Below are the 2 most recent journal entries recorded in evilbunny46's LiveJournal:

Thursday, January 13th, 2005
2:03 am	Past Transgressions It had snowed for days. Twenty-three inches. It was beautiful, it made the world (or at least our little corner of it) halt completely. We, like many other, cuddled together under fluffy down blankets. Or at least I thought it was cuddling; according to you that is something that I am incapable of. Whatever. I tell you that you knew who I was when you decided you wanted me, and you say that I’m bitter and set in my ways. I don’t believe that, I’m to damn young to be set in my ways. I don’t even have ‘ways’. “It’s starting to get warmer outside.” You say from your spot near the window. “All of it will melt soon.” Your noxious obviousness bleeds down carefully painted cream walls. I pay little attention to you, being shut in with the likes of you quickly draining my waning patience. If I thought I could love you before, you’ve now dissuaded the notion. It must be me. Maybe it’s a genetic condition, my mother smoked a lot of pot. And wouldn’t it be nice, if we could both blame my emotional problems on some unseen monster? Then your ‘generous’ heart wouldn’t have to blame this person you’ve let into your bed, and I could be free of the heavy burden of guilt you seem to think I carry. I really shouldn’t mock so, I let you believe these things. I grow very tired of explaining my feelings, or lack there of. Is it really so unbelievable that a girl doesn’t love you? Or is it just your pride that has been scraped sore? Its old, rough worn and smelling slightly of moth balls. Our words fail to incite conversations, and your fore play has become small talk. Topics are batted back and forth with as much enthusiasm as a ten-year-old declawed Siamese playing with a dead mouse. And your still staring at the snow, as if it were a naked goddess rather than a common fact of nature. As if she’d let you look, I know; the novelty of being naked has long since expired. I’m despondent, but you seem unconcerned with my sexual apathy. The phone rings. “Hello?” “Hey you.” His voice, deep, resonating, unconcerned with the cares of the world. He rarely calls, he respects that you hate him, merely for being who he is. He once said that he didn’t want to cause dissention in the ranks, I think he understood when I laughed. “How are you holding up? Got the fever yet?” “It’s not a fever, more like leprosy…eating away painfully at my flesh. I’m going to start dropping digits soon.” You look at me disgusted, never one for my morbid sense of humor. He laughs, the sound is rusty and warm. It tastes like copper, a penny under your tongue. “I was going to head up to the Esquire next week, or as soon as the white death recedes. You want to go? I’d like to see you.” Always direct, now I remember why I liked him. “Yes.” I’m hoping I didn’t sound too desperate. I don’t care if he knows, in fact I’ll probably tell him how desperate I am as soon as I see him. I just don’t think I can deal with your womanly nagging. Funny, how my role is always taken from me when I enter into a relationship. “That would be great, you have to drive though,” “Yes, yes.” He says. “You can never find a parking spot.” There is s sarcastic mocking thing going on with that voice I love so much, “Really sweetheart, you should learn how to parallel park.” “I would honey bumbkins, if I had much of a use for such a maneuver.” We had gotten into this degrading nick name thing years ago, not that you understood, or ever tried. He gave a slight growling laugh. “Is the kid there now?” I sigh. “Yeah.” “Okie dokie. I’ll call you when the snow melts.” We hang up. It’s the natural smile on my face that pisses you off. I think your mad because he gave it to me, you wouldn’t have cared if it had been my brother on the phone. “You’re going to go out with him aren’t you.” It’s not even a question. So I don’t give you an answer. Its childish, but at the moment I don’t care. You hiss a searing sibilance that sets me on edge. “You can be such a bitch.” Doing your un-merry pretty boy dance, you stomp off into the other room, and I patiently wait for the snow to melt ---------- It was two days after the thaw. The temp rose to forty-five degrees, and I wore the lowest slung jeans I could find, because he liked to touch me. We actually go to the movie this time, after he makes me park the car. It’s nice to be with him. His simple undemanding company. There’s no pressure, no insistent hand on my thigh during the trailers. We can talk about things I’m interested in, without the strange look and scoffs that you supply me with. And then he touches me. For a moment I see your face, and I feel a pang of guilt. No one deserves to be cheated, or lied too. My infidelity is a traitorous act. But then I feel something stronger. Refusal. I refuse to deny my body what it needs. I refuse to be a causality to your inadequacies. His hands send shock waves through me. His mouth on my skin is enough to erase all thought of you from my mind. I remember things you caused me to forget. I remember why I kept my nails long, because he liked the pain they caused. I remember what it was like to come first. Literally and figuratively. I remember how it feels to be so full that my soul feels like its stretching. And I remember how you told me you loved me, and seemed to do everything in your power to prove the opposite. He seems to realize that my conscious is tugging at me, and doubles his efforts…fingers bruising…mouth seeking. And I have to wonder why? Why is he so demanding? Why does he give me all that I want and more, so I ask him. And he lifts his lips from flushed damp flesh and says: “Because I want to see you. Have you any idea how you look? You become the most beautiful thing.” His words make me tingle. They send fissures of pleasure racing up my spine. They light me in ways that your ramblings of my beauty and grace never have. And when he enters into me I explode. I fall apart. I’m disjointed and happy. And I never want to see you again. When we’ve finished, he doesn’t hold me. He doesn’t wrap his hot sweaty body around mine and rasp at ‘how great it was’ in my ear. He merely stretches out beside me, resplendent and beautiful, grinning at a job well done. I have to fight the urge to applaud. When I can feel my arms, when I can breathe again, I roll over and pick up the phone. I dial your number, and I say the words I should have said a long time ago. Current Mood: apathetic Current Music: Coffeehouse rock (Comment on this)
Friday, December 31st, 2004
2:04 am	Tired *Achem* In which I consider the degradation of my sex life...and my relationship. -------- With blind eyes you never see The pieces of the soul that you've ripped from me The night is so loud with you lying there I'm broken and beaten, and what's sad is that you don't care. Tired prose from broken lips. Fake sighs offered upon your alter; neither ever satisfied. Lashes matted with moisture...and yet you've never seen me cry. They always told me how nice it was not to have to sleep alone, and all I can think of is how I can't sleep when your here. And there are moments when I think I could love you, and then you speak and then you speak and I wonder what the hell I was thinking. I remember how I once loved to touch you, a delicious tactile experience it was...and now all I can think of when my fingers dance over you is how to give you what you want so you'll leave me alone. To think of the first time, how you fumbled and blushed, and how silly I felt trying to assure you that it was okay to be so unfulfilled. And to think of the last time, fast and rough...bruising...and just as unfulfilling. Maybe your ego took a hit, at how I just sighed at your attempts, after awhile not even offering those 'helpful' suggestions. How you would sit, a blanket hiding what had already been seen, holding your head in your hands...and how I was always secretly happy at your pain. It wasn't always like this was it? Didn't it used to be fun? Didn't we used to giggle and touch and didn't I act as young as you are? Didn't you used to encourage this aggressiveness? Didn't you used to like me on top? But now where there were hands full of worship, there are only bruising fingers as you strive to make me submissive. And how I used to love to watch you as you tried to make me scream, but now I can't stand to look at you...because we both know you can't. It used to make me so happy to see you...and I used to think I made you happy too. How your hands would hurt me so nicely when I kissed you. It wasn't until you tried to get inside my head that the distemper arose. How you proclaimed me silly, not understanding my passion for certain things. But for a little while you tried, humoring me almost, as if you were afraid I would stop giving you the sex you wanted. How you gave me a katana, how I thought you understood. How you showed me how to fight, and how I thought that we could really go someplace. I remember how amazed you were that a 'girl like me' could beat you in Tekken, and how you causally commented that I was 'too pretty' to be so into anime. I never understood that, but I can't ask you to explain it now. I tried to show you, because you claimed you wanted to know. How could you really when you watched for so little before trying to get into my pants? And to think I felt a little guilty, getting off to Cowboy bebop. How angry you were when I told you so much later, and how you stole my DVD's, jealous of an animated character. And so I take up the role you should…I role out of bed and gather up my clothes. I can’t even muster up the guilt to turn around and make sure you are still asleep. But to be honest, I don’t really care if you see me leaving. I tug on my shoes and pick up my coat, and think that it’s not fair. It makes me want to laugh…how anxious I was to get you into my bed, how excited I was at having you beneath me; and how it hurts a little to realize so late that you really are. ---- And so that’s when, I stopped looking forward to your calls. How your disapproving looks didn't stop me from sneaking off to the comic book stores. I hung out with other guys, the ones who made you so nervous. And I didn't feel guilty. It wasn't too long ago I realized, I didn't want you to know me. That I wanted these little secluded pieces of myself. How you’re latent ability to make me not come was my subconscious telling me to RUN in big bold letters. So I did. I went to Vegas with the guys you despised, I spent $1.75 gambling and $270 on manga. I came home tired and happy and slept for days. It didn't bother me when your voice came over the line, more whining than angry. I felt no remorse; in fact I wanted to scream 'Yes!' when you so quietly asked me if I'd 'fucked any of 'em?'. But I remained civil, friendly to the end, and you confessed that you were afraid of me, saying you though I 'had the strength to do anything'. So I gave you back your gifts, listen to you tell me I was beautiful and denied you another shot. And then you slunk away, angry and beautiful and hating me. But I kept that fucking sword. Current Mood: cynical Current Music: Ghost in the Shell; Stand Alone Complex OST (Comment on this)