And then. . .

The kisses were sticky and tasted like cherry Chap Stick and mint. His lips were wet and the kissing noises sounded loud in her ears, but she kept kissing back, his moist tongue darting in and out of her mouth.  In the living room she could hear her friends watching MTV, the volume loud and muffling the giggles she knew were being giggled. She would have to face them after.  She felt the hard pressure of his center being pressed against hers and his hand grabbing her right breast through her Radiohead t-shirt. In Utero was playing in the background, but it sounded distant as if it were also in another room. She kept thinking about anything other than the boy between her legs and his heavy breathing as he pushed against her. She didn’t quite get it, him pushing against her crotch didn’t feel good, but each time he breathed a little heavier and made little noises that sounded foreign to her, so she breathed a little harder too. Earlier that day she had spoken to him on the pho...

this week i have a writing assignment, to write about a character who wants something, but in reality really wants something else. we've all been in this situation; unconsciously, consciously. it all comes down to that thing, you know that thing that we really want, but can't seem to get it, or once we do it's not really that great. that thing that we pined after, dreamt about, coveted, really isn't that great at all...we've all had this lesson at one time or another. i recently experienced it...but, what keeps our eyes on that one prize? what happens to our peripheral vision?

this summer has been filled to the brim with new experiences, new people, and lessons that i might not have learned otherwise....so without further ado... this is my summer in a recap in no particular order... when new friendships are forged in a matter of minutes compared to others don't question it just go with it. it must be in the cards.... grand gestures are for movies only, and if you wait around for them, you might be waiting awhile i need to travel want to travel more need to travel more late night chats with friends keep your sanity the guilt is not worth the fun amores de lejos amores de pendejos london stole my heart but i can forget paris inadvertently i create crazyness around me...as explained to me recently, i can no longer state "it's not me!" sometimes the best evenings are spent on a porch with a glass of wine, good company, and conversation  dresses in the el paso summer are a must i look like a halloween costume ver...

Words fall from lips           bounce off my deaf ears                     and onto the floor                           They repeat and create                                    smalls steps of                                              excuses from                                                          your mouth                                              ...

Humid air against my skin as more and more people trickle through the entrance. I stare at the door guy with envy as a continuous cool breeze musses his hair. I want to be his hair. I look out the tall windows of The Percolator, and I feel like a fish in a fishbowl of sticky people and perfume mingled with the sweet scent of sweat. Outside I see a group of people smoking, talking, watching, as a slew of instruments and sound equipment makes way between the guy with Buddy Holly glasses and giggling girls in ballet flats.   Although I'm at the very back we talk, my friends and I, that we have secured the best location. There is an invisible line between the seated and the standing, our tall stools keep us at the same height of the standies, but much more comfortable and not sardined against the other moist people inside. I listen to the chatter as people walk by.  "Is this seat taken?"         "I think its Johnny Costello then Mexicans at Night, then Ji...

What is it about human contact? The brush of a hand across your back... or the long arms of someone folding you in them as they pull you into their chest for a firm hug. It makes all the difference in the world and somehow you don't notice it until there isn't the touch or the brush of hands....sometimes without it you forget.

Heat waves danced like snakes being charmed from the curvy sidewalk ahead of us. We walked along, two kids following a long chain link fence that kept us away from the shortcut to our left of our school’s crab grass soccer field. The cuffs of our jeans dragged on the pavement, as we talked about nothing in that painful awkward way that only happened when you were sixteen and everything you said was life or death cool. “Let’s cut through the field,” he suddenly said. “I can’t jump the fence,” I said as I looked down and tugged at the ends of hair curled around my ear. “You can go under.” We walked to a break in the fence and I stared at it for a moment, looked back at the 7-11 we had just come from and looked down to the tall building nestled in the nook of the Franklin mountains where I was supposed to be at summer school. I crouched down and shimmied under, trying hard not to get too dirty. He waited till I was almost on the other side, then hopped the fence with little effort, and he...