Edward's song.

So yes, I know in the series, Edward writes Bella this beautiful piano lullaby and then that weaves its way through the rest of the books. My Edward, on the other hand, gets associated with a slightly different tone...

Almost lover.

Yet another post about Edward. Maybe this will be less scatter-brained. (Sorry about that last post, by the way.)

Anyway. I'm behind the times, but I just found this song. And it very much describes the whole Edward and I thing. I spent two hours on the phone with him last night. I can't be angry at him anymore. I don't have the energy. Although I was doing OK with him just letting me alone. But that hasn't seemed to be the tactic of any of the lost lovers in my life lately. But this song is sad and beautiful and resonates with fallen hope... I think that's appropriate.

And one more assertion that I couldn't have picked a more apt psuedonym for him - apparently this song is going to be in the newest Twilight movie. When Edward and Bella split up. Funny how that works.




should have known you'd bring me heartache - almost lovers always do...

The real Edward

i.e. NOT my Edward. Although he did randomly contact me two days ago. And it was strange. And I am pathetic in my inability to separate myself from him. I don't even fall for his lines any more, but I can't seem to cut all ties. Weakling.

Anyway... While doing some work for my academic blog, I stumbled upon an old photo of Leonardo DiCaprio, circa 1997 slash Titanic. And realized that he looks a hell of a lot like Edward, aka Robert Pattinson, from the Twilight movie(s).



other people MUST see the resemblance. I think some of it might be the pale-white-boy-with-spikey-hair look, but nevertheless. It probably also serves as testament to the fact that tastes don't change much... 10 years ago, tweenage girls were drooling over the exact same look they are now. (And yes, some of us are STILL drooling.) I actually prefer Leo now, although that might have something to do with the fact that I actually respect him as an actor. Robert Pattinson, eh, still to be determined. But oh, the boy can sing! Kind of a twangy James Blunt/James Taylor vibe. Interesting, indeed.



That's all I've got for you today.

The internet is for porn, and other random realizations.

This will, admittedly, be a disjointed post. I'm having three different conversations right now, all about similar things, but with different people. So maybe I'll just number the following grafs.

1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.

2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.

3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.

4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.

5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.

6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.

7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?

8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.

HNT: Rough

I've been slacking on the HNTs the past month, so this time is going to include a series - something I've never done before. But I also needed to post these while they're still relevant. So here goes.

We're all aware by now that my particular brand of kink involves BDSM. (Aside: I was sitting at dinner with a girlfriend the other day, and she asked me what the kinkiest thing I'd ever done was, then had to clarify "Not including violent-type things." I kind of paled in comparison with that caveat.) The more I explore it, the more I find that the control aspect - specifically, giving up that control - is what really appeals to me. I also love the physical sensation, of course, and that often has very physical, ahem, responses within my body. But of the various forms of control, I found another I liked this past week.

After a particularly emotionally trying day (complete with 3.5 hour period of unconsciousness followed by mysterious stress-rash...ew.), I ended up asking a friend to spend the night with me. I knew he was a good cuddler, and wasn't at all opposed to the idea of having someone to sleep next to. He's also an exceedingly good kisser, and earlier in the evening, had lavished all kinds of attention on my neck. (A sadly under-appreciated area on my body... people usually get drawn to my tits, but putting one's mouth along my neck is almost the fastest way to reduce me to a compliant puddle of desire possible.) So, yeah, without much effort, he had me convinced that it would be worthwhile for him to stay.

I've written about him before, but as of late, I'm thinking of him as my Jacob. (Yes, more Twilight analogies.) He unquestionably loves me, and he is sweet and probably better for me than a lot of my other choices. But still, there's always something in the way. He's also the only person younger than me I'm still sleeping with.

Anyway. He spent the night. We "went to bed" early, and were actually asleep by about 3am. Here's what he did to me in the meantime:

Right shoulder, four days later




Left shoulder, four days later

Those are from his teeth. I loved that he wasn't afraid to use them. Of course, he picked up pretty quickly from the writhing, whimpering me under his mouth that it was a good thing and he should continue doing that. At one point, he was biting me on one side as he had his palm lightly curled around the other side of my neck. I liked the way it felt. So I brought my hand up to his palm, and clasped my hand around his, closing down - thereby making his hand tighten around my neck. He kept biting and tightening ever so slightly.

I dissolved.

He noticed the change in my body, and whether or not he could feel the current running through me as I thrilled at the new sensation, I don't know, but he responded appropriately. Never crushing my airway, of course (I'm lucky in that he has some experience in the area, and can show me new things while still keeping me safe), he would periodically bring his hands to my neck, my jaw, and tighten his grip. And every time, it had the same effect on me. Fire racing through my veins and fueling the desire already coursing through me. I think I caught him smiling a little, slightly evil smile as he watched me gasp in pleasure and surprise, but as soon as his hands were there, the world around me ceased to exist, so I can't be sure.

and this is from his hands. Again, four days later, you can't see that, essentially, the entirety of my neck was purple.

It.
Was.
AWESOME.


That's all I've got.

HHNT!

My Edward.

Note: Yes, I've been reading the Twilight series. I just (minutes ago) finished Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn is waiting for me on my bookshelf. I'm mildly obsessed, and as such, this post will contain some allusions and references to the books. No spoilers, I promise.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to most that I'm mildly in love with Edward Cullen. Other than the striking beauty and eloquence, the danger he exudes is not only exciting, but enthralling. Yes, I know he's a fictional character. I'm not obsessed with him (nor even with the actor who portrays him in the film), but it is an interesting kind of fairy-tale crush. Were the fairy tale laced with deadly implications and dark (albeit infuriatingly restrained) eroticism.

Such a hero, free of the shining white horse and spotless past, has always appealed to me more than the stereotypical Prince Charming. The brooding intellectualism rather than the shiningly ignorant optimism, the mysterious past which can't quite be reconciled over the pedigreed and pampered upbringing... it's always fascinated me, and I suppose I was just waiting for someone to deify such a character so I could openly identify with the type of anti-hero I had been wanting.

Of course, there are darker motives, too. I like the danger. Part of me loves the uncertainty. We know I'm a masochist, and so there is without question a part of me that loves the pain brought on by proximity to such brilliant, dark people. And they are always brilliant, just like the storybook. Intoxicatingly beautiful. And utterly irresistible, for someone like me.

And the interesting part is that in many ways, this wasn't just a fantasy. Sure, several of my relationships have had elements of those dark fairy tales, but there has been one consistent anti-hero weaving his way in and out of my story for almost a decade now. Yes, I know that means we were very young when we met. Nevertheless, that's the truth. I will, for obvious reasons, call him Edward.

He was beautiful and dark from the moment we met. He avoided me so stringently at first that there was little to conclude other than two extremes: He either hated me immensely, or he was "unchangingly, irrevocably in love" with me. (Which sounds conceited, except that he's told me as much.) He was very much a mystery for a long time after that, and our sporadic meetings were as intense as any I'd ever had. When he finally spoke to me, he was condescending (though I was a year older), overconfident, and still strikingly beautiful. When he met my eyes for the first time, I forgot how to breathe. The piercing blue, in sharp contrast to his dark, spiked hair, ripped through me with a force I wasn't sure was human.

For those first few years, we fought almost constantly. Well, that's not entirely true. The tension and passion between us has always been thick, tight and tangible enough to cut with a knife. More often than not, those two forces overlap one another and what should be a screaming match has us out of breath and spent for an entirely different reason. His touch is hard and simultaneously comforting. I know he is stronger than me and am full aware he could easily break me - indeed, sometimes I wish he would - but that sets me more on edge and makes me want him that much more. Although he knows exactly the same, he has never once treated me like he was afraid he would break me. His hands rough on my wrists, his mouth hard as he would bite my neck.

And there is something more than vaguely vampiric about him. Besides the pale skin, dark hair and stunning eyes, the beautifully sharp jaw line and striking physical strength, the way he looks at me does resonate hunger. He was always unabashedly fascinated by my self-destructive tendencies, especially those that left me bleeding. To this day, he looks over the scars on my wrists with a morbid fascination. Again, to quote Twilight, he looks at me as though I'm something to eat.

And god, the feel of his skin on mine. The way that hunger translates into every time he touches me. How he knows exactly where to touch me, where to put his hands, his lips, his tongue... It's enchanting, and frighteningly disarming. I have no defenses around him. Effortlessly, he reduces me to putty in his hands. Looking at him would be enough, but his deft handling of my body makes resisting not remotely possible.

Our paths cross so infrequently that I am left clinging to memories of when we were together. More than once, they have become vivid fantasies. Sometimes the memories of things that have never happened. And in all likelihood, never will happen.

Amidst our passion, and perhaps as a consequence of it, we do get into knock-down, drag-out fights. We stop speaking for long periods of time. He falls off the face of the earth on a disconcertingly regular basis. And every time he does, I promise myself I will not, under any conditions, accept his excuses. Because he always has them. Every time he leaves, and hurts me by doing so, he comes back with some excuse. I don't bother believing them anymore. Because whether or not I believe that he was bailing his brother out of jail or joining the military or being a drug runner doesn't matter. We both know it doesn't matter. Because I know he'll come back to me. And he knows I'll take him back. It's a brutal, destructive cycle.

I know, unlike Bella, that Edward is no good for me. I don't want the kind of future he is always trying to promise me, because I know how incredibly unlikely it is to ever come to be. I know that Edward is dangerous. I know that he will cause me more pain before we can ever get to the happiness, if the barrage ever stops. But, like Bella, I cannot pull myself away from my dark hero. I guess, in a way, I am addicted to the pain. Maybe because it feels so good when it stops. And it feels so good when he's with me. I've never been with someone who understands me on such an intimate, intrinsic level. Who can make me so angry that I can't see straight, and hold me tight enough that I believe the world will stop hurting me, and kiss me so hard that everything else fades away.

And that's exactly why I can't pull away. I started writing this with the intention of calling him once I was done and telling him it was finally over. That he and I were over. That I couldn't stand the pain anymore, that it had outweighed the good - my attraction to him, and yes, my love for him. But that isn't true. And I can't lie to him. I tried, once. Tried to convince him I wasn't in love with him. He knew me better. Obviously, he is still here. And so am I.

In many ways, nothing has changed since we met. In many ways, everything is different. But what I still can't decide is what I am going to do about the facts. About the fact that he is bad for me. And that I'm bad for him. And that the passion we have for one another sometimes turns to anger. And that the way I feel about him is something completely distinct and unique from anything else I've ever felt, including about my first love. And that I write about him differently (and rarely) here because I am so uncertain of how I feel, but nonetheless, the words flow easily and uncensored. I know that we are like two combustibles, waiting to explode into a brilliant burst of flames the moment we touch. I never know whether those flames will be pleasurable or painful.

But not knowing is some of the fun. And part of the appeal in the masochism I have come to embrace. Something he knew about me before I discovered it myself. And there is something about the fact that he has yet to leave me - for good, I mean. I have said terrible things to him, consciously hurt him... and he always comes back. I don't know if that's love... or obsession. And I don't know if I care. I am so clearly unclear about everything Edward does. I know how he feels, I know what he wants, but I have no idea as to whether it's something that will ever actually come to be. I'm not even sure if it's possible.

And I haven't finished the series yet, so I don't know if Edward gets a happy ending. And even if he does, how happy can the ending be when one must sacrifice something so great to be with the other? In the end, who is really making the sacrifice? That's still unclear.