Internet Sex Shows. A Virgin Ballerina vs Destiny. To Jump in the River and Drown. I Don’t Use the F Word (say Kiss). Blogger Melissa. Hope for You.

--C tells me she is going to do internet sex shows.
I’m not sure what that means, which isn’t to say that I have looked at internet porn.
I don’t know specifically what she has planned. Neither does she.
But she wants to comb through the darker recesses of my mind for ideas.
And that’s all right with me.
I have a few.

Are you good at using cameras, she wants to know.

--Not so long ago, an ex girlfriend with a new boyfriend in another state asked me to help her take some racy photos to send him.

I must just look like a good camera man.

Every beauty needs an eye.

--Does a certain build of body, a certain structure of bone predestine one?
C might be like that. Too swollen of breast and lip, too flat of belly, too long of leg.
She looks like a girl that should be doing internet sex shows.

But then again, so does A., and she is a virgin ballerina.

--There’s that character in Sometimes a Great Notion who recognizes his father’s physical beauty afforded him what became a void of choices and so rather than follow his father’s path, the son slides a razor up and down his face as if that destiny can be avoided.

--Melissa is hot.
She’s knows that.
But she’s also very clever.

She writes about getting turned on by a cat. Beat that.

She writes that kissing is about intimacy. Of course, in the referenced post, I meant it on the figurative side too. I meant to imply more than kissing.

Coyness is one of those things I detest in other people but accept in myself. Like road rage.

In any case, in saying overkissed, I meant to imply over-everything.

But really, it’s all intimacy. I know Melissa would tell me that.

Incidentally, do you like the way she pouts her lip in the profile photo?

Good ouch. Talk about a mouth with a destiny. And look at the photos where she is showing her…tattoo.

Back to the point: I find it hard to have any kind of relationship with a woman that doesn’t have intimate over(or at least under)tones.

What do I do to avoid them?
I get very quiet.
I get very still.

I am not trying to avoid her, whoever she is.
I am trying to avoid me with her.

Sometimes I succeed.

--Maybe you’re sitting across from this woman. Her eyes are blue in a way in which it is hard to believe. She’s telling you about the problems she has with her husband. You want to know if she is wearing contact lenses. Her waist is narrow. Her arms are thin.

You find it hard to believe that anybody has ever touched her.

You find it hard to believe that her husband takes her for granted. You find it impossible to believe that you ever would.

You find it hard to believe that she has nipples, that she has a vagina, that she’s even ever been kissed.

There’s no way to imagine her naked.

Her husband, he’s seen her like that, but he forgot that it’s a magic knowledge.

You tell yourself, If she were my girl, I’d never forget.
You tell yourself, If I could only see her naked, just one time, I’d know everything I need to know, not just about it, or her, but the world, and myself in it.

If you’re like me, anyway. If you’re like me, you tell yourself these things even though you know better.

--And if you’re like me, you have your strategies for change, and you have your glacial movement toward it.

If you’re like me, there is hope for you yet.