Thesis: I’ve lost my virginity seven times and still haven’t managed to lose my vagina.
1: The Breaking of the Hymen
• I didn’t even bleed. The dryer ate a sock.
2: Lesson on ‘Romance’
• Strawberry Shortcake underwear near my ankles, he pulled out.
3: One-Night- Repeated Stands
• He lived with his parents, we fucked to Bill Withers’ ‘Use Me.’
4: Soul Mates
• Two pumps. Two months. That lasted long.
5: First Time Initiating
• Freshman in college. He still loved his ex. His dick didn’t work.
6: Older Man
• 25, told me to ‘suck it.’ It was unreciprocated. He says he still loves me.
7: Ex-Boyfriend
• ‘No one will ever make you feel like that again.’
Conclusion: If I lost my virginity, each man must have found it, in their own special way.

Alex Brandow

keepers of the unsayable

March 31, 2019

If poets are the keepers of the unsayable, then silence, not language, is a poet’s natural element, the realm where the unsayable lives. Poets fetishize silence as much as words; they are disturbed and comforted by the sounds that interrupt it. This is what John Keats means by Negative Capability, his notion of a poet’s basic qualification, the need for ‘being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.’ This a fancy way of describing ambivalence, also a basic qualification for a poet, the ability to passionately hold two opposing feelings at once. Poets need ambivalence in order to acknowledge the unsayable and speak nonetheless. The hidden subject of all poems is the silence that surrounds them, the things that can’t be, that will never be said; a real poem points to everything beyond it.

Craig Morgan Teicher
Ars Poetica: Origin Stories

Submission

March 31, 2019

Submission is not about what your dominant does TO you…it’s about what you do FOR your dominant.

Rika
Uniquely Rika

Well of course I’ve tried lavender. And pulling my memory out, ribbonlike and dripping. And shrieking into my pillow. And writing the poems. And making more friends. And baking warm brown cookies. And therapy. And intimacy. And pictures of rainbows. And all of the movies about lovers and the terrible things they do to each other. And watching the ones in other languages. And leaving the subtitles off. And listening to the language. And forgetting my name.  And feeling the dirt on my skin.  And screaming in the shower.  And changing my shampoo. And living alone. And cutting my hair. And buying a turtle. And petting the cat. And travelling. And writing more poems. And touching a different body. And digging a grave. And digging a grave. Of course, I’ve tried it. Of course I have.

yasmin belkhyr
September is a weary month

Another favourite writer, Jean Rhys, based much of her writing on a turbulent life defined by failed marriages, depression, cruel men and even a period of prostitution. Would she have been the same writer without these experiences? Could she have produced Good Morning, Midnight in a more orthodox environment?

“I want more of this feeling – fire and wings,” Rhys once wrote. When she was working on her autobiography Rhys said she sometimes felt “more like a pen being used than like a person using a pen”. Rhys loved to drink, and obnoxious, opportunistic men who expected gratification in return usually paid for her habit. In Paris she had an affair with Ford Madox Ford (who, it should be noted, encouraged her to write), and he was part of a pattern of lovers who used her up and then tossed her aside, although some continued to give her money afterwards; Rhys did not turn it down. (She got her own back on Ford somewhat by featuring the unhappy relationship in her novel Quartet.)

“I want more of this feeling – fire and wings,” Rhys once wrote. When she was working on her autobiography Rhys said she sometimes felt “more like a pen being used than like a person using a pen”. Rhys loved to drink, and obnoxious, opportunistic men who expected gratification in return usually paid for her habit. In Paris she had an affair with Ford Madox Ford (who, it should be noted, encouraged her to write), and he was part of a pattern of lovers who used her up and then tossed her aside, although some continued to give her money afterwards; Rhys did not turn it down. (She got her own back on Ford somewhat by featuring the unhappy relationship in her novel Quartet.)

NJ McGarrigle

Famous writers and their vices

The Irish Times July 21st 2018

 

red, red heart

March 31, 2019

Maybe it’s not a lesson so much as it’s a magic trick. You can make a little girl into anything if you say the right words. Take her apart until all that’s left is her red, red heart thumping against the world. Stitch her up again real good. Now, maybe you get a woman. If you’re lucky. If that’s what you were after. Just as easy to end up with a blackbird or a circus bear or a coyote. Or a parrot, just saying what’s said to you, doing what’s done to you, copying until it comes so natural that even when you’re all alone you keep on cawing hello pretty bird at the dark. 


Catherynne M. Valente,   


Six-Gun Snow White

Strip Poker

March 31, 2019

My cousin, me and a girl were playing strip poker truth or dare. Basically you play a hand of strip poker and the two losers take off a piece of clothing, then the loser with the worst hand has to take a truth or dare challenge from the winner. We had been playing a while and I was down to just my tshirt, my cousin was down to just his socks and she was down to her panties and t-shirt. She won and we lost, so I tossed the shirt and was totally naked with a throbbing hard-on and he lost a sock. My hand was lowest so I had to choose truth or dare. Some of the truth questions before had been really personal so I chose dare. I was stunned when she dared me to suck my cousin’s cock while they finished playing until either he lost his last sock or she lost her panties and t-shirt. Everyone had fulfilled their truth or dare up to that point, so I felt like I had to. He turned towards me and spread his legs and I leaned over and went down on him. I sucked his dick for several minutes while she watched, then they started playing cards again. After a few minutes I heard her say she folded and then said she was doing it so she wouldn’t win and I would have to keep sucking him longer. Another long wait while she watched me suck. Then she asked him if he was close to cumming and he said he was. Then she pulled her tshirt off and showed him her tits and suddenly he shot a huge load in my mouth. I gagged but swallowed most of it. When I raised up she had already put her tshirt back on so I didn’t even get to see her tits.

Anonymous

Raw Confessions

Eggs Norwegian

March 30, 2019

Give a man a stick, and he’ll hurl it at the sun
For his dog to race toward as it falls. He’ll relish
The snap in those jagged teeth, the rough breath
Sawing in and out through the craggy mouth, the clink
Of tags approaching as the dog canters back. He’ll stoop
To do it again and again, so your walk through grass
Lasts all morning, the dog tired now in the heat,
The stick now just a wet and gnarled nub that doesn’t sail
So much as drop. And when the dog plops to the grass
Like a misbegotten turd, and even you want nothing
More than a plate of eggs at some sidewalk café, the man –
Who, too, by now has dropped even the idea of fetch
Will push you against a tree and ease his leg between
Your legs as his industrious tongue whispers
Convincingly into your mouth.

Tracy K. Smith

wild and beautiful

March 30, 2019

She reminded me of the sea; the way she came dancing towards you, wild and beautiful, and just when she was almost close enough to touch she’d rush away again.


Glenda Millard

A Small Free Kiss in the Dark 

the meaning of books

March 30, 2019

The written word has taught me to listen to the human voice, much as the great unchanging statues have taught me to appreciate bodily motions. On the other hand, but more slowly, life has thrown light for me on the meaning of books.

 Marguerite Yourcenar

Memoirs of Hadrian