And perhaps I was calling you on every single day of the year subconsciously. There was an unrelenting chime in the air, a love attraction frequency of high desire on the balloon of my aura and on the ointment I placed on the nude of my wrists with your presence on it. You changed over night with a hunger that consumed your own calmness and forced out your desperation at the temple of my being where I looked down on you for once my sweet giant.
But I remember being with this other guy, my temporary high in the backseat of a car and there a moonlit sky shining through the glass and the police and the skunks of the night patrolled both making their own rounds. I was with an obsessive mature man posing his green werewolf eyes on the unclothed parts of my skin where he seared it with established longing for my youth. We made out heavy covering the light of the moon with fog; our faces were flushed, our jaws wide open and our tongues jolting of wild electricity.
And he had this magical way of knowing how to bring me closer to him with just his fingertips on the ends of my hair. Oh how he caressed my hair like a woman with softness like strolling with minimal clothing through a garden of delicate flower petals to feel the sensations of nature. He was finding his way down, my shirt in custody by the mass of my breasts and he nibbled the entire space of my stomach grabbing onto the sides of my curves. And I shook and shook in pleasure similar to the first time I received foreplay when I was twelve but I watched his own saliva strings at the corner of his mouth being overran by happiness.
Perhaps I was calling you on every single day of the year subconsciously as I do even now. It’s why I feel you bother and visit me in my dreams on most nights. Bet it’s why you called me at 4am, your maniacal self because just as I do, you feel me there.
The blood results came back and I became crippled with the news, “You’re pregnant.” My suspicions were true along with that Tiger dream, the one who magically fixed a uterus back together. I hung up the phone and backtracked. Everything made sense: Breasts filled with voluminous rage, cravings I kept in denial like a drug addict and my stomach rising like yeast. The sinking feeling of depression, the steady exhaustion, hyper sexual appetite and forgetting about the gym was soon to be up for debate or a choice to make, one that follows instant termination.
Which came first: The slip of a faulty IUD I’ve had on for years or the pregnancy? I’m uncertain and so is everyone else. And if 9 weeks and 2 days weren’t enough time on my plate and in my belly I had to head into the emergency room to figure out if the pregnancy was in fact in my uterus or if it was going to be considered a very dangerous: Ectopic pregnancy. I spent the entire day looking at people with different diseases in the hospital and was sure to contact a disease from the man who was vomiting next to me.
And no matter where I went I had to deal with every single nurse and doctor and even my own bizarre GYN stating how I can have this baby if I want to regardless of the small facts like the percentages of miscarriages that derive from the IUD and the first 20 weeks of pregnancy and regardless if the IUD somehow could penetrate the baby itself at some point or another. It seemed like everyone assumed I’m going to have this baby knowing that the reason why I opted for an IUD in the first place is because it has a 99% effective rate without hormones. But somehow I managed to be that 0.01% to become pregnant. Is it safe to say the downside to being healthy is being fertile? (And I know there are women out there who can’t have kids or are trying to, so it seems with that last statement I’m ungrateful. I assure you I’m not ungrateful.)
Last night in my honesty I told my aunt about the pregnancy to which she was ecstatic and made me call my mother who cried out of joy for something she could look forward to instead of dying in her nursing home bed who told me to call my brother to let him know he’s going to be an uncle. They were all just making plans and seeing a future I didn’t. I never mentioned to them that I have an appointment for termination. This would break their hearts. Now I’m to lie to them for the next few weeks until I feel they can bear it. The only person who made a mention of why I’m leaning towards not having the baby was the Indian lady who was probing my vagina with the sonogram dildo. But I presume she was just a nosy woman or just needed not to feel as awkward as me having that camera dildo in my twat so she became nothing less than a chatty Kathy.
It’s absolutely crazy how people don’t live your life or care to see things from your perspective yet they want to tell you that college isn’t important that having a baby is because you’re not getting any younger and there’s a time limit. A time limit for whom since I’m of no concern to them? It’s insulting and it’s basically telling me, “Your life doesn’t matter. Just have this baby so we the family can live for hope in the name of the future.”
Is anyone truly prepared to have a kid whether financially, emotionally or mentally?
I’ve never really gave it much thought until last week. I also never gave it much thought to have a child because I’m not at a place where I’m pleased to be. How would I look like having a child while still living with my roommate? How would I handle being burdened in my own life and than to bring that forth to my child even if it wouldn’t remember in the early part of their years? I don’t have family or friends who would be able to babysit for me. I still want an educational degree that I’ve earned. I want and need more money. Surely, all these things can be excuses because there are plenty of people who can do it all or do their best. But it’s not for me. Not now. But I realize that no one can be prepared for having a child. It changes the complete fuck out of you. I couldn’t imagine having it at this time.
I was struggling with the thought of being a bad person (something I believe I’m truly not) because not allowing this baby to live will somehow make me a bad person. Still I did my best to not have a repeat of a second abortion that took place 9 years ago when I was put to sleep. I was young, scared, full of tears and very emotional even after I dealt with it. Still 99% is only 99%. Maybe when I go in this week to take care of the final duties my punishment is being awake while they perform this 3-5 minute procedure.
And in some weird way I feel like I probably deserve it even with the precautions I took.
I’m putting myself out there more and by more I mean OBVIOUSLY more than usual and MORE personal than some emotional guy’s tongue buried deep inside my precious twat.
I could have started this entry back in November or the last week of December. But really everything seemed to trickle down for me in the beginning of the New Year where I got fired from my job because I had the courage to stand up for what I believe in and for never wavering my principles while keeping my integrity intact.
During this time for a moment I felt down in the dumps like I lost a childhood pet because there was a part of me that felt like perhaps I’ve fallen from grace. With this dark cloud over my head I began to feel ill every time I ate or didn’t for that matter. I found, mentally, I was no longer visualizing, planning, going to sleep, daydreaming or even thinking about my training sessions at the gym.
I became tired at the oddest of times and took naps every chance I got and shortly after I started to sleep up to 11-14 hours a day. Every morning cramps came (and still do) very suddenly like a knock on the door and it found its way into my aura with panic and spanking novelty. Then the headaches, they commenced at any which way and waved over me as if I were its safe harbor. I’ve never felt like this before. What is wrong with me? Could this clearly be depression? A deeply manic episode of sort?
I now look at water with disgust because in my mouth it swiftly tasted like metal. But I’ve been drinking nothing but water for years and over night my body is asking me for a Coke (or two) or Chocolate Milk. All I want is cheese and meat and maybe some potatoes. But my appetite changed on me and I couldn’t handle large portions anymore. Plus I’m horny all the time and haven’t the faintest idea how to turn it off. I’ve been going full speed and giving the middle fingers to cruise control. Is this an identity crisis? Another transitional change of becoming thirty-two someone has forgot to tell me about?
I grew suspicious of myself. Once again my body betrayed me unexpectedly. What a cunning cunt! I’m being taken hostage; my body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. And I haven’t had a suicidal thought in a decade until tonight.
But I scheduled an appointment with a doctor.
To be continued.
I wanted to believe in your words the way people believe in the terms of fiction.
Now I look at you like a fraud, same as fiction. It’s why I rarely read into fantasy addiction, why I believe they’re unoriginal, imitating the channels of life sucking the masses dry of an artificial verve jacketing a world of hurt.
Except there’s a reality between you and I.
I think it might have died.
The internal struggle is real. So I believe, within my struggle. For months I’ve been battling and fighting and influencing and along the way I’ve made some mistakes all the while raising my head as lofty as the Statue of Liberty. Only to get fired by the place in which I worked for over 5 years. It’s finalized and it’s severed and within it’s severance I’ve learned many different things to the parts of a story.
Like for one, being in denial of how one really feels about any given situation. How does one center themselves in the midst of what they truly don’t want to consider because they suppose that actually feeling within the moment will turn to perpetual weakness? Or how much of what we do in the present and future stems from our past childhoods? For example: I cringe at unfairness and this is derived from being treated unfairly as a child.
Moving on if you follow the series of my thoughts: Perhaps it’s better and clever to give an oath to being silent and perform character assassination rather than stand up with pride on your side and give your two cents on how to resolve operations or how to fix the unfairness in the face of favoritism and being human?
It seems that silence is golden and silence is taken more seriously and silence is safe and silence means that one day when you finally decide to speak up that somebody may listen to you attentively with one head tilted to the right the way they used to when they stopped listening because you’ve opened your mouth too much but only because it was encouraged. But perhaps they encouraged for manipulative reasons?
Or maybe it’s ridiculous to believe that an idealist can be practical in the world of business and where realism is concern, that there isn’t a place for such majestic and honest principles?
Perhaps it’s better to turn the other way and remain silent and follow the herd because being a leader means standing alone and standing alone means everyone is against you at a certain point in time because they lack the courage you have because they don’t have a big bite or enough fight because they wouldn’t put their job on the line like you would.
All this is why I’ve been fired.
I’m tired of masturbating to him.
I wonder if it’s true, what he vaguely alleged, if I’d be able to overlook his emotional debuts and tiny manic moods if we actually had frequent sex? And the fact remains that this shocked me because I paused more to myself than to him. This could be a half-truth and this made me feel troubled and by troubled I mean my perspective on this matter had zero perspective on this matter (which calls for this entry).
Where would I be mentally or emotionally say if we had sex continuously for 3 months in the time we decided to get involved? Where would he be? It’s been brought to my attention time and time again how sex is important to me. I could live in part-time denial but I’ve been in the process of accepting myself for who I am a lot lately. So where would my mindset be if we had continuous sex? See, we only engaged in sex once for 3 pleasant hours: One month and 12 days ago. It’s going to be longer because he’s in California now. (I’m not sure why I’m counting besides the obvious? This is highly unlike me. Plus I’m getting sex mighty well from elsewhere as is.)
It’s easy to memorize when I decided the next morning after our breaking night, how he said he loved me in the back of an Arab store drinking his sorrows to Sapporo beers as we made out like rebellious teenagers in public with his one hand scaring me as it clenched to my ponytail in a minor dominating matter as he vomited his feelings into the windows of my unready soul. It’s easy to memorize how I took this time to conclude that through his mourning there’s a form of strong aphrodisiac from both ends, how I’ve been prepared to give my body to him since a year ago. But the sealing of the deal was on his mother’s birthday, the first anniversary where she’s to represent a higher plane outside of this physical world.
I believe it’s true I’m in this (mostly?) for the physical aspect. But who’s to say I don’t like him deeply from the bottom of my heart. That I like the way he manages his voluminous lips with Chapstick. I like the way he takes care of me and massages my hip flexors and stretches me out like a considerate lover in the middle of a training session. Or how I like the way he mentions his achy childhood stories with freedom and just how stimulated he becomes (like me) with a forty-minute conversation.
Still this relationship is a square of four total people involved. We’re each affected by what one does or doesn’t do and by what the other person says and doesn’t say. We’re each living a separate life and out of the four that make the line only three know while one has some idea. Still this relationship is odd and dysfunctional. It’s testing me in ways I’ve never been and it makes me feel things I haven’t felt. I’m connected even when I try to look the other way. Still this is part of the beauty: No true reassurance of anything. (Perhaps I like it this way? It keeps the illusion of mystery alive.) It’s following, weaving and it’s swerving. It’s make a hard left and its turn a soft right. And all in all it’s partially misleading.
I like that he reminds me of me. When he pushes away is when I should be coming forward, when he says no he really means yes. He creates distance when he doesn’t want to relinquish power. Above all he tests my water, questions my abilities of patience, romance, positivity, fullness, training, learning to let go, being adventurous, swimming out with the other extroverts of life, nature, flowing, not questioning every single thing (because you can), the six senses and human connection. Within experiencing somebody you experience yourself.
So where was I about masturbating?
TRX is one of the truths of fitness along with weight-training, cardio, calisthenics and a host of many other activities within this realm. And sometimes I’m good at putting in a little bit of everything in a single week for a workout program. But other times I forget to be well-rounded. Sometimes I stick with my reasonable rep scheme and my above moderate to heavy weight training with compound exercises and/or Total-body programs (all resistance-related) that I forget that there is anything else in the physical activity world.
So once again I was reminded by a training session (isn’t this one reason why people get actual Personal Trainers no matter how good they believe they are? – for getting out of the comfort zone) with Dark Knight just how pairing TRX, Stability Ball exercises along with Plyometrics could accomplish for my mental and physical state during, not to mention the remembrance of soreness the very next day which I’m experiencing lovingly and heavily.
TRX is amazing although not one of my favorite things to EVER do because the difficulty and exert level is beyond ridiculous when you carry a lot of weight (like me). I also associate the TRX to be highly core related. And let’s face it, I dislike doing core probably more so than I do visiting my mom at the nursing home/hospital. But aside from these negative relations these reasons are exactly why the TRX is extremely important. My muscles worked super hard during these movements that my flesh seared red, my bodyfat diminished for a moment in undetectable time and I didn’t want to provide another rep despite the fact that I grinded my lips and teeth like a bad dream as my biceps and forearms wanted to fall off in sweet deliverance.
I got through some intense TRX Rows.
And I got through the Banded Pull ups, Jumping Squats, Rope Pulls, Dynamic Lunges, Tricep Rope Pull-downs, Planks and Push ups both done on the Stability Ball. I was quite amused although I’ll be honest; I’ve never liked the unstable feeling of my body being out of control. I like muscle fibers shaking when I lift weights (and even that I had to learn to get used to) but when the body is going completely haywire and excitingly random because it’s wondering what the hells going on within the unknown trying to make it known.. I feel tremendously uncomfortable and by uncomfortable I mean I spaced the fuck out and I needed to bring my head back down from the cosmos because it’s concentrated and very present and at the same time a stirring out-of-body-experience.
The goal before New Year arrives is to make sure I’m working on getting to the next level even if it means getting over my immense hate for core and extra bodyweight work because it’ll help me achieve more of the best. During this process I’ll be required to break through old beliefs, training rituals, destroy my mind and body all over again to gain a newfound structure and a special level of physical enlightenment.
It’s all about parts and making them into absolute and reassuring wholes, strengthening strengths but also strengthening weaknesses and dislikes until they’re no longer a phase to ponder about while enjoying the journey which keeps us on the edge of the magnificence of uncertainty.
I sit here drinking my Psyllium Husk and my mind comes to life as any old night bird does with the usual nocturnal attention and I’m coming out to say don’t we all own stupid thoughts? There are many moments where I’m not proud, more so, than I am when it comes to views particularly of the narrow-minded kind.
Looks are very deceiving and we aren’t supposed to judge the covers of books. But this doesn’t mean we do what’s practical on a regular basis either. I see it everyday working in the gym, people buying personal training sessions with the trainer who’s displaying the best body and with the trainer who exudes the most confidence and strength of mind. And everyone’s guilty of it, sadly including me. I know better but I’m not immune to being stupid or tragically impractical or human.
I put people with muscles on a high pedestal. I know one reason is because it’s a reflection upon me. So I work day in and day out for muscle gains and within the process many ask why I lift? There have been times where I’ve even changed doctors because they were too busy trying to convince me that cardio wouldn’t continue to injure or inflame my tendons like lifting does. When in reality I lift because it’s a state of mind. I lift because it empowers me. It builds me. It’s therapy. It’s love. It’s home sweet home. It’s bliss. It’s being in the present moment. Lifting involves many different aspects to and for me. But the main significance of lifting means it’s here to perpetually keep me strong mentally and emotionally.
Now when I see other people with hard-earned muscles or working towards blood, sweat, diet and tears to get those sculpted high-end muscles, I think to myself, “Man they must be really strong mentally and emotionally.” But many times to my vast disappointment many human beings aren’t either. Or maybe they’re strong mentally but not emotionally or vice versa. Yet the truth is everyone has their own personal reasons as to why they lift and are doing anything in their power to increase muscle.
It’s almost as if I want to believe these people are carved from the same mind as me just because lifting is our familiar source. I make the fatal mistake (and in the process deceive myself) that they’re able to separate feelings from practical thoughts, able to comprehend emotional intelligence and know how to apply it to everyday life and the list unfortunately can go on and on. See, I strongly want to believe we have this and more in common.
But I’m disillusioned because appearances are misleading, because I live in a superficial culture, because I’m part of that superficial culture, because I’m part narcissistic, because I’m tricking myself, because it’s a reflection upon me and I’m speaking and looking from my perspective because for a thousand and one reasons I have a small brain every so often like tonight.
When two people have been fancying and aching for identical obsessions with one another for an extended period of time, fantasizing without end, dreaming superior dreams and witlessly idolizing to only approach together becomes a mixture of strong release, beautiful liberation and a relishing of everything feeling right within moments shared.
I was flat on my back on a blue stretching mat; I had just plopped down from wincing at the unbelievable pain of foamrolling and holding the spot on my super tight hamstring from a training session I underwent angrily abusing my body a few nights ago. Dark Knight came on over to give me more pointers and how to triple the pressure onto these spots. I did as told for a few minutes and off he went to continue his Chest and Back Training.
Staring at the ceiling, at first creating faces of pain like I misplaced a long lost love when my ears perked up and I listened out for his grunts and how he grinded out every set of every rep with continuous vigorous craze. It seemed as if my subconscious took over for a flash and I squeezed my legs together tightly as an orgasm contraction and closed my eyes tenderly and started to pant allowing my breathings to turn erratic.
He came around the corner with his gorgeous radiant smile and asked me how my hamstrings was doing while removing the foamroll from underneath me and placing a big bright yellow stability ball under my legs for cute support. Among the questions, he asked if I had anything else on my mind. I shot him the infamous zoom eye to the top left corner look with my hands plastered on my forehead running through my hair frenzied and responded with, “I’m turning myself on listening to your groans as you workout.”
On one knee he lunged to the floor (and I’m not sure what he was talking about anymore once he hovered) and tapped kissed me with his voluminous lips. I kept my eyes open to gaze at him and he did the same. A few more beautiful tap kisses and I placed my hands on both sides of his face to drag him in as we suckled in bliss and endorphins.
I crunched upwards towards him and eventually had to hold my neck up but as an attentive lover does, he took his own arm once he noticed and filled his arm in place. Gleefully my hands slid around his big muscular veiny forearms and against the sweat of his layered shirts that stuck onto his football player traps. His hands lingered on the back of my neck and then he started to lower down to fondle my breast where he felt for a nipple and pinched it with slight effort as my back arched like a cat in freakish heat.
I’m unsure how I got up from the stretching mat, unsure of how we even strolled into the main shadowy weight room. All I knew is he sat on the bench with the barbell loaded with two 45lb plates on each side and he pulled me to sit with him, our legs on either side of the bench where he innocently kissed my hair, face and neck right to my lips. We locked in our mouths and I started to listen and feel what was going on: Pure chemistry.
The noise of suckling lips, hands sliding the world of bodies. The moans of desire cascaded on each other’s faces, the eye contact of fury and eyes closed in sensational delight. The teasing of his kisses where he would open his mouth but not dart his tongue directly into mine all led me to flow with him like a moral story.
What I enjoyed the most was how we both had on sweat and damp clothing from our workouts: I had set out for my many rounds of heavy bag kicks, knees and core work while he gave his body away to monstrous giant sets. But our funks didn’t matter. I believe it’s what gave us another beautiful edge.
And I allowed him freely to massage my breasts together from above fabric while he rubbed my fiery nipples. Then every now and again he would pull me in by the waist as my hands rubbed on his towering chest pinching his nipples from both over and under his shirt. Then our hands made its way below the waist where he placed my hand on his member and his hands went under my sweat pants above my panty where he played with my clitoris and soothe me by cupping half my face along with words and making “mmming” sounds when he enjoyed my reactions.
Continuing the heat of the moment I unleashed my breasts from the bottom side of the bra as he said he wanted me to cum for him. But I was scared and paranoid after hours at the gym where I work when his head dropped quickly to lick my nipple in wonderful fashion. I held onto his bald head for a moment and squirmed for the next.
And in the beauty of this kissing session on the bench, in the dark weight room with one office light on in the corner for slight moonlighting I couldn’t finish what I started and than somehow I got up and went to spot him on the same bench. I continued to watch him work his ass off while whispering to myself how I need to be on his elite training level.
We broke night, walked many blocks around the chilly city, stared at architectural designs and eventually enjoyed each other’s company and laughter from the heart at a diner eating breakfast.
But that bench, those kisses and him, felt eternal just like the power of the present.