Us, this
close?
The smell of your colon
And the sound of your breath
Clouding my senses.
Your legs
brushing against mine
Too many times for it to be accidental.
Is that allowed?
Can you caress my hair? Grip it at the root, Pull me in close.
What about head? Am I allowed to taste you again My lips gliding down your shaft The soft cry when your cock goes too far Will we never have that again?
What if my hand slides over your thigh Between your legs And begins to massage your cock. Are you going to stop me?
What if I lift my skirt Showing you I’m not wearing any underwear. Can you, will you resist?
How about anal? Pounding into me Hard As I whimper my pleasure.
Is anything allowed? Is nothing allowed?
What are the rules now? Because you want me. And I want you.
And us lying about this moment Making any kind of difference for our futures Is Puritanical, short sighted, And a waste of amazing fucking.
~ a poem ~ Everything about him sparked something deep in me.
One summer, on a warm weekend (almost) night, with the smoke from the grill scenting the air, and the boom box busting lyrics I’ve known but heart since middle school, raising everyone up on their feet.
The sway of my family, a gaggle of my cousins, only a few by blood, and folks with more grey in their hair than years in their age, swelled my heart to bursting.
And then he walked in, just as the cookout came to its crescendo. Somehow, as if on cue.
His hips were like water. I, like an acolyte, joined the line of girls those hips found in their sway.
The smell of burnt herb and his body musk lingered after our five second dance. The droplets on his back caught the falling rays of the overdue evening. I licked my lips, holding back my urge to drink them up.
And then the beat dropped, and we all got in our lines ready for the ritual of every joyful gathering before or since. Babies who couldn’t yet walk were held up by their mother or grandmother. This was our community, our communion.
He lined up beside me. I popped my hips a little more, shimmied a little deeper, smiled the whole time.
“Go on, girl,” he hooted. Oh, I will.
After the electric slide, he hands slid to my sides. I popped my hips left, right. I swung my hair side to side, bent all the way over.
“Girl!”
And then jumped up and ran to my mother, hoping my whopping would at least wait until after everyone had gone home.
I didn’t care. I sat beside her, looked back at him, and grinned. It was well worth it.
I’ve been feeling introspective as of late. We are in the phase of studying for our big test where we are on our own. Decide your own schedule, completely free.
With this freedom comes the same old emotional demons I’ve been wrestling with since practically conception. Am I good enough? Will I succeed? Discounting my accomplishments. Downplaying my awesomeness. Pretty much on brand usual Green Eyes bullshit.
Enter Brain Twin.
Brain Twin has been a bright spot in my current academic marathon. Brain Twin is smart and kind and funny. And, of course, Brain Twin has a girlfriend.
I accept and ignore this fact each time we interact because I both respect their relationship but also like not caring how I act around Brain Twin.
Flash forward to today. Another helpful prep session. Discussions about third and fourth year and planning out career moves. Practice questions reviewed. All the normal highlights.
But then we got off on a tangent about queer healthcare. And Brain Twin’s pansexual friends. And Brain Twin’s girlfriend, who is also pansexual. And in this conversation I am both elated and flattened, because it was yet more confirmation.
Brain Twin checks all my boxes. This is a literal statement. I found a file I named “Ideal Man” which, I shit you not, is basically a description of Brain Twin before I ever met Brain Twin.
So yeah, that.
As our session ended, I made my usual awkward exit, and, somehow, I fumbled out a “we should be friends beyond you helping me for this test” type deal.
Still awkward duckling. Still so painfully lonely. Still wanting what I can’t have.
But distractions are nice. And friends are nice, too.
Grasping onto friendship, cause otherwise I’d scream. Or cry. Or probably both.
Brain Twin was on my mind tonight. He randomly called me for some advice. I guess this means we are friends. But any interaction with him has me all twitterpated as of late.
So, poetry.
[NOTE: They are in picture form because WordPress doesn’t respect my tabs.] ~
He said he’s thinking about getting back with his old girlfriend.
His playful middle school banter, as of late, wasn’t flirting.
Once again, I feel like shit for hoping for something that’s not gonna happen.
I’m glad I set up a counseling session before today. I was already feeling stress from school. Add on the mountain of loneliness I’m currently carrying around, and yeah, I need to talk to someone about it.
Every day I battle back that voice inside me that says I’ll always be alone, I’ll never be loved, have never been worthy of love.
On days like today, that voice is louder, and it hurts more.
We’re in Psych right now. It’s crazy (poor choice of words) how much I can see of myself in the immature ego defenses (passive aggression, acting out, undoing).
Also how accurate Doc’s diagnosis was of mild Borderline Personality Disorder (fear of abandonment, shifting self image, occasional mood swings, splitting, feelings of emptiness).
Talking to Doc helped a lot. I hope this new counselor can help too.
Shit, it’s so fucking frustrating. I keep meeting these intelligent attractive men, all of them are cool being friends, but no one wants to be with me. Not fuck me, but be with me. It makes me wanna fucking scream all the time.
I want a partner. I want afternoon snuggles on chilly days and stupid jokes only we get and silly conversations about nothing that matters but it matters to us. I want back rubs as I go to sleep and encouragement to go to the gym and someone to cry with when shit gets hard.
Subtitle: Three Dicks, Three Fists, and Two Cups of Tea
This dick report is far overdue, seeing as I’ve been back at
school for two months, but later is better than never.
~
Doug tea
I knew I should’ve warned Doug that I was sick before I
arrived in town, but I was selfish. I
wanted to see him. It had been a year
since our last meeting, and I missed my friend.
Still, a part of me wondered if he would just turn around as soon as he
opened the hotel door and heard my hacking cough across the room. He didn’t.
We had late night diner food, including a warm cup of Lipton
to soothe my poor throat, and diner breakfast the next day.
There was a quarantine zone in the bed that I could-not-would-not
cross. We chatted about school and life
and pharmaceutical companies. We are
such nerds.
He gave me a black handkerchief for my cough. It smelled like him (cloves and Irish Spring
soap).
We talked A LOT.
After we finished breakfast, we sat in the diner for an extra hour just
talking. I didn’t want to leave
him. I was so worried about the non-sex
having that I forgot, in the end, we are good friends, even though we only see
each other once a year.
Grade: A+
~
Gent tea
I had a cup of fragrant blueberry habicus tea. He got something he did not like.
He wasn’t supposed to be there. Technically he was still on the clock at his
job, but made time to slip away to see me.
It would be the only time I saw him during my break.
His wry smile was still there. Even in his well-tailored suit, I could still
see the cut body underneath. He sat
three feet away from me, yet it was more of a world away.
His girlfriend was now stateside. Everything was to be different from here
on. But we still had our banter. He was still encouraging. As always, I enjoyed the pleasure of his
company.
Grade: B+
~
New Addition to the Ho-tation
I had not had any luck with Tinder. Most often my attempts at hookups were foiled
before I ever saw anyone face-to-face.
This was the magical 1% that worked out, mostly.
He gave a solid 7/10 performance. Stamina needs to be upped. Intensity on the right track, but could be
better.
I taught him how to fist. I realized it was the only way I was going to
get off. He did well. And I love to put on a show, so he enjoyed
himself.
I’m open to another encounter when I come home again, maybe.
Grade: C+
~
Pseudo Best Friend
I didn’t plan on any fucking happening, and in the classic
definition of the word we didn’t fuck.
But we’re kinky motherfuckers, so we did some shit. And it was fun.
He’s very good at listening to my moans, reading my body and
reactions, and then proceeding to give me orgasms. I rewarded his work with some head, just
cause.
I keep saying I don’t want to fuck him, and I mean it each
time, yet his hand finds a way inside my cunt too often.
Grade: B
~
Trouble (twice)
I fucked Trouble twice, including Christmas night. As always, he was delightful. This time included him going down on me and
the closest I’ve come to dirty talk that was damn near dominant.
The words, “You’re not done yet,” actually left my lips.
Trouble knows how to fist and fuck me well, is always
receptive to feedback on how to make the sex better, and he even made me
breakfast one morning. I am so grateful
for our uncomplicated and lasting friendship with benefits.
So, I know that I’ve lost weight since starting medical school. This was by design. After our month long summer introductory session, I weighed myself. The reading was the heaviest in my life. A combination of long nights studying and a lack of diet control pushed me to gain those few pounds. Thankfully, my overpriced rent includes a fairly good gym only a two minute walk from my front door.
Regimenting my life has been a god-send. I had no idea I could take to a normal schedule so well after spending so much of my life in constant flux.
A year after starting medical school, the scale now read twenty pounds lighter.
The weight did not come off obviously to me. But I did notice little things. My quickness going upstairs. My shrunken appetite. My somewhat better mood.
And then today, I put on a shirt I haven’t worn in a long time. It’s a thick sweater-like shirt, with long sleeves and an exaggerated collar. Previously I didn’t wear it. A little too tight, a little too restricted. Very annoying. It fits my aesthetic, but what’s the use in wearing something that makes you so uncomfortable.
But then last night, when choosing my outfit for a semi-professional gathering today, I saw the shirt again. And I tried it on. And it finally fit right.
The difference between myself last year and today does not seem so great, but the little things keep me going.
For the past month, though, I’ve been slacking. I haven’t been to the gym in the morning. Internally, I started using school as an excuse. But then, inevitably, one of my friends called me out. I post my workouts in the morning on Snapchat. Easy accountability. He hadn’t seen any. And I had no excuse.
So back to the gym I go. Because, frankly, I want to keep losing weight. And I want to keep having those small moments where I feel just a little bit better about my health, and have a little more hope that my family medical issues might not come to pass.
I want him to randomly show up while I’m studying, come over to my table, pull back my chair, and kiss me.
He has to be the aggressor. I tutor him. I can’t cross that boundary.
And I SO want him to cross that boundary.
Lately, I’ve been trying to give myself days off from tutoring. I slipped right back into my old work habits, over scheduling myself for the past few weeks. This week, though, I decided I was going to take Wednesday and Friday off. Except he asked for a session to help him with a difficult class. And I already knew I had nothing special planned for my Friday night. So I scheduled him as my only session today.
It ran long and I didn’t even care. I realized when I checked the time that, if it weren’t for another session after ours, I was just going to keep going.
It was a solo session. I had him sit beside me, which isn’t odd. I do that all the time. I like using my computer to point out structures on e-books. But it felt different having him sit next to me.
He gave me a piece of gum. I half hoped it was because he was going to kiss me, but I knew it was just because he’s polite. And he really likes gum.
As he left, we had this cute stupid moment where I tilted my head back and he put his chin on my forehead. I know it was just a little endearing gesture to show his affection where he would normally just hug me, but still… it gave me the crush goose bumps.
And then I threw a frustration temper tantrum after the door closed behind him.
Cause I know I can’t pursue it.
And he’s probably got a girlfriend.
And I’m just crushing on a cute boy I once again can’t have.
Dammit, stupid stupid ethics and standards, and the fact that the ratio of guys to girls here is NOT tilted in my favor.
I sit in class, learning about the wonders of the human body, only to suddenly and spontaneously be mentally taken away.
A bitch is thirsty. I haven’t had sex since Gent and I last fucked, and the prospects of your girl getting any keep dwindling.
My brain, in an effort to express its frustrations, will randomly posit outlandish escapades with whomever happens to be in the back of my mind.
One classmate pushes me up against the brick wall of our lecture hall, raises my skirt, and fucks me right there, brick brushing and bruising my back.
Another classmate and I, while studying at his apartment, take a break to fuck on his couch, on his floor, and throw in some dirty talk involving ownership of my cunt.
One student who I tutor decides to thank me with making out.
Another of my students cuddles me on a rainy Sunday. And we’re naked. You see where this is going.
These fantasy fuck breaks come all at once and without warning. Recently one took me by such surprise that I had to rush my hand to my face just so I could bite my finger to keep myself from moaning.
I’ve imagined threesomes with two beautiful men who have beautiful eyes and beautiful bodies and want to do horribly beautiful things to me.
Each day walking around, as people pass me in my travels, I’ll randomly tick off who could, or won’t ever, get this pussy.
Tutoring has specifically increased my frustrations. Being in close intimate contact with attractive intelligent individuals has done wonders for my hope for POC in medicine but also has sky rocketed my libido.
One of the above students I mentioned is the worst. He is tall, attractive, kind, soft spoken, and kind of all the things right now that would be great in a casual boyfriend. But, I suspect, he’s dating one of his classmates. And, more importantly, I CANNOT date anyone I’m tutoring. The power dynamics would be awkward and the situation would be unethical.
Another student I tutor is a young beautiful woman, also quiet and soft spoken, but she has these eyes that suck me in and a small charming smile. All I ever want to do is comfort and care for her, but, once again, tutoring her means no to any of the sensuous things I want to do with and to her. Also, thankfully, she has a boyfriend, so I don’t have to worry about developing feelings, though my libido has other plans in mind.
Dating apps have been dud after dud even as I’ve tried and tried.
All my favs in my class are already taken.
And I asked another friend if they’d be interested in an FWB situation. They told me to ask them again after we match (i.e. the end of fourth year). My pussy CANNOT wait that long.
So yeah, here I am:
nerdy
thirsty
horny
Poetic.
Side Note: I made the Dean’s List. And my merit scholarship rolled over another year. So medical school is working out thus far, even as I struggle to keep my sex crazed mind from going mad.
PPS: I also set a new personal best on the elliptical. I completed 3 miles in thirty minutes (plus a five minute cool down). Trying to get, and stay, healthy as I shape my mind for my future career.
