanly through the water. The press of people made the dancehall hot, and her short brown hair was stuck to her pale skin. Sweat dripped in small rivulets down her neck. This picture will be forever burned into you mind: her shaking her bangs out of her face, glistening beads of moisture flying in the strands’ wake.

She’s renders your alcohol-induced uninhibition absolutely useless. You want to kiss her, tell her how gorgeous she is (the words are on the tip of your tongue), you want to do something but, as drunk as you are, you can’t. You know you’d be too hurt if she rejected you.

The steps you took were tiny. You put your hand on her waist and pulled her close, moving and swaying to the music for mere minutes until the heat rushed to your face and you pulled away. She didn’t follow you…

That night you desperately pulled that slightly dumpy, shy butch girl into kiss; daydreaming as she went down on you in your bed; imagining other people in her place; hating yourself for it afterwards.

Maybe, you ask yourself, you’re working your way up the ladder. Screwing up your courage to finally approach her. But you know all that isn’t really true.

—

It’s all the Emperor’s fault, really. At least that’s what you tell yourself. In actual fact, you were the one who finally caved and confessed your feelings to her. Once again, it all started with one too many plastic cups of booze at Zeta Mu.

“By the way, I’m insanely attracted to you.” That’s what you said. And not even to her face – you texted her and then left before anything could happen.

The next day, she still hadn’t replied. This was probably her way of indicating her lack of interest. You’d expected as much. Oddly, you didn’t mind. But you felt immensely relieved, like a large weight at been lifted off your chest. (You realized that your desire had been sitting inside of you for all this time; clamouring so loudly you felt as though you’d burst.) She said nothing about it when she saw you next, and you both acted as normal.

…But it didn’t end there, like you’d thought it would. When the Emperor came to visit, he bombarded you with questions about your “newfound” attraction. (It had been one of the first things she’d mentioned to him upon his arrival.) And then he decided that you and she would be a very good idea, so started attempting to not-so-subtly get the two of you together. (As in: telling her more about you and picking you up, unceremoniously dumping you in front of her, and announcing that the two of you should hurry up and hook up already.)

Nothing happened until two weeks after the Emperor had left. It started with a few emails. Then lunch. Then the inevitable conversations about your views on sex, hooking up, having a “fluid” sexuality, women (and how frustrating they could be). You can usually never tell when someone is interested in you, but once the “sexual & relationship history” conversation happens, that’s a pretty good indicator. You felt like you were being evaluated…

To be continued…

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Some ruminations on roles

Wilhelmina Wang — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 14:08:55 +0000

Having more experiences with different lovers, researching a bit more about BDSM on Fetlife and starting Jay Wiseman’s “SM 101″ has lead me to start thinking about my (very, very slowly) emerging BDSM identity, again. Granted, labels are only of a very basic use here; in fact I’m highly tempted to conclude that my identity in regards to BDSM will continue to be in flux and fluid.

I’m always slightly bemused by the large number of people (close friends and acquaintances) who have me clearly pegged as dominant. It’s not like people’s opinions necessarily have any bearing on reality, but it’s still interesting to make a note of them.

If I were to be most truthful, I’d have to declare myself as either a switch, or unsure. In my head, though, I’m most inclined to think of myself as a Domme rather than a switch or a submissive – yet the amount of time I spend in a dominant role during sex is probably only a tiny percentage. I suppose I just want to become that in a more permanent way, in contrast to the other roles/identities.

Lots of things stand in the way of me growing into a Domme identity, or make me hesitate to claim that identity outright. I’m a pretty insecure person. I second guess myself a lot. I’m easily embarrassed. I’m almost never able to bring myself to do something to a person that they might not want or that might be humiliating for them, or “force” them to do something that I want. I have a hard time expressing my desires and asking for things. Sometimes I’m not even sure what my desires are. Most of the time I can’t even approach people I’m attracted to unless I’m fairly certain that the feeling is mutual. All of those things don’t seem to be good domly qualities, even though I know that all sorts of people can be dominants, that dominants can be insecure, and that people can be very different in the bedroom than out of it.

But then there are times that I get a crystal clear picture in my head of what I want to do to someone. When those urges hit me, it’s like an ecstatic rush to the head. I become so stuck on the idea that I can hardly think about anything else. I remember that one night all I wanted was to walk up to Girl and interrupt whatever she was doing by kissing her hard; and another night when I desperately wanted to 69 with the Professional, then bend him over and fuck him roughly in the ass until his orgasm came gasping and screaming out of him.

Whether or not I act on what I feel is another issue entirely. I very rarely do.

Sure, I’ve topped or bordered-on-dominated people before. Godamnit, I belted the Emperor in front of a huge roomful of people, and I’ve cuffed K to his bedpost and then breast-tortured him. The thing is that those ideas were fully theirs. I enjoyed the fuck out of it, but I was still the one following orders, so to speak. Most of the time, my wants or fantasies actually center around what a partner has already told me that they want done to them. It’s almost as if I’m too afraid to even think beyond those things. My biggest fear when I want to do something to someone is what if the other person doesn’t want that too?

In spite of all this, I’ve found that a few things that bring out the Domme side of me. The first thing is trust; when I’m so close to someone that I know they’ll accept me no matter what seemingly bizarre desire I confide to them.

The second thing is brattiness. Mostly in hot, bitchy women. There was this girl in my fraternity who stands out in my mind very clearly. She was blond, slim, gorgeous, and perfect – like a doll. She’d act all cutesy and then turn right around and bitch you out from behind a serpentine smile. I can’t remember how many times I wanted to grab her thick, blond hair in fistfulls, smudge her lipglossed smile off her face, and fuck her so hard that by the end of it she’d be boneless in my arms.

(Yeah, that obviously never happened. She’s straight not to mention taken.)

The third thing is alcohol. Yeah… drunk dominance sounds like a horrible idea. Alcohol just knocks down the walls of my inhibitions like nothing else.

And while I have issues with dominance, I don’t claim submissive or switch because… well. Let me put it this way. I want to be spanked, bound, scratched, roughed up, immobilized, and used. The first time I was tied up, in a completely non-sexual context might I add, I coasted down into sub/bottomspace so quickly it was like magic: I was fortunate enough to attend a bondage workshop given by Dov, and the night afterwards one of my fellow frat members wanted to practice tying a chest harness on me, so I let him. While he was binding me, I became very quiet and still, looking down at my shoes. Once my wrists were cinched securely behind my back, and pulled tightly upwards towards my shoulder blades due to the shortness of the rope he was using, I found myself in a secure, calm, comforting, almost Zen-like state. I stayed like that for a while. Then someone offered to untie me, and I reluctantly let them.

My point is, while I want all of that (and more), I’m not exactly very… submissive, per se. Case in point, when the Professional was spanking me, I lay face down on the bed for him, I immobilized my arms for him, I took every one of his swats without trying to escape, but when he tried to verbally embarrass or humiliate me, I didn’t have any of it. I gave him snark and sass and started baiting him right back. In fact, if someone tried to sneer at me and call me their slut, I can see myself responding not obediently, but with an empathic “fuck you!”

One thing I can say for sure though (this is starting to turn into a rambly laundry list… forgive me) is that I’m definitely very comfortable in my bottom identity (clearly) and my top identity. God, I love topping people. Learning what turns them on and leaving them gasping for more, teasing and pleasuring and hurting and pushing them to sensory heights they’ve never felt before, playing their bodies like an instrument, knowing just the right buttons to press and the right way to fuck with their heads… it’s quite wonderful.

My sexuality seems like it just continues to grow in different ways, and I’m excited to see what I’ll find out next. Hopefully I’ll find dominants who are empathetic, conscientious and strong enough for me to really feel their control (an interesting note: up until now the best dominance I’ve received has been from people who identify as submissive, i.e. the Emperor and the Professional), and submissives who I trust and whose psyches I can sink deeply into.

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Blood

Wilhelmina Wang — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 21:40:01 +0000

During the flight, I started menstruating.

Sort of ironic, if you think about it. But the same time, I was relieved. I had been thinking about you and wasn’t sure if I was ready to see you. If I wanted to see you at all. And the blood gave me an excuse – an excuse to not sleep with you; to not let you touch me. To not jump into anything that I would perhaps not want.

When I met you again, after a 4 month breach, I realized that something had changed. I didn’t burn for you as much. Wait – that doesn’t make much sense. What I’m trying to say is that I’m still in love with you as I ever was and I still yearn to touch you, but I can’t ignore the ebb and flow of life and its irresistible force.

So the truth is? That the reason I feel lukewarm towards you now is not because my love has lessened – it is because it no longer makes sense. It no longer has a place in the real world. And I have to be content to let it flow away.

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“Body like a battleaxe”

Wilhelmina Wang — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 04:55:57 +0000

Remember when I said that the Emperor sent me a series of hot emails that I very much wanted to post, but decided not to? Well, I think I can get around the whole consent issue by writing the imagined scenario from my point of view instead.

—

[via Viviane]

“Were I to dom you, Wilhelmina…” he said in his email…

We’re in that room, in the basement. I’m sitting in the middle of the floor on a stool with my hands on my knees; and even though I’m fully clothed I feel completely naked. You’re circling me, slowly, and I know you don’t want me to move so I’m trying not to, but it’s difficult. Your gaze is so intense and it makes me feel self-conscious. I want to look away, but I can’t…

Finally you say something.

“Close your eyes.”

Relief. My eyes flutter shut but almost immediately I want to open them again. I want to know what you’re going to do. But I make myself keep them shut; I make myself obey.

I gasp in surprise when I feel your fingertips lightly trace along my shoulders and up my neck. You’re barely touching me but every movement is electric. I can hear you breathe now, as you bring your cheek close to mine. Not even skin brushing skin. Merely the fine hairs on your face displacing mine.

I’m tense. I want to move but I’m utterly unable to.

And then you’re dipping your hands under my shirt, easing it up my body and over my head. My bra soon comes off as well. A few seconds of breathless nothing – I can feel your gaze raking over my naked back – and then you’re sweeping my long hair over my left shoulder.

My eyes are still clamped shut when I feel your mouth on the small of my back. I yelp. Your soft, warm lips and sharp teeth graze my skin all the way up my spine until you reach my neck. At which point you bite and suck hard at my tender shoulders and throat. Tasting me.

I groan, letting my head tilt back ever so slightly, feeling myself start dripping. God, I want you so bad, and I want to tell you as much…

Then your hands. They press against my quivering thighs, run over them and my hips, my stomach and stop at my naked breasts. You tease my nipples between… your thumb and forefinger, probably… so lightly, while you continue to bite me roughly enough to make me cry out.

“Are you aroused?” Your voice is velvet and liquid sex and dark, dark chocolate.

“Yes,” I mutter. You pull me to my feet briefly to ease my skirt and panties off.

“Then touch yourself – tease your clit out. Don’t masturbate. Just make yourself ready.”

My mouth is a thin, straight line. I’ve only touched myself in front of another person once, and that was only for a few brief seconds. Nevertheless, I move one hand from my knee to reach in between my legs and rub myself. Soon I’m swelling, standing to attention. Meanwhile, you’re moving my legs, spreading them apart, and tying my ankles securely to the back legs of the stool.

You’re in front of me; I can feel it. The silence twists itself around us like a snake. My eyelids have flickered so many times since you told me to keep them closed but I’ve managed to not fully open them. Yet.

I feel your hand at the small of my back, your breath on my vulnerable chest and then – god – your tongue on my nipples, laving one, then the other, and then your lips wrap around it instead. Sucking. I try hard not to whimper, biting my bottom lip hard.

You stand back up again and I’m panting and you’re pulling my hands away from where I was still caressing myself. And you bring my arms behind my back, tying my wrists together as firmly as my ankles. Before I can even hazard a guess at what’s going to come next I feel your tongue, again – on my clit now – slick and wet and quick and maddening. I swear you’re making figure-eights with your tongue. (If you’re supposed to be domming me, why does it still feel like I’m being serviced?) I want desperately to thrust against your face but I can’t because of the rope, the damn rope.

I’m panting hard when you withdraw again and almost shriek in frustration.

I give a wholly different kind of shriek when the first blow from the riding-crop hits home.

You strike my breasts, my sides, my pussy with sharp, smart thwips, and with every strike I have to press my lips together harder to stop the cries that threaten to escape. The crop stings when it hits my sensitive folds, but then why – why – am I getting closer and closer to coming?

You rip my orgasm away from me when you stop spanking my pussy and instead move behind me. You make sure to move my arms further up my back before raining blows onto my lower back and ass. You’re not holding back now. I can tell. Each strike has a crisp, audible slap to it, and feels like fire. My jaw is slack – my mouth is open and wordless and I can practically feel my skin rising into red welts all over.

After what seems like hours, you stop. I hear the crop falling to the floor and a soft bump as you fall to you knees behind me. Your hands are at my hips, and you ghost light caresses over me – caresses as light as your blows were rough.

I assume that you’re done and I let myself relax. Big mistake. Before I’m even aware of what’s happening, two of your fingers are deep inside my dripping cunt. You hook your fingers, pumping me, your fingers banging hard against my walls. And I’m moaning. My eyes are open wide and I’m hoarsely moaning. You’re standing now and I can feel your ample breasts against my back. Your breath is hot in my ear.

Yes. Yes. Yes. More. You continue pounding me relentlessly and when I finally come, I scream.

A few fuzzy moments later your hand is in front of my face and I’m licking it clean. And then you come in and kiss me properly.

Me: “That was… wonderfully hot. And so, so perfectly fitting. And I’m going to be horribly distracted for the rest of the evening”

Him: “Always glad to be of service.”

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Taking Stock

Wilhelmina Wang — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 13:30:37 +0000

So, this past week, I had a couple of posts that I published, and then made “protected”, and then decided not to post at all. I realized that I was getting carried away. I had forgotten one of the important “rules” concerning writing/blogging that I’ve learnt during this little sexblog fiasco: exclusion. Including every single detail can certainly kill a story – but besides that, just because I have a blog doesn’t mean I need to disclose every single thing that happens.

Some things are just not meant to be made public.

The first post was a series of gossippy chats between me and the Scientist – basically, he’s started hooking up with the Emperor and his gf, and has almost hooked up with K on several occasions. (Hey – one fantasy fulfilled.) Personally, I found it extremely amusing that my fwbs were converging like that… Anyway, we both exchanged comments about the Emperor and his gf and agreed that they’re both very amazing, hot people. The Scientist pretty much implied that he wished I was there with them so I could join the sexy mayhem. We both wondered what would happen if me, him, the Emperor and his gf were to all sleep together at the same time (conclusion: multiple small explosions). And the Scientist threw out that he wants to fuck K (and possibly other people) with me once I get back. I’ve definitely wanted to try cruising for people together with an fwb, but right now I really don’t know what I feel about doing that with the Scientist. It might kick up way too much chaos (the negative kind) than it would be worth.

I didn’t post that in the end because – well, it was a circus of a conversation. Pretty vapid and immature. It was funny to me, but probably unreadable to anybody else. The other reason was that I showed the conversation to my friend S, to ask her opinion on whether or not I should post it, and she told me that what I was talking about in the conversation “sounded unhealthy.”

Memories of the Emperor

Wilhelmina — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 20:11:52 +0000

I’ve had a crush on you since practically forever. (Maybe I told you when I was drunk. I can’t remember.) But in any case, it wasn’t random when I pulled you towards me and kissed you that night.

I find it funny that your girlfriend was the one who started it all. She started dancing with me first, pulling me close and grinding with me while you danced by yourself; cool as a cucumber. I wanted you to come over so badly. And eventually you did, and I was sandwiched between the two of you. I kissed and touched you all over and couldn’t believe what was happening. I never, ever imagined that you would even notice me.

The night before I left, I did so much that I wanted to do to you – but not nearly enough. I had you almost up against the wall, legs spread wide, completely naked (and you didn’t resist at all that time) and keening. I find it so amazing that someone who spends most of their time shouting and making loud declarations sounds so soft and vulnerable during sex.

I love your voice. How it booms into a crowd and gets the attention of every single person; how it sounds husky and rich and deep and sexy in the dark.

I find something pleasing about every aspect of a person I choose to have sex with. You’re no exception. There’s something about your smell, the taste of your sweat, the lines of your body. I hope you don’t ever get surgery because I like your body just the way it is. It makes so much sense to me: the strong, solid muscles and the curves; the shaved head and the breasts that feel large and heavy in my hands. Your elongated clit that I can suck into my mouth.

And there’s something about the way that you kiss. Your kisses go on forever and draw me in deep that I feel like I’ve lost myself.

When I kiss you; fuck you; I stare. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but my eyes are wide open. Looking at you; taking in every facial expression you make.

I guess it makes sense that I like watching during sex, too.

I cannot begin to describe how much I enjoy fucking you. How you let go; let me in. When I had you beneath me that time, four of my fingers went inside you easily. You opened up so deep and wide that it felt almost impossible. I could flex all of my fingers inside of you. I understood then why people called the vagina the ‘pit’, the ‘cave’. The black hole. Because that’s what it is. It swallows. Encompasses. Envelops. And makes me shudder.

I wanted to slide my thumb inside as well. Have my entire hand inside of you. But I felt like that wasn’t the kind of thing one did just like that. I almost felt like I had to ask first. “Excuse me, may I fist you?” Seems more than a little awkward.

After you come… and I love it when you come, how your muscles clench hard… hard… hard. After you come, I tell you to do things to me, you’re on top of me, kissing me, and I grope your ass and it’s then that I really want to spank you. But I don’t. Time isn’t right. I let you go down on me, instead. And – god – you’re so good at it. I don’t need to say anything to you – but still – you listen to me. To the way my body responds. I grab the nape of your neck and actually thrust up into your mouth. Do you think I do that with everyone? Do you think I’ve ever done something like that before? No; never.

I come. And afterwards, you take my fingers, and lick and suck them – gently. I don’t understand why you do it, but I find it incredibly hot. I trace your mouth with my fingertips and you ask me “what?” and I shrug and say “nothing.”

“Nothing.”

Besides the last night, I can’t remember the other times as clearly anymore. Everything is blurring together.

But I remember the small things. The important things.

I remember having sex for the first time in Zeta Mu’s basement, on a couch, in the dark. I remember you being on top of me, impaling yourself helplessly on my hand, over and over again. I remember the heady rush of power when I realized that you were completely naked, but I was still fully clothed.

I remember how you’d call yourself ugly, and how I’d protest and tell you how mesmerizingly attractive I thought you were.

I remember random walks to the lake at five in the morning.

I remember feeling excited and confused at how we were suddenly getting into long email conversations at least once a day.

I remember you casually holding the door open for me when we got dinner in town.

I remember exchanging ironic glances and snarky comments.

I remember drinking wine and watching Asian horror movies. I remember clinging to you in terror as you made fun of me. I remember about a half hour of breathless tension where we both talked about inane things and waited for each other to make the first move.

I remember rubbing you through your boxers and feeling the soft wetness under the thin material.

I remember how you began inviting yourself over at all hours of the day and night to study; although we both ended up distracting each other enough that neither of us got very much done.

I remember the first time you submitted to me completely; and how I looked at you intently and felt a heady rush of love.

I remember you waking me up with your snoring and how I’d have to poke and prod you until you stopped.

I remember how you would casually take off your uncomfortable binder shirt when you came to my room, in order to change into a looser T-shirt. I remember trying not to stare at your chest too obviously.

I remember knowing that you cared for me by the way you acted – by small things you did – even though you never told me so.

I remember leaving my room with you, early in the morning, and running into my dormmates and smiling a smug, secret smile at them.

I remember watching your girlfriend tie you up and brutally fuck you from behind, as you hoarsely cried out her name. I remember feeling both deeply privileged and deeply sad. I remember my inexplicable few seconds of tears after the both of you fell asleep.

And I remember the day before I left. You made up some random excuse to come and spend most of the afternoon on my bed, alternating between reading one of my graphic novels and talking to me loudly, as I frantically packed and ran around doing last minute errands. I remember you carrying my boxes downstairs for me, without me even having to ask. I remember you heading back to Zeta Mu and then petulantly calling me later that evening, asking where I was and why I hadn’t come over yet. I remember eventually ending up alone with you, awkwardly watching Cable TV and waiting for each other again. And I remember walking over to you sitting in your chair, and pulling you roughly into a kiss.

When I imagine you now, I imagine you tied up. No clothes. Back bared. Blindfolded. And I imagine myself belting you – hard – and you writhing in earnest. Red welts spreading over your back. And your gasps.

And the fact that you’re letting me do this to you.

—

Ages ago, I mentioned a drunken email - one of a few – that I sent to the Emperor. I debated posting the email for a while, since I wrote it for him, but after editing and adding more to it – here it is.

I don’t miss him as much now. I do miss him still, but in a comfortable kind of way, if that makes any sense. Less urgency. Less anxiety. I may be gaining greater trust that he really does care about me, though he isn’t doing anything especially to reassure me. One morning, over a contemplative cup of coffee, I realized that I didn’t need any kind of guarentee from him; that I didn’t need more from him than he already gave me.

I doubt that we’ll be able to remain an active part of each other’s lives, due to the distance. We don’t contact each other very often. Although he did email me to tell me the exact date that he was going to move. It made me happy that he thought to tell me. I’ll be in the same area this winter break, visiting the Actor, and I very much hope that I’ll be able to see him.

It will be enough for me to be able to visit him in the future, after whatever passage of time, and be able to feel as close to him as I did that short month that we were friends.

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A Love-letter to No-one

Wilhelmina Wang — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 16:10:51 +0000

Right now, I have a beer and three cups of Hypnotic inside me (a quality mixture of vodka, cognac, and fruit punch, according to the bottle) and I am able to be honest.

My loves – I miss you. Very, very much. I miss the way you moan and cry out; I miss the way your skin and genitalia taste inside of my mouth. I miss the way it feels like we were moulded out of the same clay – the way we resonate with each other. Maybe that’s just an isolated feeling – maybe I’m the only one who feels like that – but no matter. I feel as if I can communicate with you without words, and that’s something. That, my dears, is worth mentioning. Worth valuing.

I see the photographs of you with your significant others. I see your Facebook status updates about them. I see how integral they are to your lives. And it’s okay. I don’t care. I can’t care. Because I? I love you - all of you. So deeply. So much. Tonight – I was talking to a friend here, explaining how I would do just about anything for somebody I am close to. And it’s true.

Perhaps this is a dangerous statement, but – you define me. You make me.

Because what use is a world in which you have nobody whom you find worth dying for? Worth living for?

To the Emperor: I have been emailing with K and he speaks of his ex-who-he-still-loves in the most poetic of terms: he describes her as a tornado; as a maple tree. I would describe you as a brightly-shining-sun. When I spent time with you, I described it to others as ‘basking in your prescence.’ And it’s true. Being around you is like witnessing a great ball of destructive and creative energy; witnessing a force that can move mountains. I wish I could be there with you right now, before you leave for good and live the fabulous life that you deserve. I wish we could have had more time. I keep thinking that maybe you would have let me in; you would have loved me as much as you loved her – your girlfriend. But I’ve wished for the same thing before and it came to nothing.

If I was at College right now – you know what I would have done to you? I would have found the best way to tie you up and render you immobile; I would have found the best places on your body to strike. The places that would make you scream ecstatically. I would have taken you to a place inside of your mind where you felt the most vulnerable; the most safe; the most cradled; the most possessed.

I still dream of coming back and finding that you’re still there. I dream of finding you and your wine-rich lips and dizzying kisses. Maybe one day I will find you - somewhere unexpected.

To Christopher: I want you. Which is the beginning and end of it all, really. I want your cock and your mouth and your ass and your cries and your ridiculousness. I’m so grateful for the way you listen to me and tolerate me and let me crawl into you and feel safe and protected. I’m grateful for the way you let me push you.

To the Actor: I dream about you. I dreamt about you last night. I dreamt we were both still at College, and rolling around in bed and cuddling and talking about everything under the sun as we always do.

You were my friend, my sibling, my lover, and my child. You displaced me. Threw me completely off-kilter. And I appreciate that. I hope I see you again, and soon.

—

I’ve yet to spend quality time with somebody here who does not want to get into my pants in some way. It’s annoying. And the people I am attracted to? Completely unavailable, as usual. Basil is extremely elusive and such a clit-tease. So arrogant and condescending – which is partly why I have such a huge crush on him.

What an idiot…

I want to taste his mouth; pull onto his dreads so his head snaps back and I can taste his neck. I want to feel his wiry body against me. Most of all – I want to make him gasp. I want to render him speechless. I want to make him completely devoid of smarmy comments. And I want to tease him until he begs me to let him come.

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