The type of dreamer that leaps
4th September 2009You’re someone I could fall in love with and those are words I use because I’ve heard them said by many people and they seem good to say. You’re someone I could easily cajole into hurting me. I could call you on the phone and you could say, I need quarters for the laundromat and I could cry, I would cry down the line. Because your need to use a laundromat is mildly worrisome but your lack of planning is tear-inducing.
You were lying on the couch and you said, come here baby girl, come here, so I did and then you said, no not you, I meant the cat. But I fucked you anyway. I pushed you back with force like I never have in dreams because I’m the type of dreamer that leaps wide when she means to fly. Then we both became naked.
I straddled you and I tried not to orgasm because I wanted it to last forever and I morphed into a fourteen-year-old boy and I thought about baseball except I don’t know what it is about baseball that you’re supposed to think about. I only remember hitting the softball, flinging the bat and running like my ass was on fire. Thinking of fire and my ass smacking against your pubic bone and upper thighs and hip bones and I came. And that’s not the only bad piece of 80s movie advice I ever followed.
When I quivered and my insides clenched your cock you smiled up at me and I smiled down at you and made a fuck-that-feels-good face and you said, I need quarters for the laundromat.
And then you didn’t reply to my email or link to me on your blog; you didn’t invite me to Thanksgiving at your parents’ or to their summer home; or to an expensive or an affordable meal; you didn’t speak to me after fingering my ass behind the shed near the sandbox after the sixth-grade dance; or at any point during the dance; though you did dry hump me several times during particularly soulful songs; also gave me an in with the other boys which I appreciated; but you never called to tell me whether your clothes were clean.
Still. I’m the one that fucks you and you let me and I keep your secret I am your secret. Not because I’m selfless or worthless but because humiliation agitates me several ways.
4th September 2009 at 1:02 am
dude. we need to hang out. let’s do drugs and braid our hair.
4th September 2009 at 4:55 am
You write the things I dream of every night and see painted on every face (especially the one in the mirror).
4th September 2009 at 9:10 am
While making love, in an effort [pause] to prolong [pause] the moment of ecstasy [pause] I think of baseball players. All right, now you know. So the two of us are making love violently, and she’s digging it, so I figure I better start thinking of baseball players pretty quick. So I figure it’s one out, and the Giants are up. Mays lines a single to right. He takes second on a wild pitch. Now she’s digging her nails into my neck. I decide to pinch hit for McCovery [pause for laughter]. Alou pops out. Haller singles. Mays takes the third. Now I’ve got a first and third situation. Two outs and the Giants are behind by one run. I don’t know whether to squeeze or steal [pause for laughter]. She’s been in the shower for ten minutes already [pause for laughter]. I can’t tell you any more, this is too personal [pause]. The Giants won. – Woody Allen
4th September 2009 at 9:19 am
Three things:
(i) Not linking you on their blog is unforgivable. Don’t they know who you are?
(ii) I’ve tried thinking about baseball, too, for the same reasons. Unfortunately I don’t know the rules of baseball. Somebody said I should think about rounders instead, being British, so I tried that. But thinking about rounders felt all wrong, because it’s only played by pre-pubescent schoolgirls in playgrounds.
(iii) I read this at work. I think I might have to clean out my browser history now.
Oh, and a fourth thing:
(iv) Brilliant. I hate you.
4th September 2009 at 12:04 pm
I used a laundry mat today.
You would have been proud. No change required.
5th September 2009 at 6:14 pm
xTx: Make jello shots and you got a deal.
Rose: I refuse to believe that you have an ugly face! ;)
Jim: Damn. I actually love Woody Allen and I feel like I read/heard this somewhere before. You would think I would have picked up a little something but no.
AUW: i) Blog linking is so 2003, dahlink. ii) Yeah, I like my youth pubescent if anything. iii) Dude they are listening to every word we say, err write!!! RUN AWAY!
Ellie: Is it laundry mat? I thought it was laundromat? And it was free you say? Hot damn girl.
6th September 2009 at 3:23 pm
No, I think you are right .. laundromat is correct. It seems a very other timely word. Like the 50s or 60s or 70s.
7th September 2009 at 2:17 am
I wish I could follow in your wry sincerity and write this gracefully. Seriously, good shit.