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my thoughts

I can't believe that what I feel is really happening to me
Make it hurt
And point the finger at my insecurities
Well I guess I just don't understand about those complexities in your mind
And I guess I just don't understand why this world seems so unkind
Maybe just once I get what's coming to me.

**"Maybe Just Once" - Nine Inch Nails**

Thursday, November 24, 2005

She is aching for a touch. Hands bound at the wrists, hung high above her head. Feeling the tension increase as she struggles unsuccessfully to stand flat-footed on the ground. Her arms feel cool and slightly tingly as her blood is having a small problem circulating since her arms are elevated. She can feel the strain in her feet and calves from staying tip-toed for so long. She is beginning to tire.

This is when someone enters the room. She can feel the swish of the air as they walk by her. A finger covered in something gooey enters her mouth and runs over the inside of her lips and her tongue. Opening her jaw wide, her tongue now clumsy inside her numbed mouth. She bites her lip hard, waiting to feel pain in her nerves, waiting to feel any physical response. All she has is the fuzzy feeling of nothing. Without proper control of her lips and tongue, the excess saliva in her mouth that she would normally swallow slowly dribbles down her chin. She is strung here, drooling like an infant, and unable to do anything to stop it. Resigned, she hands her head in defeat, the cool silk of the blindfold brushing against her eyelids.

A touch. Barely anything. Any other time she probably wouldn't even have registered it but naked, blind and deafened with earplugs, her remaining senses have sharpened. There it is again in the small of her back. It is like the softest breeze, the most gentle caress. The tiny, almost invisible, hairs covering her entire body are all standing on end in anticipation of this phantom touch. Nothing for what seems like an eternity. The only sensations she knows are the strain in her muscles and the liquid dripping from her mouth to cool to a chill on her chest.

Her thigh. She can feel herself leaning into the touch in an effort to have it connect even more with her flesh. A stronger feeling just so she can assure herself that there actually is a touch. Her body is rigid, readying itself for when they next feather-light brush will appear. That's it: a feather. Her mind hungrily files away the sensation. Now that she has something to picture mentally, she doesn't feel quite as isolated. Any mental picture is better than none at all.

She wrinkles her nose as something fluffy brushes underneath it. A touch on her lips. She can barely feel it for the moment but her muscles twitch involuntarily as the smooth caress travels down her front. She is leaning as far forward as her restrained body will allow. She is becoming desperate for some sort of pressure on her skin. Anywhere. This cotton ball lover that runs over her flesh is driving her mad. The softness of it all is wreaking havoc on her sense of touch, rendering every inch of her skin extremely sensitive to even the slightest change in the air.

Along her aching calves the feather drags. If she wouldn't unbalance herself by standing on one leg, she would have kicked out in protest. Dancing along the soles of her already ticklish feet and she jerks away, a whimper escaping from her throat and a fresh stream of saliva running in clear rivulets down her chin.

She swears she can feel every hair follicle on her body. She presses her cheek to her arm just so she is able to remember what a feeling of pressure on her skin feels like. Suddenly, the tension holding up her wrists loosens and she falls to her knees, off balance. The knot holding her up must have been undone somehow. She brings her hands to her face, wiping off her spittle and pressing against her still numbed mouth.

Suddenly, fingernails are raked lovingly down her back and she screams in release. All it took was a touch.


So I pulled an all-nighter last night to write my 12-page sociology final. I wrote over 2000 words in about seven hours and the essays are all set to hand in today. Class isn't until 2:30 but, believe it or not, by the time I was finished printing everything I was too tired to sleep. I'll pass out at the boy's place tonight. Maybe I'll fall asleep before he will so I won't wake up to his snoring! I'm also glad that my cramps are finally receding, so now the blood should stop flowin' sometime soon. One last thing:
Andrea is coming to visit me this weekend! We'll have fun even though she'll have to humour me while I get some schoolwork done. The term's almost over. Two more weeks of class, then come finals. Ugh...

I know I
posted this same picture last year but this is what it looks like outside again...

*stupid link of the day* Odd Picture: I sincerely hope that these guys are part of a comedy show, contestants in some kind of game show, or being paid a lot of money.
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