mouth full of rocks

Yesterday K and I were bantering about something or other, housework I think, and she said “You just don’t appreciate what your boyfriend does around here!” (or something to that effect).

Now, I am fairly used to thinking of K as male, male-ish, I mean it’s kinda hard not to at this point. And in my own mind I use a fuzzy mix of pronouns and descriptors. But this is the first time I have heard K use such a word in self-reference out loud.

[Cut to thought: why is the word “boyfriend” so much more powerful than any of the sex-related gendered words we use (e.g., “his big cock,” etc? Why does it feel so much more socially significant?]

Anyways, I would love to say that I didn’t skip a beat and carried on like I didn’t notice. But, dear readers, I am just not that smooth. I said sputtered something like, “Uh, what? Did? You just say?” and K repeated it slowly, breaking out in a blush. So I initiated Instinctual Minor Hug and Comfort Response Protocol #62 and it was, as I said, no big deal. But I’m sure I’ll fuck it up a few more times yet, as things change.

There’s nothing wrong with all of it but all I want is to do and say the right girlfriend things, help us through this with patience and grace. Please.

the sea was airtight

Five days without her, counting from now. The house and me, sleeping pets, silent plants. If we had TV I’d turn the news on just to hear someone talking. It’s entertaining, really, how much it upsets me–the memory of her hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing tears off my cheek, whispering be a good girl, now–how silly I am.

When we were still in college, we would go days and days without seeing each other. A date on the weekend, looking forward to the next. That was fine; I liked the space. That was being a real woman, an independent person– I was me and she was she and that’s how I wanted it. And now she’s been gone for three hours and already I can feel the silence invading my head.

You are driving your little sedan on the highway, singing to some bad rock station, swearing at the other drivers–you hate the ones who skip three lanes to get to the exit. You are going home to your family, your annoying teenage brother, that sister I’ve never met, your mother and your cats, and you will have a great time with them, and I will miss you and wait, I will miss you and wait until you come back.

I will lie in our bed and touch myself the way you would, imagine your fingers in my hair, the way you hold me still and tell me I belong to you. I will wake up with your scent on the pillows, soft and full, holding myself tight. I will miss you and wait, miss you and wait until you come back.

morning, my love

Is there anything more difficult than leaving a sleeping girl in your bed? I’m sure there is. But in those brief, so very brief, moments—watching her sleep, eyelids fluttering softly, the edge of one soft nipple poking out from blue sheets—it feels like the most difficult thing in the world.