between the pages / between the sheets

(via fuckmelikethat)

Apricot Tea (a new favorite): #38 — to be alone with you.

foxharvard:

Copyright © 2010, Fox Harvard, All Rights Reserved

syntheticpubes:

Lucille Bogan — “Shave ‘em Dry” (1935)

Lil’ Kim and Nicki Minaj are fucking boring.

bendmeover:

hiding place

Took a bit to remember how I set up this account & how to log in. Thinking of starting up again. Actually. More than ‘thinking.’

erospainter:

“It’s been so long since I made love I can’t even remember who gets tied up.”
— Joan Rivers

thingsthatexciteme:

Photo by Maria Krugovaya

erospainter:

“A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
to or needs to…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her
dreams wants to see her in an hour…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
a youth she’s content to leave behind….
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a past juicy enough that she’s looking forward to
retelling it in her old age….
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …..
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
one friend who always makes her laugh… and one who
lets her cry…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
else in her family…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored…
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ….
a feeling of control over her destiny…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
how to fall in love without losing herself..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
when to try harder… and WHEN TO WALK AWAY…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
that she can’t change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
that her childhood may not have been perfect…but it’s over…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
what she would and wouldn’t do for love or more…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
how to live alone… even if she doesn’t like it…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
whom she can trust,
whom she can’t,
and why she shouldn’t
take it personally…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
where to go…
be it to her best friend’s kitchen table…
or a charming inn in the woods…
when her soul needs soothing…
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
what she can and can’t accomplish in a day…
a month…and a year…”
— Pamela Redmond Satran

His smile was one of his most wonderful qualities, and he would widen it on a 50-100 watt range based on whom he was directing his smile to, and for what purpose. Once he learned that flirting with me on the short walk between coffee and Theology 304 made me blush, he would flip the switch on command every time, and I was blinded. I felt like the hapless nerd who had caught the fancy of the class president.

I had never met a man more comically surrounded by women in my life — don’t get me wrong, he was a guy’s guy, but that smile (and the uncanny ability to make every girl feel like she was the “only one”) captivated so many of the cutest girls on campus, it was tough to decipher just how genuinely close he could be to all of them. Any time he ran into a girl he knew (and he knew plenty), it was a flash of the 100-watt smile and a mention of something he had last talked with her about — the guy was brilliant. I found (somewhat to my dismay) that I had also been caught in his snare, and realized that likely many of the girls he regularly dissolved into giggles knew EXACTLY what they were getting into, but did it anyway. After all, it was so much fun.

I don’t recall the particulars of the events leading up to our first kiss, only that it started with some flirtatious online exchange, and ended up with me visiting him in his apartment late on a weeknight. I lived in the same building, and headed over to talk to him about something school-related — a thin veil for my actual intentions, which were to jump on top of him and claim him, flag and all. I noticed Love Actually “casually” placed on top of his bookshelf in plain sight, and laughed to myself as I went through the dialogue in my head: “Remember, this guy is a master - he has the lines, the excuses, all well-prepared and well-used. Don’t fall for it so easily, damn it!”

… and yet, before I knew it, he had taken my face in his hands and kissed me so softly, so tenderly… I was dissolving. We kissed, and even more significantly, we talked, a LOT. I spent the night, and learned for the first time that, in his words, “All guys want to be the little spoon sometimes.” I should probably also clarify that he had the build of a football player. I even laugh a bit now sometimes at this part.

I wish I could sum up the relationship that followed in more graceful terms than “late night hookup buddy” but that’s exactly what transpired. We would run into each other on the weekends at our favorite bar, and these reminders of each other (usually looking and feeling much better than we did Wednesday evenings in the thick of paper-writing sessions) would often prompt late-night text exchanges, which would then finally lead to one of us traipsing over to the other’s apartment, desperately trying to seem as sober and casual as possible.

Things I remember as clear as day about him, even years later: He smelled amazing, always — like the cool air that wafts through your open windows at 2 am in late April. He regularly declared himself a “total dork”, though he seemed to say that as a means of charming self-deprecation, not as something he actually believed about himself. There was something tangibly delicious about being wrapped up by someone much bigger than me and hugged and kissed, and yes, eventually, fucked. He was not good at going down on a girl — I suspected that he was asked to do that too often, as he was the type of guy who received blowjobs almost without even having to ask. He was, however, completely eager to learn, and I like to think I did my part in showing him the way.

He once tried to persuade me to not use a condom, which to this day makes me cringe. I share this to remind myself of why my feelings for him quickly cooled soon after that. Errors in judgement aside, he was great in bed because of the kissing and the cuddling and the talking, and not necessarily because of the actual sex, but to me, that was perfect. At the time, I needed those parts he was stellar at. So to this day, I look back on it fondly… even if I knew I was sharing a dance card with a competitive set of women. For a host of reasons, I’m now immune to his advances, as I’ve come to know better… but his smile could still knock me sideways if I gave it the chance.