{"id":1148,"date":"2010-09-14T10:50:27","date_gmt":"2010-09-14T14:50:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blasianbytch.com\/?p=1148"},"modified":"2010-09-19T11:26:02","modified_gmt":"2010-09-19T15:26:02","slug":"boys-before-breakfast","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blasianbytch.com\/?p=1148","title":{"rendered":"Boys before Breakfast"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"\"<\/a>\u201cThat was like fucking a ghost\u201d<\/p>\n

He was laying on his back and staring at the ceiling.\u00a0 He had finally caught his breath after a bought of arrhythmic and sadly unsatisfying lovemaking.\u00a0\u00a0 His hand crept over the roundness of my hip I think he was looking for my hand.\u00a0 My back was to his; it was customary for me to turn away from a man after we\u2019d fucked.\u00a0 It was my subtle way of saying \u2018don\u2019t worry, I don\u2019t expect to cuddle.\u201dIt was a not so subtle hint that I hate each one for not volunteering his affection.\u00a0 I lay there looking at the folksy decorations of his dorm room.<\/p>\n

He nudged me, \u201c Did you hear me, are you awake?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d pillow talk, awkward.<\/p>\n

The vast majority of men that fucked me much like one might play a sport. Can you imagine a basketball player playing a scrimmage and asking the court \u2018how was it for you?\u2019.\u00a0 They mostly did their business and moved on. I never asked them to stay because it seemed more and more I didn\u2019t want them to.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou fuck like a ghost,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that even mean? How can you fuck like a fictional being?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t believe in ghosts?\u201d<\/p>\n

I made a non-commital grunt\/hum noise. It seemed to sate him for the time being. He turned his body to mine and put his arm around me and pulled our bodies together.\u00a0 His hand began to search my body. I figured this was him initiating round two.\u00a0 I rolled over on my stomach and turned my face to meet his.<\/p>\n

\u201cBoo.\u201d\u00a0 I whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you didn\u2019t believe in ghosts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never said that.\u201d<\/p>\n

He mimicked my non-committal grunt, then placed a slightly too wet kiss on my forehead. I didn\u2019t know the proper response , so my reaction was a passive non-action.\u00a0 Wrong choice, his brow scrunched in pensive frustration.<\/p>\n

\u201cLike fucking a ghost.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was uncharacteristic of him to curse. My stoic nature upset him, it upset me as well but I lacked the capacity to express it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that even mean?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou only look like you\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m obviously really here, you cock is resting on something, that something is me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what I mean\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo I?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou barely touch me when-\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m touching you now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m touching you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSemantics\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want<\/em> me to touch you, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

The look in his eyes made me uneasy. He looked wide open, trusting and more shockingly in need of my approval.<\/p>\n

I learned a lot of things in my twenty some odd years on this earth, most about men. The perfect way to broil a steak, how to massage tired shoulders, and a myriad of other methods to make them fall for me, or run from me.\u00a0 Most of these lessons were learned in the field, not read in magazines aimed at bored housewives that don\u2019t exist anymore.\u00a0 I learned how to get a man to pay my term bill by making him feel so small he tried to buy his manhood back.<\/p>\n

My most valuable lesson was learning how to feign the exact same emotion that was reflecting from Joe\u2019s eyes.\u00a0 When confronted with the real thing it shocked me that any of my previous performances had ever rung true. Just to keep my heart from breaking I had to turn my head and break his stare. \u00a0It was confusing all the emotions suddenly stirring inside me, among them the sadness in realizing that I never thought that my own approval would ever be needed.<\/p>\n

I spent most of my active sexual life asking the same question in his eyes. It used to be every time I fucked a new man it felt like reaching into my chest ripping out my heart and asking \u201cAm I good enough yet?\u201d, \u201cAm I worthwhile?\u201d, and with out fail each man scoffed at my offering.\u00a0\u00a0 It was the same stinging disapproval I felt every time I brought a project home to my father.\u00a0 He would look at my B\u2019s and snidely ask why they were not A\u2019s. \u00a0\u00a0Now when it came to fucking I tried to keep my heart safely in my chest to save it from embarrassment, yet every so often I was stuck in bed with a man as little girl offering her bloody B grade heart when all he accepted where A\u2019s.<\/p>\n

Now here was I in bed with a boy that was offering me his heart, a tattered broken ugly precious thing.<\/p>\n

I turned back to him without confronting his eyes again, buried my face in his chest and begged him to never stop touching me , knowing full well he would never honor my request.<\/p>\n\n

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