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Happy Birthday, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dine !
Movie rec! "Waking Life" is wonderful. Intelligent, surprising, mostly lacking plot. Loved it.
Femmeslash. There needs to be more. Women need sex and love and cuddles in kinky ways.
Yes. Chrissy and Janet. Mary Ann and Ginger. Jane and Lizzie. (Oops, maybe too kinky. Or not.)
So why don't I write it? Good question. I'll get back to you.
Mildly fleshed out popslash bunny:
I draw a shuddering breath, because the room is cold and his mouth can’t touch me everywhere at once. He wants it to, though. I can feel his desire in every kiss, every lick, every attempt he makes to swallow me whole. There are goosebumps all over my skin, and we smell like animals in the jungle.
We are in the jungle.
The plane dropped us here six days ago, and we have seen only one other human being since. Justin has been touching me in some way or another at all times, and instead of claustrophobia, I’m feeling only love. Juan, the man who drove us here from the airstrip, laughed at the way Justin’s hand refused to leave my hip when he left us at this hovel.
I find Justin’s clinginess romantic, in a way that candles and flowers can’t touch.
The first few days, I think J was expecting paparazzi to spring out of the undergrowth and start snapping pictures of him on his knees, blowing me in the sunshine. Honestly I almost wish there were pictures, because his face looked so happy stretched around me. But the only noises we’ve heard are our own and the cries of birds, and something I think is a monkey.
Justin thinks it’s some kind of lizard.
When I first suggested we try to get away, he laughed at me and asked me “where the hell you think we can go, JC? Because there’s gonna be somebody there with a camera and a use for a few bucks even on a desert island.”
But I came here once before, in another life. He doesn’t believe that, he thinks past-life regression is “total bullshit, and they just want your money.”
I remember, though, and I didn’t need to be regressed. I was a soldier, and I was a woman. I died here, by the hand of a man with a bayonet. J was with me; not another person, but a part of me. We were once the same woman, Carla Espinoza. I don’t know for sure, but I think souls are being divided all the time.
There are so many babies, and maybe no new souls. I wonder, sometimes, if all my brothers and me were one person, once.
Justin is trying to reconnect us, now.
I think it’s working.
Elsewhere in the world: it's bedtime.
G'night.
dine !Movie rec! "Waking Life" is wonderful. Intelligent, surprising, mostly lacking plot. Loved it.
Femmeslash. There needs to be more. Women need sex and love and cuddles in kinky ways.
Yes. Chrissy and Janet. Mary Ann and Ginger. Jane and Lizzie. (Oops, maybe too kinky. Or not.)
So why don't I write it? Good question. I'll get back to you.
Mildly fleshed out popslash bunny:
I draw a shuddering breath, because the room is cold and his mouth can’t touch me everywhere at once. He wants it to, though. I can feel his desire in every kiss, every lick, every attempt he makes to swallow me whole. There are goosebumps all over my skin, and we smell like animals in the jungle.
We are in the jungle.
The plane dropped us here six days ago, and we have seen only one other human being since. Justin has been touching me in some way or another at all times, and instead of claustrophobia, I’m feeling only love. Juan, the man who drove us here from the airstrip, laughed at the way Justin’s hand refused to leave my hip when he left us at this hovel.
I find Justin’s clinginess romantic, in a way that candles and flowers can’t touch.
The first few days, I think J was expecting paparazzi to spring out of the undergrowth and start snapping pictures of him on his knees, blowing me in the sunshine. Honestly I almost wish there were pictures, because his face looked so happy stretched around me. But the only noises we’ve heard are our own and the cries of birds, and something I think is a monkey.
Justin thinks it’s some kind of lizard.
When I first suggested we try to get away, he laughed at me and asked me “where the hell you think we can go, JC? Because there’s gonna be somebody there with a camera and a use for a few bucks even on a desert island.”
But I came here once before, in another life. He doesn’t believe that, he thinks past-life regression is “total bullshit, and they just want your money.”
I remember, though, and I didn’t need to be regressed. I was a soldier, and I was a woman. I died here, by the hand of a man with a bayonet. J was with me; not another person, but a part of me. We were once the same woman, Carla Espinoza. I don’t know for sure, but I think souls are being divided all the time.
There are so many babies, and maybe no new souls. I wonder, sometimes, if all my brothers and me were one person, once.
Justin is trying to reconnect us, now.
I think it’s working.
Elsewhere in the world: it's bedtime.
G'night.
