Omaha

Here come
Omaha,
Hot now
I got,
Hot hair hot eyes, high tits hot mouth.
Misheard lyrics from the song Omaha by Tapes n Tapes.

To use a time worn cliché' this girls skin is like milk. Spun silk, a spiders web, a gossamer thread. Her hands are chapped and rough in her eyes is an innocence that only exists for a short time before the fires of life burn it out. I know, because I've seen it before.

She tells me that she hates when people look at her 'like that', which I find strange, because she is so outrageously beautiful that she must get it all the time. I honestly don't see how men would look at her any other way and I don't know how she doesn't see me looking at her like that. I swear, if my eyes had teeth they jump right out of my head and devour her.

Is it the essence of youth that I find so appealing, is it the unblemished skin or that churlish giggle that makes me wonder what her mouth would taste like, is it the way that she holds the hot water bottles I make her, is it because I have not lived with a women for so long that I forgot how the bathroom smells after they have showered, the heady smell of steam and shampoo. Is it all of those things and plus lust as well.

We seem to be playing that game where she says that she is fat and that she used to be perfect and then I take my cue and tell here that she is not fat and that as of now she is as perfect as she could get. She does not understand that some people would kill for those long limber limbs, that her body is the envy of almost every woman on the street, that older men see her and sigh and remember what is used to be like when they were young and that in fact girls like her are the very thing that they miss the most.

She makes me nostalgic for times that I never even had, makes me wish that I had more experiences when I was a teenager, makes me hungry in ways that can not be described but only felt. She makes me feel like I remember my time as a teenager with unblemished psyche and shoulders free of responsibilities.

She tells me that she is cold at night and I can only bite my lip and try not to mention that I could warm her, I long to suggest that she crawl with me into my bed because what if she accepts, what would I do then? Beside then have to spend the night desperately resisting the urge to fuck her. And I don't think that I could hold out that long.

I imagine her biting her lip as her pubic hair rubs against my chin, I wonder what it would be like to have her lay her hand gently on my head and then pull my hair as she climaxes. I wonder if I deserve it or whether she is a young mans game and I would be taking advantage of her trust and naivety. The thought crosses my mind that I may be holding myself back for no reason other than so I can say 'Look at how in control and mature I am', which is exactly the same thing that I'd say if I let myself go.

Let me admit that I want to fuck her more than anything in the world. I did not think it possible and the more that I realize that I probably never will the more it burns. See what I did there, used the word 'probably', I think its probably a form of denial. We were talking earlier and she flinched at the word 'vagina' and said 'ew' when we said anus. I wonder what she'd do if I told her that I wanted to taste both of those parts of her.
I have never met anyone so straight that I have wanted to bend so badly. Bend her morals, bend her will, bend her over.
I am being vulgar and I need not be. I could talk about her skin, how its white and smooth like cream. About how when she blushes the contrast between the pink and the pale makes me think of what she'd look like flushed with excitement, short of breath and pupils dilated, the tip of her index finger resting on her lips, eyes screwed tight and fluttering.
Goddamn it, I'm doing it again. I turn into a wolf when I am around her and see her only as my prey. My teeth grow long and my pelt grows grey. I stalk the ground around her looking for any sign of weakness, an opening in which I can insert my snout, any hole in the fence or gap in the wall in which I can drag her through, leaving behind only feathers and traces of blood.
Everyone says that I should get her drunk but I wonder if that will even work, she's almost straight edge. What if I awaken a beast within her that ravages menfolk for miles around, would I be proud, ashamed or indifferent? Would I be happy knowing that she could use her powers of sex over men, would I cringe in the night worrying that she would be out there somewhere being penetrated by some undeserving hipster, scared that her scary unbalanced sex worker friends might turn her out as it were. I imagine her in a club turning around and some guy asking her to bend over so that he can look at her asshole.

I am crazy and without boundaries and without reason, there is no limit to the depths in which my mind will sink and with it no limit to the discomfort it causes me. I once said that no girl really has a good losing her virginity story and I want to be her terrible story that she tells. The only thing I'll fuck is myself and the only thing I'll ravage is my sanity.

My secret girlfriend.

I'm stuck in a relationship that I've been in, off and on, more on than off, for the last ten years. Its passive aggressive and terribly self destructive and I can't see myself getting out anytime soon. I love her but I hate her at the same time. She has made me complacent with my life where as I need a partner that pushes me to be all that I can be. She has convinced me that what I do is good enough and that there is no point in trying for anything better. We spend the weekends on the couch, we hardly ever go anywhere and when we do, even if its something as normal as a party, it wears us out and we can generally only stay for a few hours at the most. We don't do drugs and we don't drink so it seems that nothing really exciting happens in our lives unless we make it happen, and my baby, Mary-Jane, doesn't seem to want that. We are so wrapped up in each other that our grip on the outside world and our perceptions of reality are tenuous at best.

Tonight though, I am wrapped in her loving embrace so I can hardly think of anything bad to say about her, but tomorrow I know I will curse her presence and wish for a life without her. But I will do nothing about it because I am trapped, a slave to her and everything that comes with her. Such a sense of security, as fragile as it is, so warm and loving when needed, comforting and calming, reliable. She fills the empty places inside me and helps keep the night from braying in. I mean, I think she does. I've spent so long with her that to be honest, I can hardly tell anymore. Perhaps she is the creature in the night, the reason I sleep funny, the reason I get uncomfortable in crowds. She has distracted me so much that I can't even finish this properly.

I wrote this a few months ago, 3 and a half to be exact, and we've been broken up for about two of those months now. I feel great. I saw her on the weekend for the first time and we spent some time together. I don't know how I feel about it. It was nice to see her, I can't deny, but she bought up some old memories that I'm not keen to relive. I think it was a mistake to see her, on reflection, because now that we are apart she calls to me. And it would be the perfect time to see her, you know, there's new episodes of Cops on and later there is new Entourage. If I see her tonight, then I'll definitely want to see her tomorrow, and then the day after that and the day after that and so on and so forth. You know how it is, just a little at first and then a little won't do so a little gets more and more, to quote Guns and Roses. I would like to be strong, but I am unsure how long I can last. "Just a little" she whispers, "one or two tokes won't hurt". Her voice is alluring and her embrace, to be honest, just can't be beat. She comforts me when there is nothing to be comforted about, but the feeling of insulation she provides is better than any bullet proof vest.

On the positive side, I'm feeling a lot more stable mentally without her. I'm not up and down like a roller coaster, I don't wake up feeling like I've been hit in the head with a mallet, I can remember what happened yesterday and where I was last week. Not with the greatest of clarity, I'll admit, but things are a lot clearer. I have this thing now called focus which is very weird for me, I mean, I sort of have a life plan now. There are things that I want that are no longer just vague outlines, I am no longer just reaching for things that I could never reach and then being unjustly disappointed. True, I've hardly written a word since we broke up, but I honestly feel like nothing has happened that's been worth writing about. Every little thing does not seem to make itself into something that its not. Things make sense and don't confuse me as easily. I can remember people names and faces and every trip outside is not some huge adventure. Everyday things are not confronting and I can almost see how everyone else sees the world.

It sucks, but its better than faking everything and being wrapped in uncertainty.

Oh yeah, and did I mention the dreams? I am dreaming more now than I ever have in my life. But that's a whole other story for a whole other time.