From Esme With Love and Squalor

Neverwhere

Annabelle — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 07:54:41 +0000

It was a place in the ass middle of nowhere, where people got lost in hopes of being found, and I had a room next to a Norwegian who was always either making home videos or jerking off to them. Got a part-time job at the liquor store because it was the one place guaranteed not to go bankrupt. When I wrote home I called it “vacation with the girls.”

I met Noah because we both worked the graveyard shift. His eyes were so dark he looked perpetually stoned. Amber skin and a natural scent like misty autumn mornings.

He talked about settling down, a place where everything would be okay. I trusted him because there was something in him as restless as in me. Because I knew that if I left in the middle of the night my waking up would wake him up, and no questions, he would pull his mostly-packed suitcase out from under the bed and follow me.

I should’ve gone with him. He was not always sober when he spoke of it, but always quietly insistent, always sure of himself. Now I see those forceful hands and clear eyes in my dreams and think, Maybe I could’ve been saved.

The Candyman

Annabelle — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 07:54:06 +0000

I was at the Sweet Factory the other day singing under my breath to the song on the radio (All These Things That I’ve Done by The Killers) when I noticed the cashier doing the same thing. A little older than I am, but with big blue Frodo eyes that would keep him young forever. Adorable as fuck. He met my eyes, smiled…and then I threw him onto the counter and we fucked in full view of passersby, disapproving parents, and screaming kids.

No. No! Even I’m not that brazen. We smiled at each other and chit-chatted and he rang up my candy and we smiled some more and it was nothing, really, but it was nice. Sometimes it’s good to talk about music, books, candy with no expectation on either side. To walk into the sunshine smiling from something a stranger said. To know that whatever it may seem like sometimes, not everything is about sex.

Well, not some things, at least…

Summer school

Annabelle — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 21:52:47 +0000

When I’m bored in class, I start mind-fucking the people around me. Male, female, student, TA, prof…whoever’s cute and nearby, really. The other day, I was mentally ravaging the German exchange student while the prof blithered on about something anyone with eyes to read the PowerPoint presentation already understood. Such a pretty thing, pale and dark-haired and green-eyed. Slight, but from the outline of his thighs through his jeans, his bare forearms on the table, you could tell he was muscled. And charming without trying, big smile, the accent rendering him incomprehensible when he was nervous. I had my lips wrapped around his cock when he returned my gaze. Caught.

There are no two ways around it. When you are fantasizing about someone, you can’t help but make bedroom eyes at him. I knew it. He knew it. And from his expression, I don’t think he had any objections.

Let’s put it this way: I now know how to say “yes” in German.

[Picture temporarily removed. Soon I'll trust him enough that I won't care if he finds this blog and realizes it's the same picture I sent him, but for now I'd rather he not make the connection.]