Ch-ch-changes

Do you know what it is like to wake up one day and find yourself desirable?

Do you know what it is like to never have any one give you a passing glance, and then suddenly the eyes stray your way in a "I want to eat you alive" glance?

Do you know what it is like to have lived the majority of your life being told you're not beautiful, that no one will find you attractive, standing on the outside of the gorgeous crowd, staring in and wondering what it feels like to smoulder sensuality??

This was my life. I lived on that outside border, always curious about how the sexy girls (and guys) behaved at their parties, romping around with their drinks, casually bumping hips, exchanging heavy glances across the rooms, perfectly coiffed hair and clothes that hugged all the right places.

I was told I would look beautiful if I just lost weight.

So I did.

They were right. I do look beautiful--maybe not beautiful per se, but cute at least--and last night attended one of those parties, romped around with my drink, exchanged those glances with a couple guys, and even though my hair didn't stay in one exact place all night--head banging to Bon Jovi kinda throws that out of the window--I realized that I'm now one of those girls who can beckon with her eyes and receive what she wants.

They say it's the boobs and legs...big boobs, thighs that can be grabbed onto, curvy hips...their eyes were lingering all night, and like the few times before, instead of feeling violated by it, because I've been so starved from these attentions all my life, I treasure and maybe encourage those looks.

Does it make me slutty to desire the attention, the looks, the casual hand graze on the ass?

I guess it's all in what we want as a whole, not what we want temporarily. I know that right now I'm satisfied with grabbing someone and spending a few hours breathless, but as for the future: I want more than just the wild parties where I'm the girl that guys want but don't take home.

Even so...though I do have that awareness of wanting more, I like when I sit on a chair next to a stranger and he smiles as me, his eyes dropping down from my eyes to other places. I smile back and we both know what we want. I have no problems propositioning him with a sweet "do you wanna make out?"

He laughs and says, "I don't kiss. I just get down to business, make you come hard, and that's it. There's no frills attached."

I like the kissing part and I say so.

"It just complicates things," he says shaking his head.

Both, I insist. Kissing and fucking, hand-in-hand, and I lean in closer to him.

He laughs again and stands up, walks out toward the room door, and I feel unsurprised that my blatant come ons are rejected. There are hotter girls at this party.

But he turns around and says, "I'll be back" and maybe saw some doubt behind my bravado because he pauses for a chat with another group of people in the room and then returns.

"This is how I kiss", he prefaces, and leans down and bites my bottom lip in a smooth motion that churns my stomach.

And I'm elated that even the cynical guy, whose stubble makes him look like a Prison Break character, even he can't resist these charms, these legs and lips, and boobs. He walks away again but I can feel those eyes on me for the rest of the night.

I don't care about him. I just like the power of knowing he wants me.

I'm also drunk so it seems normal to have people slapping my ass or rubbing my thighs all night.

I'm now standing in front of a guy and his "lady friend" is perched beside him on the couch. There's no doubt about it...we're all drunk but even so, when he reaches up and slides his hand up my dress to my ass, I'm surprised. The girl stands up pissed off, and I apologize right away. I'm genuinely startled at the reception I've gotten in this maid outfit. I back away out of the room, teetering on my three inch heels, and sit down in a quiet corner to think.

She makes her way over to me and reassures me. It's not your fault, the Day boys are grabby. She's clearly more upset at the fact her guy is so nonchalant about feeling up another girl in front of her.

Not the classiest party I've been to, but hopefully there will be more, and I've learned my lesson. If you're wearing a dress (costume or not), do the bend over check before you leave the house. I definitely exposed far more of myself than I'm comfortable with, in the sober daylight.

What is it like to look fuckable?

It's a door opened, a completely different room, and hopefully there is a fire escape or second exit in case things spiral out of control.

La Ritournelle

Sebastien Tellier:
Oh nothing's gonna change my love for you
I wanna spend my life with you
So we'll make love in the grass under the moon
No one can tell; damned if I do
Forever journey on golden avenues
I drift in your eyes since I love you
I got that beat in my veins for only rule
Love is to share, mine is for you

I possibly have never heard such a beautiful song. I think that if I could pick one defining song, that would be it. "La Ritournelle". It means--something that is repeated over and over again, perhaps too often. The connotations of the word in it's mother language (French) is negative.

Is that love? Something that we repeat over and over again, going through cycles of people like salmon fighting upstream, desperate to reach the place that we find ourselves inexorably thinking of, our thoughts drifting to? Is this love something that we repeat too often? Running through people like garments or clothes, pulling them on and off, some not fitting quite properly, some outside of our style and personal expression, some like a glove, perfectly fitted close to our skin, and even more painful to peel off and leave our hands defenseless and open to the elements around us...

It makes me wonder how love can be such a beautiful and good thing, how it draws two kindred spirits together, and how it can damage and leave us broken as it leads us down a road toward something that will inevitably drag us down down down to nothingness.

But even if it becomes a boring and repetitive refrain to us, it's something we just can't stop singing about, reading about, immersing ourselves in...the journey to finding someone "perfect" for us, and how it will all end in such a glorious fashion. It's all very reaching. Because movies show us two very good looking people who exchange a glance across a crowded street, have a one night stand with mind shattering orgasms, and then bump into each other again and again until it's crystal clear: it's their destiny to be together! They're perfect for each other, even though they've barely carried a conversation and the issue of dirty towels being left on the bathroom floor has yet to be addressed.

It makes me believe that it will be the same way for me. Finding that person won't be a fight, it will flow naturally, and I'll look up across a room (or a street/subway car/doctor's office/restaurant/etc) and the electric sparks will fly through one glance. I'll know with surety that this man right here...he's the right one. Shazzam.

And somehow it makes me sad that we all watch these movies and subconsciously find ourselves sinking into those mediocre hopes and dreams, while tonight, probably blocks from where I live, a child will go to bed hungry, will wake up hungry, will wear dirty clothes to school, will be verbally and emotionally abused by their parents, and they will consider this lifestyle normal. They'll grow up into an adult who will ultimately adopt the same attitude toward their own kids.

Or while I'm busy thinking about this guy (who STILL hasn't messaged me back yet), there are lines at the neighbourhood soup kitchen, there are people sleeping on park benches and bus shelters, and there is need everywhere you turn your eyes.I shut them and walk away and contemplate my own problems, my sleepless nights and anxiety issues, where I can barely breathe and I feel like I'm dropping out of myself and into darkness. I guess we all have our own problems, and we're all so absorbed in them, that it's extremely difficult to open up those eyes, look up, and see the people around us who are crying out for some love...yes, love. Not the love that you find sitting across from you in the doctor's office, but the love that reaches out a hand to those who have fallen down. The love that leads us to selfless and sacrifice. The love that makes us want to be better people, that leads us to change and to growth.

I want to find the love in the eyes of someone across from me...but I also want the love that I find to challenge and grow me and make me a better person, instead of being stuck as this Marcia who struggles to find happiness and contentment in herself. I want that love to urge me forward and lead me into the greater things that are to come. So Mr Guy That Won't Return My Facebook Message---I'm not in love with you, I don't expect you to save me, but my love is to share...I wanna spread it around. You're welcome to some, if you need it.

Reflections

Today is the first day back at work after being off for four days. My anxiety level is not high, but there is always that knowledge at the back of my brain, that I could at any minute just freak out. When I think about it though, I realize...I work in a hospital. Even if I had some sort of medical emergency, what's the worst that could happen? My co-workers would run me down to the ER, or call a Code Blue if it was a crisis situation. There's nothing that could happen that would be completely uncontrollable.

It's somehow calming, to think that despite the most extreme circumstances, I'd be okay. I'd be salvageable, and there ultimately is nothing for me to get worked up about. But somehow, the brain is a tricky and funny thing, and when sleep deprived, it doesn't work logically. Everything becomes convoluted and confused; that's when the freaking out starts. Somehow, I have to find a way to get ahead of that, to reassure myself that I'm not dying from some mysterious illness the doctors will never catch, and I'm not slowly going mentally insane.

This is the sum of all things: I live in fear. The list of things I am afraid of is endless: death, disease, loneliness, someone breaking into my apartment, making a fool of myself, peeing myself in public, dying alone, rejection, being ugly, never having sex, getting fat again, and so on. The list is endless and ridiculous.

But the fear has affected my life deeply. I'm all out of motivation to do anything, like go for a run, or clean my apartment, or hang out with friends. I feel as though I am dragging myself through life, instead of joyfully living it.

There has to be a way to discover how to live without fear of the future and fear of consequences. I should be able to take what I want without looking constantly over my shoulder. If I want to fuck this guy, I should just tell him that, instead of worrying about what he'll think or what my chances are. Odds are, once he's drunk, he'll say yes, and if not, I'll move on to someone else.

So there is no reason for me to live on the edge of my seat, afraid of getting up and walking away, but too discomfited to lean back and enjoy. Perched up here, I feel dizzy and alone. It's just...somehow finding the answer to the worrying and anxiety... that is the rub.

It's strange how much I seek the approval from people around me. The fact that this guy still hasn't replied to my message worries me. It almost distresses me. Does he find me strange? Creepy? Do my co-workers find me lazy and useless? Will my parents ever really approve of me and the choices I have made?

For some reason there's a doctor that felt she had to chart right beside me. We're literally maybe a foot and a half apart, and I definitely feel as though she is infringing on my personal space. But that's the way life is. We have people that consider it normal to sit wherever they want before checking with the proprietor, just like people who take over your heart and mind without making sure you can handle their existence in your life. Then when they disappear, it's like a single candle has been blown out and you are sitting in darkness.

You never really wanted them in the first place, but now that they are gone, there is a noticeable difference in your life. It's odd how that just happens...how all of a sudden, without any warning, people just kinda POP into your life, and you can't imagine what it would be like without that moment of meeting them. They directly impact you and affect the choices that you make, and then it happens...they fall right back out of it, disappear back into their own lives, and you're expected to carry on as though nothing life altering happened to you.

It's just an example of how much someone can mean to you, and how little you can mean to them. OR, how much a situation or occurrence can mean to you, and how little it can mean to the other person, as it just very well might be an every day situation for them. And that's why people are so frustrating...because there is a disconnect, and we're not all on the same glorious page, just miles apart without any connection, other than a multitude of passionate kisses that make your skin goose bump weeks after the moment.

This in my head:

There was desperation in our kisses, as if somehow pressing lips against each other and then breaking apart, gasping for air, would bring us to a place of ultimate pleasure, or change the person we were kissing (each other) into different people.
But we go back in, gasping for air, the alcohol buzzing through our blood and brains, controlling our actions, wrapping our arms around each other, hands reaching for places kept hidden away from eyes.
It somehow doesn't matter we met just a few hours before and don't know each other's last names. It's just bodies seeking escape, release from reality, who we are, and getting lost in the moments of exploration and gratification.
My stomach jumps around as I calmly sit here and review the situation in my mind's eye.
It may as well not be Marcia. I should be another person, with my confidence pouring out of me, letting his hands pull off clothes, go further than ever before, bringing me up up up to the highest point, and tumbling down in a release of pressure and gratitude.
But it was me who kissed him with such urgency, as if compelling myself to believe I am at last beautiful. Yet, I am not desirable when the sun rises and we pretend that nothing happened. It was a meaningless evening of pleasure for him, but for me it was a turning.
A realization that I am desirable for this body, not for my vibrant personality. Not for my heart that seems to feel everything so intensely. Not for my gift of listening and being a friend. Not for my talent of writing and expressing myself. I am desirable for my above average breasts.
I'm not sure how the realization makes me feel. Perhaps a little more powerful, a lot more aware of my sexuality, and much more critical of those around me, specifically males.
Now I know for myself the truth of life--want is simple. Sexual want is even simpler. You find potential or immediate attraction and you take it. There is no label, there is no under tone. It's just there. It's what it is.
I only wish life could always be so easy and uncomplicated.
All that remains to be seen is what my next choice will be: treat the fleeting encounters as casually as they have been or hold out for one that could potentially mean more.
He probably won't be seen again, and I feel a bit undecided. Part of me wants more, more, MORE from him, to go bravely where I have not gone before. Part of me is relieved it was just a casual encounter that won't sour a long term relationship. And part of me is nervous about a possible stumbling across each other through mutual.
How do you look casually in the eyes of someone who has covered your mouth with their hand to muffle your noises of pleasure? Will conversation be awkward? Or will we look at each other with understanding and lust and inevitably end up tangled in each other, as natural as breathing?
There is a huge piece of me hoping for that, that he will somehow find me as sexually attractive as before. And of course, I'm afraid he won't. So many feelings jumbled up within me from a few hours with an almost stranger.
No wonder sex is best reserved for long term/permanent relationships.