Author: Jennifer

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You’re In My 2AM Thoughts

… I’m lying in bed, you’re next to me. We’re tangled in the duvet, and intertwined with each other.

The night falls outside the window, and we’re just laughing with one another, and I rest my head into it’s perfect little spot of you. Your hand holds mine, while you gently press your lips just below my hairline on my forehead. I could fall asleep in the warmth of your arms, and then wake up and kiss you good morning, and then quietly crawl out of bed to make you coffee and breakfast. While you eat, I’d slide back under the covers, and run my fingers along your skin… for the rest of the day, slowly falling for you a little bit more…

I’m awake now.

I’m alone, half covered by the sheets and the duvet in a lump beside me. My pillowcase smells of my shampoo, the scent of laundry soap is barely identifiable on the covers anymore; your scent is nowhere, and I can barely remember what it smells like. As I escape from my bed, goosebumps rise along my skin – and I instantly wish they had been caused by the touch of your fingers grazing my arms. This morning is cold and lonely, and I miss you incredibly – even though you’ve never been here before.

If you feel tired by the end of today (and many other days), it’s probably because you’ve have been running through my mind for hours. By the end of each day, I will likely have drafted numerous texts to you – simple “hello, how are you, whatcha’ doing, can I see you?” kinds of things – but I won’t send them. I might never send any them. I shouldn’t send them.

I’ve visited your page a few too many times, re-read old threads of text messages we exchanged, and gotten lost in daydreams of the very few moments I’ve shared with you. It’s all I have right now; it’s all I’ll ever have.

You’re a dream, day and night.
You’re my all day, every day.
You’re my nightmares and my sweetest dreams.

You are my 2am thoughts.

It’s lust – because I want you, need you, crave you more than I could ever imagine. It’s love – because it’s overwhelming, and there’s that spark we can’t put out. And yet, it’s nothing.Because there are rules, and rights and wrongs, and the timing is all off.

There are pieces missing, and it’s not perfect, and it’s not meant to be.
You’re not my ride or die, forever and always, I can’t live without you, absolute dream man – but I can’t let go of you, not yet.

And here I am, awake, while you’re doing your own thing – and maybe… you’re thinking of me too.
All I can do is wonder.
And hope.
And wait for another life time when this might just work out.
And lie here, staring at the ceiling, imaging what you might be doing right now, tomorrow, every day after that.I will just lie here, curled up with this empty bed around me…

You’re only in my mind.

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Access Denied.

“Hey girl.

“My god, you’re gorgeous. Not to sound like a creep, but you’re such a babe.”

“You seem like you’d be fucking cool too. You look like you’d be awesome, because you don’t act like all the other girls . Seriously. You know the ones I’m talking about. You’re so different, edgy, and you do your own thing. That’s sexy and attractive.”

“I want to get to know you better. We should grab a drink.”

“Want to come over and cuddle, watch a movie? You should. I need a cuddle buddy.”

“Let’s fuck. I want to fuck you. I promise I will rock your world.”

This is the part where you think that I should be flattered, because you’re sending me compliments (and yes, I know they’re all true). But there’s nothing behind those compliments, except your sex drive on overdrive, and the heavy breaths of air you’re exhausting at the possibility I might say “yes” to your un-thoughtful proposition.

Am I supposed to feel special, because you’re flirting with me?

In your mind, I shouldn’t have to think twice about this – I mean, it’s you, and you’ve already promised to rock my world…

Why would I want to miss out on that opportunity?

Here’s why: you’re using me, for sex. and that is fucking insulting.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my share of “Oh-my-god, that guy is so attractive, and if it wasn’t illegal, I’d rip his clothes off and have my way with him right this very second” moments on several occasions. We all do; we’re fucking humans after all, who crave sexual encounters.

But just because he’s a person with a real-life penis that could probably provide me so much more pleasure than my abilities or the help of a few special toys, it does not give me any right to reduce him to JUST his physical appearance and his potential to FILL MY NEEDS.

He’s a person. With feelings, emotions, and a soul.

And maybe I don’t know everything about him, but he’s innocent until proven guilty, and deserving of some fucking respect – a subject which you seem to know very little about.

I am not a fucking piece of meat for you to tear into and indulge in. My vagina is not open for business at your convenience, and it’s not here to meet all your needs.

I am not just someone-to-have-sex-with.

You said you think I’m cool. And the truth is: I am pretty fucking cool, but you don’t actually know that. Finding out just how awesome I really am would require you to invest some real quality time, which you haven’t done yet and it’s a step you’d likely rather skip past.

If there’s one thing you’ve done well – it’s that you’ve showed me that you’re looking for the express lane. While you’re there, you’re probably hoping to pick up some sort of take one now, get a deal later kind of coupons, right? Gift with next visit, perhaps?

Sorry. You’ve got the wrong girl.

I am not an object, here to please you. You cannot just expect me to give in to your deplorable requests for stimulation and pleasure.

I will not just let you use me for convenient sex.

If you think sex is some sort of service that should be provided to you, you should be willing to pay for it. There are women out there who would gladly take your money, but I am not one of them.

If you’re “just looking to have some fun”, I can do that. I am a big fan of having fun; it’s just that I prefer to have fun with people who treat me with a whole lot more decency than you’re apparently offering.

You don’t want me. You just want my pretty face and the curves of my body to please you, satisfy you, and make you feel good.

That’s not going to fly here.

“Hey buddy. You’re not so bad looking yourself. Too bad you’re a sad excuse for a man, which makes you totally unattractive.

“You probably have the potential of being a gentleman, but no. You’re too busy being a sleazy little boy. As a woman, that’s such a turn off.”

“Fuck you, for thinking you could so easily get me to fuck you. As for rocking my world, I’m sure I’ll find someone who can do that in many more incredible ways than you ever could.”

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Sparkle, Sass, Girl Crush.

Today needed a little sparkle.I had a list of things to do, and my entire day was planned around hopping in and out of my car in between zips through the city streets to get things accomplished. I needed to spark my system and take a moment to just be, so I ordered a Whisky Sour and settled into a random seat near one end of the bar.

And then I saw her.

Her fingers were wrapped around the bottom of her wine glass while the music danced through the speakers around us. It was inspired by sultry jazz; it was sassy, with a bit of spunk; it humbly punched through the bustling crowd. It was perfect for what’s happening in front of me.There were rings on a few of her fingers, most of them etched with little details. One in particular, sitting delicately on her middle finger, was studded with tiny diamonds that glimmered and shined, just a touch more than the beautiful mess of her fiery, auburn hair falling in all the right places and gracing her face.

Those little diamonds speckled across that finger hinted to a glamorous side she was holding back on, possibly hiding underneath that fitted and slight broken in leather jacket or jet black boots that stopped right below her kneecaps. Her jeans were slightly faded with spots that were worn and ready to rip at any moment as they gripped tightly to her thighs. There were frayed edges around that one hole that I assumed went across her knee- perhaps someone had already tried to find their way into her soul, under her seemingly flawless, milky smooth skin. Maybe all that wear and tear were just war wounds, proof that she had (undoubtedly) been defending herself from the army of men likely drawn in by the heat she radiated without much of her own effort.

I couldn’t help but stare, so of course I happened to lock eyes with her as she looked around the room for someone worth her time. Lucky for me, she’d perfectly placed herself so that the light accented every one of her features. The apples of her cheeks were a peachy pink, just enough to make her cheekbones rise above her glowing, porcelain skin. From my seat, I could only see that her eyes were smoked around the edge of their almond shape, seducing every breathing object that fell into her line of sight. Her lips seemed bare, perhaps a hint of gloss. Their neutral base contrasted perfectly to the other accents of her face. Those lips were screaming for attention.

She was stunning, without being obvious about it. Her leather jacket, those pants, those boots that roared with feminine bad ass – she exuded magic that displayed her capability to take charge and leaving a sexy storm in her wake. She was a woman who seemed like she didn’t have time to bedazzle herself with anything more than those teeny diamonds. She’s the type of woman who really, didn’t need to.

Eventually, I had to make my way out of the bar. As I slowly pulled myself together and unfortunately got ready to leave, I made a point of walking by her, standing next to her as I flagged down the bar man to settle my bill. Her eyes were this luminous shade of green, brought out by the dark, stealth black lines of her long eyelashes. I fought the urge to be drawn into their deep allure. I captured a hint of something gentle and floral – I assumed it was her and not the bartender dealing with my debit card – and the temptation to give in and just stay for one more glass of anything swelled inside of me. I would have even drank a glass of blood red wine (which I tend to avoid the taste of) just to breathe the air around her a little longer.

She was bad in all the best ways. She was beautiful.

I so badly wish I could have stayed – even just to be inspired by the power she silently held. There, poised on a worn down bar stool, standing out against the chaos of a late dinner service unwinding around us – she was a mystery wrapped in leather, giving off just enough sparkle to entice you to learn more. And so badly do I want to know what her secrets are and what’s hidden behind the worn out fabric that’s hugging all the perfect lines and curves of her body… but I’ve left that to the next lucky gentleman to cross her path.

She’s truly exquisite. She’s so much more than the simple sparkle my day needed.