She Was Made Of Words;Ugly Words

 I didn’t expect what came last night, I knew he’d kiss me or I’d kiss him the instant we started the movie in the living-room. It was a give- he’d came to my house, fully knowing I was home alone, and he’d let me sit in his lap and nap while Ster Trek “The Voyage Home”  played on my TV. I knew, when he tickled me- he wanted to be closer to me, he wanted to feel my movements, he wanted to see my smile and laugh. I didn’t know he wanted me as much as I’ve wanted him. I didn’t think he wanted to soothe my wounds. I didn’t believe him when he said I was special- I’m still not sure I do.

And I never expected to end up in my room, kissing passionately, trying to pull each other closer, hating the clothing that was between us. I didn’t expect him to SMILE at me and ask me what I wanted to do, how I wanted to do things. I didn’t expect him to be okay with me saying I wouldn’t have sex. The fact that he smiled when I said no; I was stunned. He knew I’d say no- he still came to my house, still came to me.  I wanted to blurt out “You knew I’d so no, so why’d you come?! Is it cause you know I wont say no to everything when it involves you, because I’m easy?!” I wanted to throw up my walls and push him out, scream at him, do something outrageous, make him run from me. I wanted to hate and fear him in that instant. And I’m not sure why I didn’t.  And then, he kissed me- it was awkward, I’d never wanted to kiss someone- my whole body was stunned by the vividness of the emotions and physical sensations running through me. I could feel his body- the warmth and strength of him. And-  I somehow felt smaller sitting in his lap, wrapped in his arms, his mouth on mine. I felt like- I felt like I was a girl for once- not one of the guys, not “Solid as a rock” Constance. I was Constance, the girl who’d turned soft, who was being held, who was being treated like a human being.  The girl who didn’t flinch and pull back when his hands wandered over my back. 

And we stopped, we pulled apart and just looked at each other- and… He wanted me, everything he saw- he wanted to touch, to feel. Me. Chubby, awkward, Nearly a full grown and still no where near graceful me. He kissed my neck, my shoulders, everything he could reach without breaking the embrace, maybe he wanted to break it- but I held onto his strength. How- how is he so strong. How is it he can tote me around like I’m nothing, how is it he can catch me before I fall. How can he be like he is- to ME. 

The mental conflict that rages within me now did at that moment. At that moment I kissed him back, I kissed HIS neck, HIS shoulders, HIS face. I kissed HIM, and he let me. 

He pulled back, he asked me what I wanted to do. What I want? I didn’t know what I wanted, all I knew is I wanted him- all of him, and I wanted to know he wanted all of me as well. So I sat dumbly in his lap- and shrugged. And he asked again, and I told him, I wanted him to make me remember this moment. That moment. And he did, he kissed me, and caressed me. And he asked what else I wanted- and I gave in to the primal pleasures. But, I’ve never been graceful and never will be, so when he asked- I didn’t know what words to say. And he stopped again, and looked to me, for an answer. And what was my dumbshit remark? “Search for my pleasure, search for it like a treasure!” And we sat and stared at each other, and- I laughed. I wasn’t embarrassed, and he wasn’t either. We sat there, out lower bodies intertwined, laughing.  And he hugged me.

” Oh, Connie! You’re so special!” 

“You’ve got no clue, I’m special, I am soooooo special!!!” 

And he stopped laughing and stared at me, like- like he believed me, like he really thought I WAS special. And then he kissed me again, and this time there was no asking questions as to what I wanted, he knew what I wanted. My own body radiated heat from where I most desired his touched. And he gave into my bodies wants. And me? I felt like I might just pass out with a primal pleasure that ran through me like warm honey- slowly but steadily consuming my mind, controlling my movements, my sounds, my voice.  And he made it as good as I was able to handle, and he was slow about it- The part of me that still understood what was going on, that was still able to think past the pleasure wanted to ask him why; why are you making this as good as it can get for me, why are you being so tender, so sweet? 

He worked his way back to just kissing me, reversing the rise to pleasure down to happiness. And he smiled again, and we started talking. He asked about the divorce, about how I was heal, about why I hadn’t told him about the abuse. And I just shook my head- and he hugged me. He didn’t ask like others, he didn’t push. He just hugged me. And then, I took my sweet time listening to him- and after we had both let everything out- I took my time bringing him to him primal pleasure- I was not long lived in that action. He wouldn’t let me please him without pleasing me too, and I couldn’t multi task.

But he wasn’t bothered by that, no- he just kept on. And then we stopped again, and talked more. And we sat there for a long moment, naked, laughing our asses off, smiling, we didn’t have sex.

No one warned me it could be that easy- saying no to sex. No one warned me he wouldn’t find an excuse to leave me as soon as I said no. No one prepared me to find a good guy. But- he’s not mine. I’m pretty sure it meant nothing to him- something maybe, cause- how could ten hours with someone- two of which are spent naked, not mean something. I’m not saying the nakedness of our bodies meant anything- I know it didn’t to me. It was the nakedness of emotion, the openness of caring for each other in that moment. Divulging past shames, heart aches, abuses, the tears and the caring touches of the back. The comfort… I should be happy- but… I can’t push out that nagging voice in my mind that said he’ll run away because of that.

I mean, you’d think something would change visibly between us, but- it wont. I don’t expect it to at the least. Which, leaves me unsure of what to do. Well, not really I guess. We’re prefect the way we function now- so we’ll stay that way. But- I also need to find a way to push the image of him out of my head. His physical image, god- training for the marines … But, it’s only ten present of what I like- yet… him, there, in my bed, looking lustily atme. ME! I can’t drive that from my mind. I want to get rid of it- I don’t want to fall down this hole of thinking he’ll love me more than he has before. Cause I know he wont- he loves me as much as he will for the time- and no matter how many times we repeat last night, that wont change for him. Not fast. I wonder why he did this- I can guess a few reasons. A] He really does find me attractive and he wants to be closer than we have been. B] He’s trying to distract me from my parents divorce and the abuse I endured the last few months from my father. c] He knew how I’d react, he’s doing this cause he’s lonely, and he knew I wouldn’t tell him no to everything… I have a feeling this will be a one time thing. He’s given me something stable and sweet and good to hold onto for now- I doubt he’ll give me that again. I bet he’s regretting it now.

 He’s given me more than he should have and more than I should have ever taken. Now I have to figure out how to let go of a moment I wanted so badly to last all night and into today- or into forever, until I was healed and he was too.

Freedom is an illusion, yet an attainable one.

Voltaire stated in his essay on freedom from his book/essays crammed together/ whatever you’d like to call it: ” He asked me if I was free? I replied that I was not in prison, that I had the key to my chamber, that I was perfectly free.”

Voltaire’s essay speaks of a physical freedom, but there is also a philosophical freedom. Physical freedom can be displayed through our choice of clothing or lack there of. It can be shown through our cars, homes, and dialogue. Philosophical freedom, on the other hand, is more difficult to explain- it is less of an outward appearance, more an inward opinion.

In order to understand a concept, one must first define it. Websters Dictionary states, “Freedom; Fre`dum, n. State of being free; Liberty; Particular privilege; facility of doing anything. ” This is Websters definition. However, I disagree. To me Freedom is a mere illusion man creates to comfort himself. Yes, man has free will, but often this will is clouded and over powered by his instinctual, emotional reaction. True freedom is the ability to push emotions to the side and follow one’s mind as well as one’s heart. Emotions hinder as well as empower mans ability to achieve freedom.

I myself had previously attached the word ‘America’ with the meaning of freedom, a land based on freedom of choice. Something that is being taken away due to the youths inability to learn and the Elders inability to advance in thought. Uneducated beings can not obtain freedom. Thoreau stated that he was freer in prison, peacefully making his voice known and his opinion more firm, than outside being trampled over by the majorities wants and mindless following of the government.

When I was but a child, I thought myself free when I obtained the ability to go outside with out an adult watching over me, soon though, with my many days of sitting and listening to the Elderly and learning as much as I could, I came to realize through meditation that freedom was not place or object, but the choices I had came to take and would take in the future. People think of freedom as too literal a thing, they see only what they can touch of it, the illusion they have I can not comprehend.

I come back to Voltaire, with another quote from his essay:
“We figure to ourselves that we have incomprehensible and absurd gift of election, with out reason, without any other motive than that of free-will.”

One is most free when one can think independently of others, one must be able to understand, contemplate, and reason out a subject. Three things so simple to say, yet many human beings today lack the very ability to do so. How often does one think of one’s effect in words, how often does one think about one’s ability to object, how often does one put these into action against the masses? Society gives boundaries, restrictions, the feeling of being unobserved… Who has the freedom to think alone, away from the common assumptions and standards? He who is free does.

Once freedom is found, it becomes extremely difficult. Humanity is terrified by the mere idea of having to think for themselves. Free thinking is scary for the ‘Followers’ of leaders, hard and incomprehensible for them to even acknowledge. Some of the greatest free thinkers in the world have, are, and will be persecuted for their defiance to society.

When one first learns to think, one is opening a dusty window unto a bright world. Shedding light unto eyes that have been in the dark since birth. A painful, yet exhilarating experience of growth and realization. The majority of humanity would rather wish for others to think for them, to direct them to the water than to lead themselves. These people become unnerved at the thought of thinking for themselves, and vexed when matters of their opinion are questioned. For they can not come upon an answer for their reasoning other than “He said so” or “they said”. They feel such because they do not know how to think! When asked simple questions, they feel powerless. As if all the mighty thoughts they would say were hollow. For they are such: repetition of an others thought is powerless for one who can not meditate and understand it. They lose power through such actions.

Power is the ability to act or do of ones own accord. In order to do so, one must understand. In order to understand, one must ask questions first. Asking questions is power, and power is Freedom. Thus my opinion is stated

She was made of words, ugly words. Her heart thudded with the intent, that deep brilliant feeling that colored her world. Her mouth watered as she licked her lips, her thin pink tongue savoring the taste of that desire. That want…


A cynical giggle glided from her pale lips, her dark round eyes penetrated the thin creamy curtain that held her from what she wished. A soft swishing from her tail as it barely, oh so barely touched the cold cobble floor of the room. Her senses heightened, her eyes dilated, her skin tingled, hairs stood nearly on end; this was what she’d spent the day waiting for, this was hers’. She moved slowly, agonizingly holding her steps back, prolonging the moment of thrill. This place she stood where she was suspended between completeness and the curtail of desire to fulfillment. With one tiny paw she pushed the curtain aside, wrapping her hand into it, trying to tangle herself so the moment would last longer. Her spine shivered, the skin crawling like snakes over her, she felt her ears perk and her eyes grow bigger. The lusting for this, the draw of the crimson sheets that flowed over the bed like tainted water. The light of the candles playing off it like a skilled harp player, her mouth twisted between a snarl and a smile. Her stomach warmed and her lips pulled back as a low, soft, sweet growl clamored up her tight throat.


Her knee’s weakened suddenly. And she knew all the power she had to hold herself back was evaporating. Her claws suddenly extended out, abruptly she was watching from within herself as her hands drew on the fabric, her claws running into it and shredding the ends, tattering the whole. The sound was tantalizing to her ears. Her long hair divided over her shoulders and dripped like silver down her back and over her chest brushing the red fabric like strings. She stepped to her tippy-toes, her hand digging into the mattress as she used her entire body to move herself completely into the bed. Silently, holding her breath, she found herself stationed on the edge of the bed, her feet draped over the edge of the overly soft bed, the curtain slowly drooped back into place, her tail curled on the end and held it barely open, the cooler air from the outside drafting into the warm area of the bed, the heat of it pooling at the body in the middle. Her thin lips spread into a smile, her eyes glittering with mirth. So close… She could smell the hefty scent, the aroma that teased her so endlessly.
Her lips dipped low, under the hallow of his ear, he was hers’…

She pried open one eye, sleeping crust falling from the corners. Her smile hadn’t faded over the night. Her thin tongue slipped across her lips once more, savoring the taste again. His remains lay, scattered across the room, blood spatter stained the cream curtain and floor, and her skin. She yawned and slowly stretched, sore from the fight he’d put up with her. That was always the best part, the fight those humans put up. Seriously, she was an anthro, he never stood a chance without friends to back him up… Or at least a lover. Oh well, t’was his fate.