nightmare brunette

This tiny town

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:32:00 -0400

It was an accident that I saw him again. He was one of my earliest clients when I was with the agency and he had terrified me. He’d pinned me to a wall, moved in weird, abrupt ways, made ugly sounds. I told my booker I didn’t ever want to see him again but she pushed it; she set us up once again, claiming it was a mistake, and afterwards settled for telling me he was asking about me, for months. And I know he did because he mentioned me to the other girls, talked about me on message boards. Not malicious but plaintive: why won’t she see me, what did I do wrong, give her this message, do you have her email address?

If he recognized me, he didn’t let on. I knew his face was familiar when I opened the door and there was an instant when I thought it could even be—but I pushed it away. I told myself so many of these men look the same, I wasn’t sure I’d ever even met him before. But it was him and I had, almost four years ago.

It’s easy now to ask why I didn’t just end it as soon as I knew for sure. Why didn’t I leave? I’m not sure if the truth is that I didn’t trust myself to remember right, or if I wanted to see if he was different now or if I were different now. But all of that was wrong.

I prayed for an orgasm, just one moment of escape, no matter how much I hated him or how vile I would feel, but it didn’t come. I whimpered at one point and he said, “that’s right, cry a little.”

I went to dinner that night and sat across from my date, looking normal and feeling strange. He talked about Kabul, then about a court tennis pro, and as he spoke a dense spine of pain shot up through the center of my chest like a lightening bolt. It faded, then flared back again. I felt the focus go out of my eyes.

I put my palm on my bare collarbone and held it there flat like I was bracing my whole body. He asked if I was okay. I blinked tears back. I said yes.

The Twilight Sad — Reflection of the Television

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 23:51:04 -0400

The Twilight Sad — Reflection of the Television

marydear: heroines: anna karina

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 23:35:53 -0400

marydear: heroines: anna karina

chagrin: (via foamhorse)

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 23:20:08 -0400

chagrin: (via foamhorse)

Anna Tempest

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 23:05:00 -0400

Anna Tempest

"No matter how much you know, no matter how much you think, no matter how much you plot and connive..."

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 22:47:14 -0400

“No matter how much you know, no matter how much you think, no matter how much you plot and connive and you plan, you’re not superior to sex.”

- Philip Roth, The Dying Animal

chagrin: (via wonderlandcode831)

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 19:58:21 -0400

chagrin: (via wonderlandcode831)

chagrin: (via anneke_vdv)

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 13:16:56 -0400

chagrin: (via anneke_vdv)

marydear: (via acidreams) picture by Sarah the Kettle I could be...

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 13:02:00 -0400

marydear: (via acidreams) picture by Sarah the Kettle

I could be wrong, but I’m of the mind that hot linking to the original photographer’s work and not actually crediting them with their name in text under the photo is not responsible or friendly internet behavior. Sorry for all the times I’ve reblogged without noticing that this was what was going on.

filthygorgeousthings: By Vladimir Miladinović (F/lthy Gorgeous...

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 21:48:27 -0400

filthygorgeousthings: By Vladimir Miladinović (F/lthy Gorgeous Th/ngs)

When you call.

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 11:09:41 -0400

therealkatiewest:

She answers the phone when he calls, out of habit.

And they talk. And they talk. Until he says to her, “I’ve been sitting here in the dark while I talked to you. And I know all the things I’m not supposed to be thinking, or feeling. But I also know my pants are off and my hand is around my cock, and I know, you didn’t do anything to make this happen, in fact I know you’ve done everything you can to prevent it from happening. You changed the subject, you made me laugh, you were even mean to me. But it didn’t work. I still only think about kissing you.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know what to say. She thinks about the way his face looks. Up close.

TetheredTo

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 14:33:44 -0400

TetheredTo

John Vanderslice — Too Much Time

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 14:18:55 -0400

John Vanderslice — Too Much Time

Jonathan Leder

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 14:03:48 -0400

Jonathan Leder

She began to sob. She heaved into his shoulder as he held her. Hot tears came through his...

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 13:48:50 -0400

She began to sob. She heaved into his shoulder as he held her. Hot tears came through his shirt.

“Why do I have this life?” she asked.

Her arms dropped to her side and she went limp. She cried as if he were not holding her, as if he were not in the room with her, as if he were not in the world at all.

—Joshua Ferris, “The Dinner Party”

luminol: Gillian Carnegie, ‘Bum Paintings’. edt: via F/lthy...

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 13:33:49 -0400

luminol: Gillian Carnegie, ‘Bum Paintings’. edt: via F/lthy Gorgeous Th/ngs)

wattage: - eiki mori

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 13:18:48 -0400

wattage: - eiki mori

luminol: Ian Francis, An Ingénue is Lost in the Woods...

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 13:03:17 -0400

luminol: Ian Francis, An Ingénue is Lost in the Woods (Policeman, Policeman, Come Quickly)

My grandfather died this morning. We were told he had weeks but he really only had hours. It’s...

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 22:33:13 -0400

My grandfather died this morning. We were told he had weeks but he really only had hours. It’s hard for me only because it’s hard for my mom, who I love and worry for. He was my last living grandparent.

I worked anyway. I got my hair cut. I overtipped one taxi driver and undertipped another one. I thought about how terrifying it will be when my father dies because I’ll either be full of regrets or feel nothing, and both are equally horrible.

The client I saw was someone new to me, a delicate elderly man with a face like an open sandwich. I don’t know what that means, but it’s what I kept thinking. He was incredibly gentle, and I had a long, perfect orgasm under his fingers while he held a glass dildo in me with his other hand. We talked about Buenos Aires and he told me he shared my aversion to leather and regularly reads the New York Times obits because it’s a great way to learn things you’d never otherwise know. He kept calling me a lovely girl and saying, “Charlotte, you’ve got to a put a picture of this smile on your website. That smile is just killer. A thousand watts.”

When I’m working, I look in the mirror more times in one day than I do in a regular week. And every time I do, I make faces at myself. I puff my cheeks and flair my nostrils, like I’m signaling: I know, Clown Face. I know that’s not the normal you. I don’t just look at myself, I stare. I lean my weight on my wrists and rest my palms on the bathroom counter, and swing my body from side to side while I twist my lips. I talk to myself very quietly. Today, I touched my first two fingers to the fine smiles lines at the left of my lips and thought “you’re not a baby anymore.” It was one of those hyper-self-conscious, affected moments in which you’re not sure whether you’re behaving in an authentic way or if you’re just imitating something you think a movie character might do.

I get a lot of men who want me to dominate them. The new client mentioned this to me and said he didn’t see me in that role because my touch was too tender.
“Well, rough is not my default mode,” I said. I was sitting on his chest and twisting his nipples. He was looking into my eyes.
“I know what your default is,” he said. “I can see it behind that smile.”

bendmeover: ponyxpress:eekeek: onehandedtypist

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 16:48:50 -0400

bendmeover: ponyxpress:eekeek: onehandedtypist