I saw his picture in the paper when he got married a while later. I don't know his story, but I suspect I was his first. As a teen, he had dated one girl for a year, so I assumed he was having sex. I thought everyone was having sex! But I think I was wrong. He wasn't special to me or me him; we were just playing. And I might have ruined his plans for someone who was special. For that, I am truly sorry. For making him believe that his lack of desire for me that night implied a lack of desire for women in general, I am truly sorry. And for laughing at the big football player pushing my hands away, I am truly sorry. I couldn't hear him saying "no" with all those pre-programmed beliefs, about guys and sex and desire, cheering me on from the bleachers.
I literally cried as I read it. Persephone is the sort of writer who makes me wonder why I bother. Such a phenomenal post, and one I want to come back to later when I'm not chained to that other computer, the other computer at which I must now labor in order to pay the bills.
Work blows.
But never mind my whining. Go! Now! I'm not kidding.
(Via zwrk at placeholder. I just found that blog today, by the way, 'cause I'm dumb, but it's already on the "haunt its archives obsessively" list I keep in my head.)
2 comments:
Sitemeter, I think. Saw a referral here from your site and checked it out.
Aw thanks, Ilyka!
Like zw nobody reads my stuff that I know (my guys says I write too much for him to keep up, yet I feel like I never get a chance to write), so it really means something to me when I see that somebody, somewhere, actually does read it.
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