Thinking too much again.

I have this thing, I've mentioned before, about their being a certain point of separation between different stages in life. A sort-of 'No Man's Land'.

It's hard to tell at the moment whether I'm just coming up to another one in a series of little breaks, or whether the last few years have sort of been one big learning curve.

The thing that is bothering me most at the moment; the thing that gets me most frustrated, feeling most useless, most upset and hopeless, is standing still. These days, I have to feel productive and motivated and have some sort of affect in working toward the kind of life I want for myself.

I think this is why I don't have a lot of sympathy for people sometimes, empathy - yes, but not so much on the sympathy. Basically, I understand, I just don't care. A lot of people I've met recently have had a very 'poor me' attitude about them. They hate their life, but resign themselves to it remaining the same. That is my pet hate - People who could be in a better situation, contributing more, making themselves a more high value person. Instead they complain and never do anything to change it. And the thing is... in some situations, you can't help yourself and you have to rely on things changing, time passing and people caring enough to get you through. Losing a loved one is like that, being through some kind of trauma is another. I find its the people who have been through things like that, and actually have something to complain about, are the ones who don't complain at all. I think they find strength and drive to stand up on their own and make their own way toward being happy.

I find those sort of people really admirable, and I strive to be like that everyday. Getting back to my original point - the issue is, a lot of my resolutions tend to stay in my head. Finding the motivation to be motivated [oh what a convoluted mess] is often the hardest thing. I've come to the point where I know I need to work toward being happy and I know what will get me there.

But... most of the time, all I want to do is exist.
breathe and sleep and eat.
I'm content enough, for the most part.

I don't want to have to work to survive, to pay rent and bills and be a part of the 'real world'. I don't want to have to take care of anyone but me, I don't want to be someone that someone else worries about. I don't want the pressure and the responsibility. I don't want expectations placed upon me. It makes me nervous, I don't want someone to be disappointed if I say the wrong thing, or don't want to get out of bed somedays. I don't want to have to be social unless it's going to make me feel good. I'm happy to be at home, alone, breathing and sleeping and eating. Being alone required less effort. And I am essentially a lazy person.

The thing that drives me, is loneliness. I want to be worth something to someone. To be worth something, I have to be a part of the real world that valuable people live in. This is what drives me. And this is my learning curve.

Right now I'm just floating around after a series of little disconnections, in No Man's Land, but I'm learning, and eventually I'll land in the real world. I'll work and pay bills. I'll have more confidence and take comfort in caring about people, and having them care for me. Some people might call this 'growing the fuck up'.

Although I say I don't want to have to work, the concept of a career has always been important to me, art and literature and teaching, that's where my pride has been. It's something I've always been good at and as such, deserved to be a part of [as opposed to relationships and the world at large. In that regards, I have the self esteem of a fat-kid at swimming classes].

I think since the career thing has.. stalled, I've become lonelier, I don't have my goals to keep me company. I don't think it's a coincidence that uni life went down the drain about the same time as my relationship with The Ex.

So anyway, my point is... I often wonder whether people find it easier just to.. be a part of the 'real world'. To me, it feels like a chore, an effort. I know I think too much, but that's essentially where my thoughts have been since I was a kid. Everything was too hard, it used to make me feel so sad and tired, getting up in the morning for school was draining, doing homework was suffocating. As I got into art and literature, even though I enjoyed it, it still feels like effort, and I want to just go back to vegetating alone, breathing eating sleeping and all that.

I think I've sort of... always been in Neutral. Hmm.... you can't half tell I'm learning to drive with all these metaphors going on. Continuing on with the driving metaphor - After the house fire, I sort of slipped into 1st and then 2nd gear, I moved to Sydney, had a relationship with The Ex [however, I became completely dependent], broke off that relationship, got a job and my own place and got independent. Then I stalled, as I've said.

And we get back to where I am now. I'm trying to be a better person - the car is started but I'm still in neutral, if you will. At least now, I feel the NEED to be driven, motivated, productive. I need to be going somewhere.


I need to make my connection with the real world. There's some pleasant static out here in No Man's Land.. but it's lonely. There's things I want in life.



All I need is that motivation to get motivated.

M.

I can feel M's breath against my neck, his lips hovering over my skin. He doesn't make eye contact, he holds his weight above my body, lingering for a moment, waiting for my reaction. I answer his prompting with my hands, sliding them up his sides and over his back. Urged on by my touch, M lowers his body atop of mine. I feel his weight against me and the warmth of his face for just a moment before his lips descend toward me.

M's kisses are hungry and taste faintly sweet amongst the mingle of that 'manly' taste. I trace my tongue along his bottom lip, sliding my hands underneath his shirt and up his back. I shiver as I feel him. Hard. Pressing into me. Between my legs. As I wrap them around his.

His lips trail off toward my ear, nibbling my earlobe and down my neck.His hand cups my breast, I have a fleeting thought of insecurity at their size but M's lips and tongue feel hot on my skin and I whimper softly. I move one of my hands out of his shirt and tangle my fingers in his hair as his kisses drift lower, across my collar bone and down the middle off my chest. His hands move to unbutton my blouse, and he pulls the top of my strapless dress down a little, kissing across my chest and the top of my breasts. I urge him on with my hands, dragging my fingernails softly down his back as I breathe an almost inaudible moan. M's hands are on me again, eager, pulling my dress down to my waist, pushing my bra aside. His tongue slides down between my breasts. I gasp as he blows cool air across my skin and follows it up with his warm tongue sliding side to side, teasing each nipple in turn. They harden in the cool air. He traces his tongue around my left nipple, a light, barely there touch. The subtlety of the contact is immediately contrasted by the feel of his wet, hot lips wrapping around it, pulling back gently.

M knows I can almost climax from this, the heat and pressure of his tongue and lips on my sensitive nipples. Kissing each nipple and then sucking it softly, he looks up at me. I watch his movements, moaning with each touch and flick of his tongue. M suddenly stops, I gasp in protest.
M smiles a devious, intensely sexual smile. I like it a lot. His hand slides up my inner thigh, caressing me so closely but not quite. His fingertips trace around, up and down the crease of each thigh, I wriggle my hips. I want him to touch me. M knows it. He keeps his face so close to mine I can feel his breath. He kisses the hotspot underneath my ear, and then the base of my neck on the other side. He slides his tongue down. Again so close but not quite, it drives my crazy.

"You're a naughty girl", he teases me. He knows I've always been very well behaved, but probably not by choice. I laugh, the atmosphere is unusual. It's so sexually charged, but so comfortable its almost...friendly.

M looks back up at me. "Have you been thinking about.. me kissing you?".
On the phone I told M I'd never really been gone down on properly. He told me he'd love to 'give me kisses'. M is one of those very very lovely men who actually enjoys the feel and taste of a woman on his lips and tongue.

I nod and tell him that I always think about it whenever I need something to turn me on and get me hot. He kisses down my chest, pushing my dress down further. As his teasing fingertips finally move between my legs, he says "You want me to give you kisses?". Its not a question. His tone is teasing, he knows I want it, he wants to hear me say it. He pulls away from me, his hand sliding up to pinch and tease my nipple. In a breathy moan, all I manage is a shy "Mmmyes..."

M's lips move lower and lower and his hands slip underneath my dress, he squeezes my thighs before pulling on the top of my tights, quickly pushing them down my legs and away. He leaves a trail of kisses on my inner thigh starting near my knee, I visibly shudder. He gets closer and closer, and I feel his warm tongue sliding across my skin.

His voice is low, still teasing but somehow the heat in his voice makes it sound more demanding. "Can I give you kisses baby, is that what you want?".
As M's lips brush over my underwear, my breath catches and I moan, almost whimper

" I want to feel it. Ohhhh, pleaaassse."

]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ah well there you go. One of the main points of the M story - a first time of sorts. There will be more as I can be bothered updating but for now, I'm bored of M. (This may or may not have something to do with not being in contact in the last month or so, after keeping some kind of connection for over a year since the above events).

But anyway, long story short on that one - I think it was 4 maybe 5 times that night and once in the morning. 4/5 times for him and 7/8 nearly-there-not-quite-just-kinda's for me. However it was still very good and he was the only guy to even get me close that much. Actually I think I came while on top at some stage. Anyway. There was much fun had that night.

Getting off (pun not intended) that topic - I'm kind of swinging between so positive about things and crashing completely. Sort of like "It'll be fine, something will work out, something will come up" to "My plans are fucked I will never get back to uni, I will never get my life on track, I will die alone or the unsatisfied wife of a bogan with a v8 sedan".

Not that I don't love me a V8 sedan, but there is much to see and do out there before resigning one's self to certain options. I wanna be a little fish in a big pond for a while. Golly I love that metaphor don't I.

On the upside -
I've started drawing again. I will be posting things as they become satisfactory.
I've decided to sharehouse next year, might stay with Satin for a few months while I get things organized.
I've gotten back into the swing of intelligent conversation thanks to debates about the judicial system and censorship laws in Australia (a looong post for another time).
My delightful nephew, my little Mustard, turned 1 this week.


On the downside -
Can't get driving lessons until after New Year.
Male parental unit will be in town for a month over Xmas.. domestics will ensue.
The only interview I had this week for a job had over 80 applicants, and theres not much else going. Funds situation is dire. Looks like I'm biting the bullet and becoming a waitress again.

Base.

Anyway to steer away from my previous topic for just a little while (don't worry that story is nowhere near done)...I think cohabitation of human beings is unnatural unless in familial or romantic relationships. Forcing two people of different backgrounds together is tricky business. My housemate in Sydney was a young gay guy, my age. It could've worked out fine, I'd known him most of my life. But sadly, it mostly definitely went downhill fast. Tempers and wills clashed. The psycho sleeping on our couch for three months didn't help. But thats a story for another time [Psycho was straight, housemate was in love with him. It was some kind of fucked up soap opera].

Anyway my point is, I'm looking for a housemate in the city, I'm very VERY cautious after my last experience. I have two possibilities right now.
One is very relaxed to the point I just want to wheedle out answers as to whether this is a serious viable option. He's an old school friend who's just moved in with his girlfriend. I can't say I know either of them well but our interests are similar and we're all pretty easy going. This friend is... somewhat of a modified hipster indy emo guy. I'm not sure about living with a couple, and Indy Emo insists we all get to know each other a little bit first. It's all very "lets see what happens".
The 2nd possibility I found out about through my sister in law's sister. Now (concentrate here, folks) my sister in law's sister's friend, lets call her Satin, is looking for a new lease and is desperate for a housemate. Problem? Well, she lives more than an hour out of the city. But its a sure thing. Also she emailed me today asking for all my detail so she could apply for the lease of properties! Full on stuff!

I talked to Indy Emo about it all and he made me laugh when he noticed the two different ways I could go here.
"On one hand, I'm very 'let's just all hang out and get a feel for the vibes and group dynamic, and see how we all feel, whether we're all relaxxxxeeddd once things mellow'. And on the other hand you have someone who needs a housemate, 'FILL OUT LEASE APPLICATION KTHXBYE' ".

Haha, long story short, I'm wondering whether its best to live WITH someone, or just merely in the same house. At least in this situation. Any advise?

Moment.

September 28, 2007. [Part 1]

I dress nervously. My strapless dress is too short, it rides up too easily. My bra straps are showing. I feel twitchy, I'm shy and uncomfortable. I slide on some black tights underneath the pleated skirt of the dress, and a shear blouse over the top. I think about putting my glasses on. I decide against it. My dress sense is somewhat quirky and I'm not sure what he'll think. He is....intensely sexual. The short skirt will impress, the tights will not. I wonder why I care.

After a few months of speaking on the phone, exchanging photos, he is driving to me. It's not a short drive, at nearly 5 hours. We've never met in person, but we've talked on the phone nearly daily. We only ever discuss sex, the parameters are clear here. We started keeping in touch after randomly coming into contact over the phone. I was hanging out a friends house, she had asked me to talk to her current love interest while she checked dinner. No, its not what you think, he asked me to speak to HIS friend while he went to the bathroom.

And that's how I met M, who's name was currently lighting up on my buzzing mobile.

"Are you here?" I don't even bother saying hello, we've been talking pretty much consistently for the last 2 days since he got back from interstate, except for when there was no phone signal on his trip. He had sent more photos that day, to reassure me that he was not, as he sometimes joked, actually 50-odd years old. His photography skills were poor, even for cellphone cameras, but there was no mistaking his strong features, messy, short sandy blonde hair and broad shoulders. I had told him without hesitation, "Start Driving". I don't know what I'm planning, how far I will go. M tells me he doesn't care what happens he just wants to meet me. I later realised he thought I was a sure thing. He may have thought correctly.


He asks whether he should pick me up, I decline, unwilling to give him my address (and yet somehow perfectly comfortable with meeting up with him alone?). We agree to meet at a bar. I suggest one that I think will make him feel more comfortable, a sports type bar that usually has plenty of live bands. He calls me minutes later, the pub is closed. It's a Sunday night before a public holiday, I had expected it to be open. I tell him I just pulled into the car park of another bar, its close by.


I recognize M's car, it's new. He told me about it yesterday. I walk around to the passenger seat. I notice he's wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants. Cool but casual, you could say. The look suits him, it looks comfortable but it compliments his lean, muscular footballer's body. We don't make it inside the bar. He takes a quick drive, we make idle chit chat. I act comfortable, talk confidently. I tell him he is infinitely more attractive than his photos. I call him hot. I am suprized at myself, the ease at which I interact to him. M is easily the best looking man that had ever been interested in me. The drive is short and the entire time my body is angled toward him, my eyes taking in every feature as his focus on the road. His arms are big, the tone evident as he grips the steering wheel. He has a workman's tan. It's all I can do to continue conversation when my eyes drift down his body. I find myself hoping that he is already getting hard. I want to turn him on. I am overly aware that it is completely superficial conversation. It's clear to me what this is. I want it anyway. He tells me he needs to check into his hotel room before it gets too late. I nod, telling him I'll come with him.

He collects his key, we make the short walk to the room. Once inside I take a seat opposite the bed. We chat a bit more, he comments that he likes what I'm wearing. I tell him about my style sense, how I used to be 'goth'. M laughs, joking that he didn't realize what he was getting into. His laugh is mischievous and sexy, I've heard that tone before. I'm suddenly aware that it's just me and M, alone, after all our late night and early morning talks. He has heard what my voice sounds like when I talk about the things I liked in bed with my ex. He knows the sounds I make when I orgasm. And he is here, complimenting my dress. I knew the length of it would be pleasing. Unconsciously I stand up, I think it's because I feel uncomfortable. Now that I've stood I have to do something, so I walk toward the bed where he is sitting, leaning on the headboard.

I lay down next to him.

M looks down toward me. "Hello".

I smile shyly and try to be nonchalant. "Do you know how much trouble I had deciding what colour underwear to put on tonight?"

His expression shifts, almost darkens. I think M realises where my mind has been all night. I love the look on his face. It's a little shocked, a little turned on but mostly, it's predatorial to the point of being menacing. But like everything else about him, its also intensely sexual.

"Fuck it!" he growls into my ear. It's said with a sense of abandonment, giving into me, realizing that I want him. He moves quickly, lowering his body onto mine, our lips crashing together. The first time M kisses me, I can feel him, hard, pressed against my thigh.


------------more to come------------------


A big part of this drifting thing has been casual sex. It doesn't really help you get anywhere, but it serves its purpose. It's taught me, kept me occupied, and helped me make little connections. I've even made good friend or two out of it. These kind of shenanigans will probably make a regular appearance here, it's something thats come up more than a few times in the last year the last year or so. It's influenced how I see myself and, in a way, changed what I want out of life and relationships.

To be honest I'm still not sure where I stand on the whole thing. I am not ashamed nor proud. I regret some things but for the most part, I've had fun. I've never known anyone to wish they'd experienced less.

Things I have been, in chronological order.

A child.
A loner.
Needy.

A first love.
A runaway.
A first heartbreak.

An art student.
A cafe girl.
A housemate.
A pharmacy assistant.

Taken advantage of.
Over extended.
Home sick.
A quitter.

Back home.
Unmotivated.
A fling.
A waitress.
A bargirl.
A misanthropist.

A one night stand.
Unemployed.
A lapsed enrollment.
Debris.


Inspired.




I was gonna try do that in 10 words or less! It was hard. I wonder if anyone else can do better?

Unless you're under your own steam, you're just debris - stuff floating.

There's always a point where things change. There's a shift and you're heading in a different direction. But sometimes you end up not going anywhere at all. It's a dislocation and a deviation from the road you were on.

I grow up, get older, find a broader view, but I don't necessarily get anywhere.

Nearly 3 years ago, my childhood home burnt down. It was the year I finished school.That was my dislocation, my point where things changed. Everyone has one. Hopefully you find yourself on a new track pretty quickly, otherwise you just end up drifting. That year, I moved out of home [here I refer to the concept, not the physicality]. I moved across the country for university and for a man I'd known a week.

It was pure reaction to dislocation. For a while the force and shock of bouncing off the brick wall that had sprung up in front of me, propelled me in the opposite direction. There was momentum, and excitement - although it faded fast. Being disconnected means there's nowhere to land.When there's nowhere to move on from, you can't go anywhere.
Once the momentum faded I turned, found something i recognised, a flow I had been in before and let it take me back to somewhere I had a base [People who grew up in stagnant country towns will understand the spirit crushing feeling of 'going home']. That path deviated from everything I had planned, but it was the only footing I had, the only place I could touch the bottom.
I was going backwards.
I stalled and stood still.
Disconnected, unmotivated its easy to get off track. Unless you're under your own steam, you're just debris*. And I drifted, still barely connected to anything.

The thing about drifting, you don't go far but you will eventually run aground, you reconnect with something solid and it's never a gentle landing. Conveniently, you're usually 398443 miles away, in the wrong direction, in the middle of nowhere. But it's another footing, somewhere stronger to take off from. And at that point you look around, you stand up and see where you are, and where you can go.

I'm moving away again. I'm starting uni again. I stalled, became debris. I guess drifting has served it's purpose, making small connections and finding my base here. I'll always come back. But right now I have that momentum,and it needs to take me elsewhere first. Big fish in little ponds don't really go anywhere. Things are bleak when you're drifting but they're ugly if you're standing still.


Not all posts will be a serious load of self indulgent over thinking like this. Nor will they contain so much metaphorical frivolity. This is just my footing, so I know where I'm coming from and what I'm getting to.





*I stole that line from Tim Winton's Cloudstreet.