Alpha beta

Posted: September 1, 2012 in transliteration

I want you to tie me up and take out all of your frustrations on me. Can you tell when you’re talking to me? Can you see that while you’re making conversation my mind has stopped short and veered off?
Your temper is your most attractive feature, or maybe it’s your seething control over it.
I want to see it. I want to see you lose it.

You probably pretend to be a well balanced person. In fact, I know you’re a relatively nice guy. Maybe you’re a caring, almost selfless, lover with that monogamous best friend/soul mate mentality, and that’s all fine if true, but that’s not what I see or want from you.

I want a rage filled, violent fuck, no strings attached, and then we can go back to this bullshit fluffy back and forth banter if you prefer.

I think it would make our day to day interactions…better

I wanted to touch you, which wasn’t that odd to me, but I wanted to kiss you, which isn’t something I’d genuinely experienced before. I wasn’t afraid of becoming emotionally attached; of being vulnerable of getting hurt. I wanted to spend time with you, and get to know you, and be with you, and stay with you, and sleep with you, and love you, and…have children with you, and live that life, with those struggles and commitments and aspirations and truly fulfilling moments shared with you.

I had honestly never felt that before, and I haven’t since.

I didn’t think you were perfect, and I had nothing about you confidently figured out. I couldn’t even expect you to love me back. I just…I found things that I wanted to live for through loving you.

Those things are a part of me now even though you’re not in my life, because you didn’t want me in yours. That’s what makes it so hard to let go.

I can leave you alone, but I don’t know how to stop loving you. I want the very best for you. Only selfishness makes me wish I had mattered; a desire to have been able to offer anything to balance the perpetual reflexivity of…reciprocity.
I guess I just wanted to be happy. You made me want to be happy when I wasn’t…and I wanted you to be happy. I still want you to be happy.
I don’t need to matter anymore.

Every time I move, I find out that people think I’m attractive for some unknown reason. My personality, however, is not particularly smooth, and I’m not that nice to people…because…well, it turns out, I don’t want to be hit on constantly. I grew up fat and undesirable, and I’m accustomed to that level of invisibility. I don’t dress for attention. I don’t flirt. I’m an extremely simple, straight forward sort of creature, so it’s only the initial move that offers up the information that…oh, the opposite sex deems me fuckable. Then I become extremely avoidant and the knowledge recedes, because dealing with sexual advances is fucking exhausting. I’m not good at it. As quiet and socially aloof as I am, I definitely prefer to be the aggressor. I’ll tell you when I’m interested, I promise; and if that’s not something you like in a girl, we’re not going to get along anyway.

I’m not used to being asked out by nice guys who I have to see on a daily basis. I’m not used to it, and I don’t know what to do when it happens.
Shit, man. I’m not that nice, normal girl next door. I’m not going to cook dinner for you, and give you a massage afterward. I don’t own any perfume or mascara and when I shave hair off, it’s a good indication that I’m going through some major mental garbage that makes a stable relationship impossible. I’m violent and bitter and swing from two extremes in the bedroom that I really just don’t think you can handle…or want to experience. Hell, I can only fake normal for short intervals, and I don’t need the whole neighborhood hearing about which kinks I’ve got where.
I don’t know how to flatly turn you down, because I have to see you every fucking day…but this is not going anywhere, and I will not fuck or be fucked under these circumstance, and I know you don’t want to be “friends” so…tell me how to be the nice girl with this bullshit.

It’s for your own damned good.

I overreacted, and that’s an understatement. I’ve only used my new appendage twice, and both times were…pretty fucking disappointing. Yet, I can get myself off just thinking about using it on you.

Terrible disservice to humanity, my misdirected temper.

I hope you’ve found someone to fuck you.

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