“… because I like you”

“I like you too”

“No, I like you, like you”

She planted a soft kiss on the back of his neck

“I like you too” she repeated.

distant-signals:

It’s lonely here, and I find myself craving stupid things, like for my room to smell faintly of cigarettes, or for there to be no hot water left. Or maybe that you had kicked me in your sleep, or that you snore just a little, or that you hog all the sheets or sleep hot when I want cold. Just something, somehow, some reason for being here again, awake and dreaming deeply, while everything else is really just so bloody perfect. I wish you’d mess up my world. 

distant-signals:

Someone to just lie in bed with me, and let the entire album play out, end to end. Tell me your favorite parts, what you love, what you hate. Just lie in the dark and listen to the music, to each other, to heavy heartbeats and rain on the windowpanes. Close and comfortable, simple and sublime. 

distant-signals:

It’s a beautiful day - one of those sun-soaked, warm-but-not-too-warm, lazy afternoons that very nearly gush with life and living. The breeze brings the sea air up and into the trees, the peacocks are out in full regalia and I’m at your work, with a cheap bouquet and a basket full of odds and ends and maybe a bottle of half-decent wine. None of your coworkers are much surprised, and your boss doesn’t even seem to mind, when you knock off a couple hours early, hitch a ride up the handlebars of my bike, and the two of us disappear into the fern-green park.
A long and leisurely evening spent on the tallest hill overlooking the ocean, watching the sun go down from our hiding place in the tall grass. A glass or two more than is really fair for a weeknight, a simple meal of fruit, cheese and the expensive but delicious crackers that I know you love, and then an easy walk home while the stars begin to show. Clean sheets on our bed, a cool breeze through the open windows and the phones and computer left off for the night.
Your lips taste of wine, your hair smells of spring, your skin is smooth paper and your heart sings slow and steady, in rhythm with my own.

And sometimes…

Sometimes I just want to rip your fucking hair out. I want to shove your innocent little blue eyes deep into the suffocation of my pillow. I want to take you where there are no safe words. I want to dip your body in the river of hades so just the back of your ankle is left untouched by the daggers of tantric, sadistic and off color sex. My bones quiver from lack of domination. I want you to lock me up. I want you to tie me to the bed and leave me to starve screaming, asking, any passerby to please, unleash me. Then, It would be just cooth of you to save me. To unchain my lanky limbs and heal my trembling with just your tongue. Then invite me to invade places that Columbus and Magellan wouldn’t be able to find navigational euphemisms for. Instead though? Instead dear, I bury my hair in your chest. I wait for the right moments to attempt to hurt you as to please you so you’ll eventually, just, start coming, but…

 I can’t keep from biting, I can’t keep from scorching and burning, twisting and turning, demanding you scream louder or…or i’ll stop. and darling? The last thing you’d ever want is for me to stop. That’s just not how I work. The blood that fills me deep below is the same that courses along my heart with hatred and disrespect. The intrinsic need for my body to feast on the flesh and the soul, to eat the inner darkest depths of everyone I meet is the same fucking blood that pours out of my dorsal vein when you cut me with your plain, god fucking damn all monotony.

Fuck It would feel, so good, to see you pasting your selfless body all over the internet, tattooed like an atheistic little whore, but instead, instead? I’m left with this cheery fucking pale skinned, uninked, blonde haired piece of beautiful, unadulterated beauty.

And God Damn.

I love every boring, wasted minute of that shit.

Written by stevemarin

thelyingdays:

     I want you here. I want you in our cozy apartment—sometimes I forget, and say my place, and then I smile at you and I correct myself: our place. I want you painting in the living room while I read Nabokov naked on the couch. I want you holding my hand at parties, when I’m feeling shy. I want you making stir fries and stews and casseroles in the kitchen with me. I want you with your arm around me during scary movies, and romantic ones. Comedies, too. I want you playing sweet songs on the guitar while I gaze at you feeling more than I ever thought I could. I want you telling me about your stupid theories about aliens and China and 2012. I want you telling awful jokes that make me laugh for days. I want walks in the park with you, grabbing my ass, or me yours, when we don’t think anyone’s around. I want you kissing the nape of my neck as I fall asleep. I want you in my arms, all the time. I want you drunk on whiskey, because you’re adorable when you’ve had too much to drink. I want you dancing with me, hands all over each other. I want you to want to leave the bar a little early because you can’t wait to get home, to our bed, to kisses and touching and great sex. I want youyouyou, darling you, I want you here very much.

It had been around two months since they’d last slept together, he laughed at her when she told him this but it’s difficult when you’re both young because you have to be quiet about it. She screamed so loud that they’d have to wait for a day when no one was at home so that they could make love without anyone hearing a whimper. When the front door shut and the only sound was the creaking of the house, they looked at each other and that was all it took.

He dove under the bed to find the condoms (films never include this part but this even though it is awkward the tension is frustrating). He hides them in this old box where no one would care to look. This is the part where she helps him put it on and the butterflies make her hands tremble.

When he was inside her she’d ask him to go slow at first but after a few minutes without warning he would thrust hard and go as deep as he could because he knew secretly she liked that best. She would lose feeling in her body and couldn’t move any longer because the pleasure took over, she felt bad about this but he said it didn’t matter. With every thrust they’d both whisper how much they loved each other and after he finished she would cry because the emotions were so intense.

She always wanted to go again but he’d laugh and say they couldn’t because if it was up to her they would be tangled up together all day and they couldn’t do that; his parents would be back in a few moments and they had to make themselves look presentable.  When she sat in front of the mirror and did her make up he would tell her she didn’t need it and they would both steal kisses from each other; their eyes sparkling with the reflection of what they had done just minutes ago. 

To her sex would never be sex, she said she’d lose her virginity to the person that meant the world to her, she secretly dreams about their wedding day but she can’t tell anyone, they’re so young and their whole life is sprawled out before them. But before she falls asleep alone in her own bed with the smell of his aftershave lingering on her skin and when she inhales the scent she imagines their wedding day. He looks so handsome dressed in a suit.

Submitted by everycolourgoeswhereyoudo

distant-signals:

Staggering in from the rain, throwing our dark-wet clothes down on the ancient hardwood floors, the plastic-burning smell of electric heaters, the distant clap of thunder and hiss of tires on streets below. 
Your naked body, a perfect, ivory essay in cream and white, the only color, two quick pink brush stroked nipples as contrast, just to prove your starkness. Your greedy lips, the way your voice sounds half-hushed but eager. The way your hip bones feel in my rough grip as I kiss your stomach, your quick nervous inhales. Rain; heavy and sheeting on the steamed up windows, that tiny room in that tiny apartment, lit only by a single candle and a bedside clock flashing 11:11.
I wrap you up in my arms and squeeze you so tight.

Written by Distant-Signals

These red lines,
Raised, and fine,
Trace out upon the white,
Soft flesh of ours, entwined, 
A map of lusts sublime.
Emblazoned on
Such naked skin,
With sighing hands
We reign them in,
And read the passion
We wrote them in.

At these red lines,
I breathe you in. 

Written by wordswellspent

mynameisabi:

I think about you on slow days, on days that never end, on days that end too quickly. I think about how I’d be, if you were next to me. I think about your eyes, how they would smile at me, and I smile, too. I wish you would only take a glance through mine, and see you, as I do. But I guess that’s all part of the beauty. I think about how your skin would feel against my fingertips. I think about how your lips would feel, pressed to mine.

I think about you all too much, actually.

Written by MyNameIsAbi

mynameisabi:

Some days, I’ll want to not say a word, and just kiss you and touch you and feel you.

Some days, I’ll want to go on adventures to new places and talk about putting the world to rights.

Some days, I’ll want to stay in bed until the afternoon and talk to you about everything and nothing.

Some days, I’ll want to be alone, not because of you, but because I need to.

Some days, I’ll want to watch trashy TV with you and have conversations about imaginary people.

Imagination is important.

If you’re ok with that, then I’m more than ok with you.

“You sure?” Of course I was sure. I never felt more ready in my life. I took a deep breath and said, “Fuck yes, I just want this now”. I’ve waited so long for it, and of course it had to be you. ”Okay, if you’re ready”. God, sometimes I just wanted you to be a man and take charge for once. You were always asking me if I was okay, if everything was all right. Right then and there, I just wanted pain. I jumped on your bed, giddy like a schoolgirl. I was so excited, I knew it was going to be perfect. You leaned on top of me, kissing me, holding me, stroking my hair. I couldn’t stand it. I pulled you down, and started to pull off your shirt. I could feel you hardening. The pace picked up, and there was your animal instinct. Aggression, just what I wanted. I could hardly wait for what was about to happen. Your hands slid under my sweater. reaching up and under my bra. Your fingers traced my breasts, and headed towards the clasp. I could feel you barely restrained by your pants. I started to unbutton them for you. “For the last time, are you sure?” It was starting to get annoying. “Fuck me, hard”. While you pulled off your pants and boxers, the rest of my clothes were thrown to the side. It started again, this time it felt almost holistic and pure. You climbed back on top of me, your hands above my arms as to not to hurt me. I could feel you entering, the penetration throbbing and at last, I could feel you inside me. “Harder,” I whispered between moans. Each thrust felt bigger and stronger, and I was starting to lose feeling in my legs. I could feel it in me, and I was being spread open for you. God, it felt so good.  Even while this was happening, you kept kissing my neck, stroking my hair. “Harder, harder,” I cried. You seemed frustrated, but you went at it, filling me with the greatest pain I had ever known. We were one, and it happened together. I could barely contain myself from just screaming. It was almost spiritual, miraculous and you rolled off of me, seemingly exhausted. It wasn’t enough. “Let’s go again,” I told you. You looked at me, your big brown eyes in disbelief. I climbed on top. I started to reach down there, hoping to inspire you, but you grabbed my hand before I could. “I don’t want you to do that”, you said with a geniune sadness in your eyes. I just wanted the pain. I wanted to feel hurt, to feel broken. “Okay, fine, but let’s go again. Come on, be more aggressive this time”. You looked at me again, this time confused. I started to kiss you, my lips on your lips. I whispered, “bite me”. You obliged. “Make me bleed”. You bite my lip again, this time more forceful. “That’s it, now, I want you to rip me apart”. You just stopped, and pulled me off you. You sat on the edge of your bed, your face in your hands. “I can’t do this to you,” you said with a whimper. It was my turn to be confused. “What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, rouged by just being tossed aside. “I can’t hurt you, I just can’t do it”. Suddenly, my eyes filled up with tears. You knew everything I had gone through. The emotional turmoil and stress that plagued me the better part of my life. You turned to look at me, and I saw that your eyes watered up as well. ”I could never hurt you, even if you wanted me to”. That was it, my breaking point. I just looked at him, and it all came rushing out. I started crying uncontrollably, and you rushed over to hold me. I buried my head in your arms, resting on your broad shoulders. I was always a sucker for those shoulders. You pulled the covers on top of us, and did what you always did when we were lying on your bed - you stroked my hair. “I just wanted to feel something”, I said through hiccups. It had been such a rough year, for me, for you, for us. “Baby, I love you. That’s all you’ve got to feel”. We just laid there, underneath the covers, your arms wrapped around me, my face in your chest. God, my mascara was running, and there were black marks all over you. You kissed my head, and I looked up, and I knew right then, it was always going to be you. - Anonymous Submission

quickienewyork:

There are benches all along the High Line that were made for something warm in the fall.

We didn’t plan on anything other than sitting and people watching, but our imaginations may have been our downfall.  It was dusk, and the setting sun over the river shone off the glass and made autumn colors out of the cold buildings. 

“I bet she likes to be spanked,” you whispered as the girl with the green jacket and ostrich purse passed us by.

“And he sucks cock on the weekends,” I said about the man at her side. 

“I bet the three of them get so drunk they can pretend it didn’t happen in the morning.  And I bet the one in the blue pants goes in the middle.”

We laughed as we told stories, but our hands gripped tighter under the light blanket and we forgot the thermos of hot cocoa after just twenty minutes.  We moved from what they did to each other to what we wanted to do with them, and by the time she told me how she’d fuck the guy with the pinstripe suite and purple tie I was ready and hard. 

We had hands in each other’s pants as she whispered in my ear and when I slipped two fingers inside her we stopped noticing any people at all.  I tried to enjoy her hand as I moved my own, and we could hardly talk as we played with each other’s bodies, squirming tightly on the cold wooden bench. 

“If we were alone you’d be inside me,” she whispered between moans.

“If we were alone you’d be screaming right now.”

We cuddled as close as we could, leaving just enough room for our arms and fingers to work right, and we grew silent as we each got closer.  I came before she did, and she never once let go.  Her thumb moved over me just right, and I tried to focus as I released everything.  My hand kept moving and while I knew she was close it was going to take something else.  I gave her all my attention and she trembled and clenched around me, but it wasn’t quite enough.

“I’ll let him fuck you,” I finally whispered in her ear.  “The man in the blue suit. I won’t let him undress, but I’ll hold you and kiss you, and he’ll thrust inside you until you scream and beg like a greedy little whore.  I’ll look into your eyes and watch you as you feel him expand inside you, fucking you harder and faster every time you moan.  And when he’s done, when he pulls out and walks through the door without saying a word, I’ll hold you and tell you everything will be alright.”

She drenched my fingers before I even finished, and she gripped my leg so hard I knew she left marks.  I watched and listened as her body changed and slowed, and I didn’t remove my fingers for a very long time. 

—Guy New York

      We had never slept together. When we met, when we fell in love, I was so young and still a virgin and we had next to no money and he took me to this shitty hotel and I’m not uptight or anything, but I was scared to touch a single thing in that hotel room and I couldn’t. And for a second he started to pressure me and then he realized it was wrong and he just held me all night and I tried not to look around. I told him we should go camping, he said, you want to make love for the first time under the stars, don’t you? And I guess I did—I wanted something magical.

      It wasn’t. A few years later. A boy I worked with. We weren’t together, weren’t even really dating. We went to the beach and there, hot on the sand, he put his hands all over me and it felt sort of wrong but I guess sort of nice and totally unexpected and then later, back at his apartment, he said something like, well, it wouldn’t make sense to stop now, and I just blinked and I barely remember it, now.

      And now, I don’t know, I wish I hadn’t slept with anyone, ever, for him. I wish he could be my first and my last and my everything. But I think, if it ever happens, it’ll be magical—I think it will be better than any first time, better than the absolute best sex I’ve ever had. I think it will feel wild and amazing and perfect. I bet the first time we’ll go slow and he’ll say my name over and over in my ear in his sweet voice and he’ll kiss me the whole time and it will be late in the afternoon and the sun will be streaming in and the room will glow, and we will glow and to be honest probably he won’t last that long but it will be the sweetest thing because we’ve both wanted it for years and years. And then, later, we’ll drink some wine and cuddle in bed and I’ll make dinner in only his shirt, one button done, and then he’ll fuck me hard, the way I like—and we’ll be golden because we can have it both ways. I know that if it happens, he’ll be all I ever need.

Submission. Written by TheLyingDays