Author: Michelle

If you ask how I am then I’ll just say inspired
–B.Taupin/Better Off Dead

There’s a stain on my notebook
Where your coffee cup was
And there’s ash in the pages
Now I’ve got myself lost.
–Squeeze/Black Coffee In Bed

Often I have a hard time relating to people. I’ve probably mentioned it before. I am not really a people person in general. I’m not good at people, but lately I’ve been trying to not let people freak me out so much. Not to change my basic character, but because I realize more and more that having people around you, good people, makes life better. So even though solitude is my comfort zone, I have been making an effort to reach out to people instead of just drifting away like I usually do.

My biggest difficulty is with people who are like ghosts.

They’re the ones who aren’t willing to share even the most basic parts of themselves. Sharing thoughts, dreams, feelings is difficult, and a lot of us struggle with it, so I understand to a certain extent. It’s hard for me, so I write it instead of talking. It’s hard to be vulnerable, and sharing what you feel means trusting people. Forget about thoughts and dreams–people who are ghosts won’t even share who they had drinks with last night or what they had for lunch. Everything is on a need to know basis, and there’s nobody who needs to know.

If you are indifferent about them, it’s not that hard to deal with because you have no emotional investment. You can shrug it off. You don’t care what their feelings are anyway. If you think they’re indifferent about you, it’s also not that hard.

If you care for them, and suspect that they care for you but can’t or won’t show it, it’s more complicated. Maybe for them too, not that you would ever know that for sure. That’s the problem. Even more than with other people, you don’t ever know anything. Not for sure. It’s all sort of speculative.

Ghosts, living ghosts, are almost impossible for me to deal with because of that–nothing is ever out in the open with them. It leaves too much room for my admittedly over-active imagination to spin. There is too much to wonder about. There isn’t anything to hold on to, as much as I might want to.

They’re emotional vapor.

How much effort do you put into to something that may or may not even be real in the first place? How do you know?

Guys, you might want to skip this one because I’m going to talk about a subject you might not appreciate: male impotence.

There was a stretch in my life where several guys I dated in a row were impotent. Not just slow to arise, but…just…nothing going. I am sure it was difficult for them, but it was also not great for my self-esteem because when I was younger I assumed that any performance issues must be because of me. Looking at the various situations now, it’s clear it wasn’t. One guy had a taste for cocaine, another for booze…another was on medication to prevent hair loss that seemed to be doing more to prevent erections than hair loss…but I always wondered if there was something I could have been doing differently. Hair loss product guy was the only one who told me about the issue ahead of time, and he promised he had ways of coping with the issue. I appreciated the warning, and also the methods he’d developed to cope with the issue. He was only 25, and I know girls like thick hair, but straight girls like a hard cock even more. I hope he quit taking it and got his mojo back, because he had some serious talent in other ways that would only have been enhanced by functional male hardware.

Did I really just say that? I hope my mother isn’t reading this.

Well. It’s true.

What a rational person would have learned from this run of sexual bad luck in the late 90’s is that it’s really common for guys to have issues with performance. No one has ever called me rational. Wait, that’s not true. I’ve actually had “stop being so RATIONAL” hurled at me like an insult.

Not sure what my point is there, except that I have a tendency to blame myself for things that have nothing to do with me at all. I’m not sure if that means I think the world revolves around me or if I am just completely devoid of self esteem. Or both.

Not sure what my point was there, either.

Some guys deal with impotence very well. Others hint that they never have problems with other women so it must be you. Others pretend there is nothing wrong, which is frustrating for everyone involved. It takes vastly more skill in diplomacy than I possess to gently ask what is up when something isn’t up.

Hair loss product guy treated the issue with honesty and a direct approach, which I appreciated. It helped that he had done a lot of research on pleasing alternatives, but ultimately I’m not sure if it would have become a problem if we’d stayed together longer. I often felt guilty that he never got to have an orgasm, although he seemed to be enjoying himself as much as I was. It had nothing to do with our breakup in any case. Kudos to him for handling it with such grace at such a young age.

Cocaine guy who blamed it all on me? Repressed drunk who pretended there was no problem? Maybe I could give you the other guy’s number and he could give you some tips.

With Samael and a set of very messy king sized sheets still wrapped very tightly around her, Mara told him that she thought was still due for a good sulk. She didn’t think she should have to cancel her sulking just because an imaginary giant incubus dropped by to ravish her. Samael raised an eyebrow, smiled and pressed his thumb into a bruise on her shoulder until she winced.

“Was that real enough for you, my treasure, or should I bite you again? You seemed to like it, and maybe a set of tooth marks will convince you of my reality if this bruise does not.”

She bit his thumb until he let go of her shoulder and pinned her against the bed with a snarl. Angels do not like to be bitten, but do they have to be so grumpy about it? Mara pointed out that she didn’t particularly like to have her valuable sulking time interrupted, but she didn’t go around snarling at anyone, even if they deserved it for hurting her. She found her speech suddenly stopped by a very insistent angel kissing her, pulling her head back by the hair until she gasped and bit his lower lip.

The growling, she found, was not without appeal…

“What else makes you growl, Sami?”

“Sami?”

“It’s a pet name, baby.”

“Baby? I am thousands of years old.”

“It’s term of endearment. Like treasure. You’re a literal fucker, aren’t you?”

“I do enjoy penetrating every part of you, my treasure…shall I demonstrate again?”

“Mmmmm….literal…”