master manipulator

He accosted me upon entering my door. From behind, he pulled me hard against him, tilting my head to my left, up towards his face with his hand wide, wrapped around my neck and jaw. Six and a half feet tall, with broadness to match, he dwarfed me with his presence, using this to easily manipulate me physically. He reached his free hand down my shorts and roughly fingered me. The aggression made my knees buckle and I slipped towards the floor, but with thick arms, he held me upright as to not allow me to escape the rough fondling. His eyes rolled up as he pressed his nose and lips into the side of my head, inhaling the scent of my hair.

I thrashed my arm out, which was pinned under his, but this only resulted in him pulling me in harder against his body and painfully thrusting another finger in with the other two. Instictively, this challenged me to thrash around harder, but he only then wrapped his left arm around my torso, restraining me at the crooks of my arms. He spun me around and stared at me with a repulsing smirk of pleasure while my eyes retorted in fuming ire. He leaned in for a kiss and I reactively turned my chin up and away, shielding skin of neck with a curtain of flaxen hair. With that challenge, he pushed me down the hall towards the empty room.

He dragged me over to the bare office desk and bent me over it. With his fingers, he spread my cheeks and lips apart and gently stretched my vagina open with two fingers before entering with his cock. Quickly, he sped up this debaucherous practice, thrusting deeply.

Tom pinned me so tightly against the desk, ramming cock inside, that I was held up off the ground, suspended. I pointed my toes like a ballerina and still couldn’t reach the floor. His hand pushed firmly on my back maintaining my position on the desk, and unnessecary move, a move to assert further control.

Despite Tom’s ability to overpower me, I attempted to push him off of me. Lest he forget, this arrangement was on my terms, and I wanted to masturbate now. I righted myself while he was still pressed against my back. I faced him and shoved him backwards. I kicked the office chair out in front of me and it rolled forward across the wood floors several feet away.

“Sit down.” I demanded, firmly. I lied down on the ground and walked my feet apart exposing myself to him with thighs wide. He made to pull his cock out and I kicked him hard in the shin, reminding him that he wasn’t allowed to get off yet. Immediately, I regretted inviting him. I could’ve done this myself, and better, rather that make haste of it all, just to spend quickly and get him out of here sooner. I am powerful and self-sufficient and now I’m going to show Tom that I didn’t need him. Show him how much better I could fuck myself then he could fuck me.

With the vibrator on and at work with the dildo, I let out many harmonic moans. While my instrument was gasping and screaming, I braced, shook, and slammed my head back. In masturbation, I become a show; a vocal and bodily display of self expression. I closed my eyes and saw Joe, not Tom. I saw Joe’s hips thrusting hard between my thighs, his hind muscles flexing hard with each push, his kind eyes stoking my fire while he hovered over me with hot breath, propped on elbows by my ears, forearms guarding my head. I spent all over the floor. The fluid ran down from between my legs. I slowed down and paused within the contractions of my orgasm.

“Keep going. You’re not done yet. I know you can come again.” I held the dildo pressed deep inside, orgasming further from the contractions around the shaft. My hips lifted up off the ground as I arched my back. My eyes rolled back and I whispered Joe’s name.

Tom tried to take hold and pilot the dildo, sensing I was elsewhere, unpresent and escaping inwards towards better thoughts. He aimed to remind me of his presence.

“No!” I said and he pulled the dildo out and put it down. He began to rub the inside of my thighs while I was laying back with closed eyes, blissfully playing with my clit. I smacked his hand away. How dare Tom take me away from Joe?

Tom lunged forward and pushed my left thigh across my body to the right and spanked me hard for my insubordination. Fuck him. I hate him. He took away my toys and entered me again with his cock. He pinned my hands on the floor at my ears and stared me in the eyes, seeking to make a connection. Denying him the satisfaction, I regained mental control to combat his physical control with my own powers of manipulation.  I closed my eyes and pictured Joe’s kind eyes.

I gasped out Joe’s name, barely audible. Tom ravished my vagina with his cock. I said his name again, louder, as I sucked in air. I ignored Tom’s inquiries as he pounded away. Then I yelled it. I yelled Joe’s name. I spent between my legs and my pussy contracted hard around, regrettably, Tom’s cock.

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I needed to get laid. 2 more weeks in the woods just bred more desperation. I’d been eyeing him for a long time, meditating on what it would be like when we fucked, because it was inevitable. Cody touches me, grabs my arm, strokes my shoulder, every time I pass him. I signaled back. Leaned back into him as he hovered over me against the wall outside the bar as I took a drag. I squeezed his arm sweetly as I snuffed out my cigarette and brushed past him, grazing skin of my shoulder on the skin of his arm. 

I told him frankly that I had needs to be met. I told him I was currently reviewing options for the night. He asked for my number before I departed.

I texted Stan. I was willing to take mediocre sex for the luxury of not running the risk of getting fired by booty calling my coworker.

Laying in Stan’s bed, he ran his hands up my thigh. Cody texted me. He was closing up the bar and talking dirty to me while he wiped down the counters. I picked up my phone to respond. The initial texting went ignored by Stan while he focused on running his palms against my skin, but after about the 4th exchange of raunchy banter with the hotter man on the other end, Stan confronted me.

"What’s going on? Is everything alright?"

"Oh, these people staying over at my house keep asking me questions about where I am."

"Fuck em. You can do what you want." 

Cody is a freak. He was getting me worked up with all his questions. What do you not like to do? Do you like to be restrained? Spanking? Choking? Name calling? If you don’t give me answers, I will just have my way with you how I please. 

I asked him if he wanted to fuck tonight. He warned me that it would be better if I got to know him better. That he likes things a bit rough. I pleaded. I think he had his mind made up on fucking me that night but wanted to leave me hanging. I asked him again. I insisted. He told me that he would love to fuck me now. 

"I have to go."

"Why? You just got here."

"The guests at my house won’t settle down. I feel bad just abandoning them."

How cruel of me to drop in so late just to run off towards another fuck. Oh well. 

Cody cordially met me on the street and lead me through the back porch of his house like a gentleman. Once through the gate he pulled me hard by the hips into his body, like trying to absorb me into him. He put a hand on the back of my head so I couldn’t pull out of the kiss. I tested the waters and pulled back. He grabbed the locks of my hair and pulled my head up towards his face nearly lifted my body up to his height. A hand went down my pants and rubbed on my clitoris. It was a rush so intense I started pulling away, causing him to jerk me closer and his fingers thrust deep inside of me. 

I wanted to be bad. I wanted to resist and fire him up. Every time he asked for me to do something, I would smirk and stare into his eyes, awaiting punishment. He punished me. He slammed me against the wall, he turned me around and pulled me hard against his body. He tied my hands behind my back. He bent me over and pushed hard into me. 

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it’s been awhile.

Honestly, I thought I was going to delete this account, but I kept it around. I cleaned up the page a bit, have some short stories in the works, and hopefully my writing has improved while I’ve been throwing my efforts into school work. 

Reading back on my older posts, I’m a little self conscious about things; mainly my writing, my actions, and my feelings at the time. There is an evolution on the blog that can be explained by that was happing in my life at the time these events took place. The darkest posts were earliest in it’s life, when I was sifting through some pretty dark baggage. As I worked my way in and out of depression, the posts lightened up.

As eluded to before, I was raped. This happened just prior to the creation of the blog. This writing wasn’t a conscious outlet for my struggle, but as I wrote about sexual encounters, it became clear that not only was this writing activity healing, I was also experiencing sex in an abnormal way. I don’t want to deny accountability for my reckless hook-ups, but there was a direct correlation between my sex drive before the rape (nonexistent) and my sex drive after (obsessive). It grosses me out to admit it, but I have had a seemingly contradictory reaction to rape, which it not unheard of or uncommon in victims. The reality of this all is that for every story I wrote about a romp, I’ve had about five more hook ups that I didn’t note in my journal.

Going through the learning curve of my sexcapades, I realize that I now take calculated risks when taking people home. It’s still by no means responsible, but I have my defenses up and my escape plans. Lately, they’ve been good experiences that I think back to fondly, because I do not have sex anymore unless I feel entirely comfortable with the person. Thinking back to those darker times just makes me feel icky. When I have sex nowadays, it’s a want, not an impulse, and thats the big difference. 

I had my cards read by a psychic and she told me that I am finally secure with my past, that I hold no baggage, and that all that is behind me is more or less finished. She is right. I have never felt more sure about anything in my life.

The stories that will be shared will be a mixed bag of older writings I haven’t posted, newer writings about things I’m recollecting on, and my evolution through this healing process. Time to celebrate the renaissance.  

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if I don’t masturbate at least once a day

I’m pretty sure I’d explode.

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desperation

Started an internship. I’m camping out for 2 weeks at a time with a weekend off in between each hitch. Hard, manual labor. Swinging an axe. Digging holes. In the desert. Back country. Hike camp in, hike it out. Hike to the work site. Hike back to camp. 

It feels like some sort of behavioral detention camp. If you met some of these guys I’m working with, you’d agree. Also, we are never really allowed to be away from the group. Not for safety reasons, but for social improvement. I feel like under a telescope. Like they’re judging every interaction I have for signs of insanity. No exclusive relationships. This includes sexual relationships, friendships, and self seclusion. And I share a tent with a hot bisexual woman. Do you know how hard it is to fuck yourself out here? It makes me wanna fuck someone. I guess, by definition, I could have an open relationship with everyone. Don’t think that would fly. 

We had this weekend off. I let my tent mate stay over until further couch surfing opportunities opened up. I don’t think she’s attracted to me, though.

I had my best friend stay the weekend as well. And another coworker, who’s camp was getting rained out. He stayed over. It would’ve been nice to have some alone time for a change, but I’m a bleeding heart. I over booked myself. 

He’s doing the whole homeless 20 something year old thing. Where you hop trains and travel the country with a backpack and a skateboard. It’s crazy. I dig it. 

So, being a person who could go weeks without social interaction, it was a trying weekend. I was already exhausted from work. I was horny as hell from many unsatisfying attempts of masturbation in a public tent and working around young men who reeked of body odor and hormones. Body odor; what an aphrodisiac. 

I found myself with my house raided with company that I’d been stuck with for weeks and was becoming increasingly frustrated. Mid afternoon, people were starting to go down for naps and I stole off to my bedroom, but I left the door open. I couldn’t find restful sleep all weekend. I was overstimulated. 

I saw him go into the bathroom next to my room. I heard him in there for awhile. He wasn’t peeing. I knew he was masturbating. I was so worked up, I couldn’t stand it.

He is beautiful, and harmless. His blonde hair is never clean and he never can scrub off that smell of his body. I’ve come to crave it over the weeks. 

Stockholm Syndrome is occurring here. After constantly being forced together with these guys for so long, I feel a bit painfully disconnected when they aren’t around me. I can’t imagine how hard this is going to get as the time progresses.

He’s been masturbating for some time. I pull out my vibrator and lay back. It hurts to thrust my fingers inside because I’ve tightened up significantly. I orgasmed violently and couldn’t entirely silence myself. I think he heard me.

I cut that hair of his. He wanted a trim, so I sat him down in a chair and went after his locks. I stood behind him and tousled his hair. I ran my fingers slowly through it as my eyes rolled up and took a deep breath. I stood with my hips against him and my fingers in his hair. I think there was a mutual intrigue in the progressing situation. I could see his eyes softening and his breath deepen. He put a hand on my hip and traced circles with his fingers against my skin. He searched my face but I was guarded and wouldn’t meet his eyeline. No exclusive relationships. 

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I’ve been reading your lips

Jay looks like the kind of guy who gives really good head. Getting head seems to be a hot button topic with me ever since I broke things off with my fuck buddy. Feels like I”ve become “a night head hunter looking for some head,” as The Cramps would say. 

So that’s the new standard; must give head.

He looks like he’d be really good at it. I can’t explain what exactly gives me this impression, though I’m sure contributing factors include my experience with younger guys and their ambitious drive to be phenomenal in the sack when they feel you may have a few more romps under your belt. In their minds, they take you from being a regular young girl who tolerates boxed wine to being a cunnilingus connoisseur. He acts tough and flaunts to impress, but it’s rooted in a drive for my validation. He’s been trying for quite some time now and worries my affections will go astray to the other big dogs strutting around the bar he tends. This is a guy who aims to please.

Sometimes when I’m masturbating, I’ll lie on my back with my feet against the wall and pretend his head in between my thighs. It’s a time when our roles have reversed and he’s buckled me at the knees with the flick of his tongue in a driven pursuit for an orgasm. Two fingers slide inside and I picture the tight flexation of his rear muscles as he thrusts deep into my groin, as fast and deep as a young man can push. 

I shouldn’t have done that. Now, I’ve become impulsed to read his lips when he speaks to me. The very sight of those lips curling into that arrogant, smirky half-grin makes my body shift uncontrollably with taunting desire.

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Anonymous asked: Been a reader since before your first ten but I didn`t follow til I realized I want you on my dashboard. Such raw honesty, intelligent, and interesting too. Love your posts.

That’s really nice to hear. I’m flattered to learn when people are reading my tumblr. 

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going to the doctor is bad for my self esteem

I meant that comically

Yesterday during a check up on my lady parts I realized that doctor’s general comments of analysis can also be pictured coming from the mouth of a catty girlfriend. It seemed awfully back-handed. I was still amused.

"Ah, so your nipples are inverted but that’s nothing to worry about. They will pop out when you have a baby." thanks for noticing. also note, when I have a baby. What if I never want any children? I sure as hell never plan on getting pregnant and spreading my genes on. Yes, I will be adopting. “One of your breasts is obviously smaller than the other. That’s normal.” again, thanks for noticing. "Hmmm, Ok, so feel this." Grabs my hand and puts in on my breast. I panic at the lump she was palpating, that I never really thought to be of concern. “See that? That is breast tissue. Nothing to worry about.” just breast tissue? Oh fucking course! what else would that be, if not out of the ordinary? “Breasts are filled with fatty breast tissue.” and veins are filled with bloody blood cells. thanks for the anatomy lesson. 

"Wow, your cervix is really up in there! You’re deeper than most women." thanks for the implication. "Of course, that will be pushed forward when you have a baby." Again, with the baby.


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I didn’t think that other dance moves could more obviously imitate copulation than grinding does. Never say never. Although, I somehow like watching this more than grinding.

maybe it’s the head-butting.

dirtyluxury:

Meanwhile in South America…

(via dirtyluxury-deactivated20131107)

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hmm, knocked out several posts tonight. production level is high.

That makes up for never ever posting, and trying to maintain the pretense that I am going for quality over quantity. I guess if I posted anymore sexcapades, it’d be pushing the line of prostitute status.

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text messages from Ernesto (brief encounter from the bar)

Ernesto: IFYOUCANREADTHISTHENYOUWILLGETGOODLUCKTONIGHTSOSENDTHISTOTENPEOPLEORYOUWILLDIE

Me: who is this?

E: Ernesto! I do tats. we met on nu yrs. you’re Taylor Rowe!

Me: oh. yeah. yes I am. I didn’t realize that I gave you my number.

E: can you send me a pic?

Me: No. my camera is broken. (no it wasn’t.) Which brother are you? The one with the neck tattoo? (shameless bitch)

E: wit da tattoo. my brother is Lance. sends cocky pic of himself in the gym

Me: I remember now. yeah, I was talking to your brother for a long time, so thats why i was confused about which brother you were. (meaning I don’t know why I gave him my number. also meaning that’d rather it was his brother texting me)

E: are you the one who wanted tat work?

Me: well, yeah, but thats not how we met. You guys just came up to me and bought me drinks.

E: idk. Alaska?

Me: Juneau? what?

E: ????

Me: Oh, I thought we were playing the capitals game.

E: are u dat school teacher?

Me: no. I didn’t really talk to you, I was talking to your brother all night. (have him text me)

E: so… did you want tat work?

Me: not really. I just got some work done and needed to save money. say hi to Lance for me. (this was to deliberately piss him off. I don’t like to make people happy if they are going to spam text me)

stops texting, finally.

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Stan keeps trying to get me to meet him out. So now he’s pressing me for time, when I so anxiously wanted to patch things up before. His girlfriend is in town. I think I will do him a favor and just disappear for awhile. 

I wanna leave this town. There’s not going to be much here for me in 6 months but bad habits and much trouble to be had. I need to get out of this rut before I become interwoven within the patchwork of this city’s hipster/artist subculture and lead a dead end life working the same fucking job and going out to the bars far too much. Maybe for some people, but not for me is there positive growth to be had.

Yeah, I’m going to disappear for awhile.

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Bryan squeezes my upper arm affectionately when I walk by. Bryan hugs me close and meaningfully when I am setting off. Bryan places a soft, open hand firmly on the small of my back when standing next to him. This was last night, and every night actually, wherein which we encounter another, when we join for a rendezvous out in the pub, when we meet over coffee and tea, when we meet in passing. 

We fooled around at the karaoke bar, he nudged me with the side of his hip until I agreed to sing cheesy love songs with him. I had to leave. I was just meeting for a little while. He’d stopped talking to his friends when I’d arrived just to take me to a table and talk with him . That’s when I had to politely make excuses to leave. I won’t allow myself to pretend that I am not second best to this other girl and I will not hurt myself waiting around for him to fall more in love with me than he is with her. 

If the timing isn’t right now, but will be in the future, then the opportunity will prevent itself. I’m not pushing for anything to happen. Besides, I wanna leave this town as soon as I can, so it would not be advantageous to tie myself down to Arizona. Thats what I tell myself.

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my favorite part of masturbation

is when I’m lying there after an orgasm and can tap on my lady parts with my fingers and feel the corresponding nerves on the bottom of my feet tingle. It feels like I’m touching my feet without touching my feet.

I don’t know if anyone else experiences this but I like to think that they don’t and that I’m special.

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Fuck your friends.

How did I wind up locked outside my house at 3 a.m. with a wasted stand up comedian trying to screw me and the vital keys to my car, bike, house (life) carelessly lodged below the car battery under the hood? From being a goddamned good samaritan. 

He’d had a bad night, probably because people weren’t laughing at his jokes. I found him leaning his head against the wall outside of the bar that had just kicked him out in a manner that suggested he was slowly loosing his ability to fight gravity when I stopped, sighed, rolled my eyes and extended my arm with a patronizing “come along, let’s get you home”. I have met him before. You could say we are acquaintances, even extended friends, so it didn’t strike me as a stupid idea, as of yet. 

Losing faith in his ability to provide accurate directions, I stopped home to google his address. I’m not sure he even knew where he was. He kept trying to make out with me while I was driving without warning or asking. I had to pull over and put him in the back seat. I locked him in my car when I got out at the driveway (child locks on), “You stay here! I’ll be right back.” He sort of nodded with a doped smile while slumped against the window, face smashed as it was pressed against the glass.

I came back out to start the car. No dice. I didn’t panic, though, because the idiots who installed my new battery replaced it with ill-fitting hardware, so in order to start the car, I must pop the hood and manually tighten the cables. I had my keys in my hand holding up the hood when I felt them slip between my fingers and drop down inside the car. Fuck. 

I climbed back into the drivers seat staring dead ahead with my 1000 mile gaze caught in an exasperated look of, “what now?”. The drunk jackass in the back was climbing over the seat to get better access of me, but I ignored his attempts, though he was becoming more aggressive in his attempts to bed me. Stan texted me.

Or rather, he’d been texting me all night and I’d ignored the messages.

I briefly skimmed over the rest as I was x-ing out boxes to read the current one. “Where are you?”

"Fucked. thats where."

"Come over."

"I’m stranded. I’m locked outside with a drunk guy, whom I was trying to take home."

"Who is it?"

"I don’t wanna say. Help! I’m practically beating this guy off of me." It took him a bit to grasp my urgency, but he eventually, regretfully, reminded me that he doesn’t have a car for a week. 

"Cab over here. I’ll spot you fare." Ok, If I had really thought about it, I would have realized this was a terrible idea, but the prospect of a couch to sleep on and ridding myself of octopus arms was so welcoming. So welcoming, and the lesser of two evils.

"NO, IN THE BACK!" I shoved arms off of me and directed him into the cab. 

"Is that your boyfriend?" asked the driver unimpressed in my choice of men.

"No, I found him."

He eyed him through the mirror while he drooled against back of my seat he was propped up against. “HEY BUDDY! BUDDY! DON”T PUKE!” speaking slowly.

"He’s a comedian." I smirked, already anticipating the expecting joke.

"Yeah, he is."

____

Stan kept texting me, asking me where I was on my way. I couldn’t really tell if he was worried about me or just anxious that I hadn’t arrived as soon as he’d hoped. Hopefully the former. 

He had the TV on in his bedroom and asked if I wanted to stay up a bit and watch. Dumbly agreed. 

We were sitting on his bed not even a minute when I felt him hand rest against my thigh. Ok, easily dismissible as an accident. I waited, not long, mind you, before it slid up my skirt. 

He turned his lips to my ear. “Do you wanna keep watching TV or go to bed?”

"Go to bed." He got up to turn off the TV—and take his clothes off, of course. "I sleep naked. Hope you don’t mind." Of course, I do, too. And seriously, when I thought that, I meant that honestly in the most naive manner. I took my clothes off. 

I don’t remember what happened first. Not even the following day, could I recall. I remember eventually straddling him while he lied down, and kissing him. I moved my lips to his neck, and then the questions came. “How long have you wanted me, Taylor?” he asked sounding very perplexed. It was a serious question, not an ego booster. “How long have you been in to me?”

And then reality hit me. I have never been in to you. I am not attracted to you at all. I said none of this. “Well, how long have you wanted me?”

"Since I first met you." This was a year ago. And I think I knew this to be true. I knew it that night we met, when he flirted with me at that restaurant. I ignored it. He flipped me onto my back and plunged his fingers into me, rubbing at the softness of my inner sanctum. Mechanically, euphoria, but I suddenly realized how dark the room was. 

I have never acted so automatically. I just was given a scenario and sex was the instinctive action. I knew I wanted to fuck, I kept doing it, sex for the sake of sex. I mean, I know my libido is high, but … And I have never regretted sex, before this. He penetrated me, while manipulating my position, bending my legs as he pleased. It was less than ideal. 

I pulled off, and pushed him back down on the bed, tracing my lips down his torso. I was about to exhibit my godliness. What a contradiction though? It seems like such a degrading action, yet I often initiate my services without thought. I was like a fallen angel. So good at what I do, able to control a man with the action of my lips, but at the price of my dignity. And I am, sooo good at what I do. 

Maybe I’ll find a partner who is as good as I am one day.

Ok, that was off topic. So even after that, and we were laying there, he directed my actions. I can’t say that this domination is always my preference, but it did give him some points in my book. He pulled me onto him with his arms around me as he drifted off to sleep. As usual, I couldn’t fall asleep. General and warranted paranoia about being in a strange place with a man and the stimulating excitement of sexual activity never let me sleep. I was freezing and we were uncovered and naked. I pried myself away, apathetic to his displeasure, covered myself with a blanket and fetched my phone before curling back up next to him, facing away. 

Hiding under the blanket, I clicked through my phone to determine where exactly in the night things went awry. His text messages started early and were innocent enough, “What are you doing?” ” Why did you leave the bar?” “Come back” Then they became more suggestive. “Wish you were here.” “I’m at home … so come over” “my bed, be here.”. I didn’t read them before coming over that night, but I didn’t need to. It’s not like I was blind sided by his proposition. Plus, it’s happened before where he’s unsuccessfully tried to arrange a sleep over.

Then I remembered the girlfriend who had moved across the country. There was no evidence that they were still together, but there was also no reason to believe that they weren’t. I don’t know the terms of their relationship, but I’m sure that whatever we did wouldn’t be allowed. 

In the morning, he stirred and turned on his side to spoon. I pretended to be asleep. He pulled the blanket off of me and I was covered in goose bumps from the shock of the frigid air. With his left arm under and around me, he ran his top hand over my body. He traced my tattoo in the middle of my back. Then he ran over my waist, my hips, then over my ass, lingering for awhile, squeezing it for awhile, hard. Then he fingered me from behind. I felt his breath deepen with the flexing of his abdomen against my back. He exhaled hot air, passing from lips to the surface of my exposed chest.

Oh to be young and make such mistakes. 

___

Attempting to pick up the pieces, I texted him the next day, not to sound crazy, but I figure the sooner I grab the bull by the horns, the less time there would be to build up resentment and uncertainty. “We should talk. I want to make sure things aren’t sour between us.” Of course I didn’t hear back from him, making me feel like an ass. 

Maybe to understand our relationship better, I’ll explain it like this. Stan was always the cool, older brother type who knows a lot of people through his bands and his job and excels in things I have interests in, like music. From a social standpoint, I honestly thought he was too cool for me. From a romantic standpoint, people would say I was actually way out of his league, not that that shit matters to me, he just isn’t the total package I want. I really value our friendship.

I felt like I was dragging around with a scarlet A on my chest. Though I am not the adulterer here, I realize that resentment could build towards me since I “messed things up”. I’m that bitch that comes in and fucks up peoples relationships, despite the extent in which I may have been pursued. But really, it’s none of my business if he was single or not. Why? It doesn’t involve me; their alleged relationship is between themselves, and I have no intention of engaging in a romantic relationship with him. It’s all on him. 

As of now, I do not know where I stand, though after my appearance at his show last week, his over the top enthusiasm and subtle attempts at physical contact suggested that he may still be expecting for something to manifest. I intend on correcting this as soon as I can.

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