Bisexual Bias

The following is my response to an article written by a student at Indiana University. You can read the article for yourself at:
http://www.idsnews.com/news/story.aspx?id=90666

Dear Sir,
In regards to your article "Bisexual bias" in the IDS, I would like to say a few things.

"I’ve had a saying for a few years now. Bisexuals are like unicorns. You really want them to exist. But they just don’t."
1. Comparing a bisexual person to unicorns is mostly, if not entirely, ridiculous.
There are many cases in which unicorns can have existed, thus leading one to believe that you are saying bisexual homo sapiens do, in fact, exist.

Examples: If we were to go completely old school Biblical on the matter, if you are one who believes in the Bible, you would find there are several verses involving the unicorn. This might lead one to believe that you were saying that bisexuals at one time existed, but don't any longer. For your in-depth research (which I am sure you did for your article) verses involving unicorns can be found in the KJV Bible, said verses being: Numbers 23:22, Job 39:9, Psalms 29:6, Job 39:10, Numbers 24:8 and Psalms 92:10.

Or, if you don't believe in the Bible, we can look at the Narwhal, oft considered the Unicorn of the Sea or any other animal with one horn.
    *The word "unicorn" stems from early 13th century Old French "unicorne" and from Late Latin "unicornus" meaning, quite literally, "having one horn." Uni- meaning "one" plus cornus meaning "horn." If we go with this, that means that anything having one horn is considered a unicorn, making them quite real in the etymological sense of the word.

I'm sure, however, that you meant them in the purely fairy tale sense of the word, being a horse with a lion's tail, a single horn protruding from its head and a billy goat's beard (or, if you prefer, Pliny's version: a creature with a horse's body, deer's head, elephant's feet, lion's tail, and one black horn two cubits long projecting from its forehead). Or maybe you meant it in the allegorical sense, which was used as a tool by the Christians to teach morals. Such morals being that a Unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin (virgin in almost any sense of that word), the Unicorn being Christ in certain tales. And dire consequences for those who pretended to be virgin as they were skewered on the horn of the beast. That doesn't seem to fit quite as neatly as your original simile, but if we're talking of backwards philosophies it seems to fit quite nicely.

"It’s very difficult in our society to believe in something as free-spirited as bisexuality."
2. It also seems very difficult, in our society, to believe in Love and Marriage being uninhibited by things such as age, sexual preferences, gender, race, religion, etc. Love is apparently tethered to concrete ideas and laws. "Free-spirited" makes it sound as though it is a childish thing. Sexuality isn't an idea that we follow, like the Flower Power movement. Sexuality is not Hippies in the summer of '69. It is a deep and personal thing, grounded in one's sense of self. It is something we all find inside of ourselves. It is longing to be with another person in the most intimate way, sharing bodies and things that no one wants to talk about because they are "shameful."  And that longing is not restrained by your narrow view of the world.

"it’s threatening. For heterosexuals and homosexuals, we have to contend with only being attracted to half of the population. Those odds aren’t terrific. For someone who’s bisexual, the world is their genital oyster. It’s actually a very picturesque image. Men, women, who cares? I’m attracted to everyone."
3. I don't understand this part at all. You say it is threatening, bisexuality that is, but don't explain how it is threatening. How does bisexuality threaten your sexuality in any way? Truly, I'm curious. Explain to me, without Biblical or personal biases, how Bisexuality is threatening in any way, shape or form. You then say that the world is a "genital oyster." That is, not only, a vile pictorial image, but also shows just how little you understand about sexuality in general.

Yes, sexuality does, often involve, genitalia. However, there is so much more to sexuality than just sex. Sexuality is a strong basic instinct, a need, a desire, an attraction. It involves emotions and physical sensations. It can be impacted by the atmosphere one grows up in. It will never leave you. It is a key part of one's identity.

You make it sound almost as if sex meant nothing except, simply, getting one's rocks off. As if a bisexual is a selfish or greedy being for being attracted to more than one sex. Bisexuality is an attraction to either gender, that is true. But often the attraction is deeper than sexual. One can be attracted to anyone; beyond their gender, religion, sexual preferences, age, race, cultural background, etc. And what one finds sexually attractive doesn't even have to be human. There are those who are sexually attracted a person's mind or even inanimate objects. Wherever humans are involved there is no strict definition for sexuality. No strict definition for anything. We are more than the limits placed on us by other, simpler, creatures.

You say that "Those odds aren't terrific" when speaking of being "only" attracted to half of the population. Being attracted to only a man or only a woman isn't terrible. The odds are fine. In fact, when did odds even enter the picture? You make it sound like a race. As if we are all in a race with one another to see who is more attracted to who. It isn't a race. It isn't a game. There are no "odds." There are only people. People who love and hate, create and destroy, write good articles and shitty ones.

"Now, I am not bisexual."
4. Clearly.

"I also can’t assert assurance on things like Bigfoot, John F. Kennedy’s assassination or the contention of Jesus’ divinity."
5. I cannot say, with certainty that Bigfoot does or does not exist. JFK was, in fact, assassinated, though by whom is still up for debate. And whilst Jesus did exist, I cannot say with certainty that he was divine. However, I also can't say with certainty when we will die. I can't say that Coca Cola is the superior of all carbonated beverages. Nothing in this life is particularly certain. Truth is defined by who is looking at it, not by what it actually is.

"The real issue has to do with the male psyche and sexuality."
6. Yes, yes it does. At last, something we agree on! It DOES have to do with the Male psyche and sexuality. Men are generally insecure about their sexuality, no matter their preferences. Everything about sex makes one insecure. The length and width of his organ, whether he is doing well, how quickly he can reach orgasm, etc. Men are generally quite insecure with anything having to do with their own emotions and their being as well. I have yet to meet a man who is completely secure with being emotionally honest. Does that mean that he doesn't exist somewhere? Does that mean I am going to have to start writing wildly inaccurate articles on male emotions?

"The same notion just doesn’t extend to heterosexual women. You’d be hard pressed to find a straight woman finding the same sexual stimulation from watching two men go at it."
7. You, sir, clearly have never met a woman willing to talk about being aroused by two men "going at it" as you so delicately put it. I myself enjoy watching two men fornicate, kiss, etc. I find it arousing when a man kisses another man. The funny thing is that you would be "hard pressed" to find a straight woman who is NOT aroused by two men having sexual intercourse. There are numerous articles you can find about straight female arousal whilst watching male on male pornography, but I'm assuming you didn't actually try to find any. Your whole article suggests a lack of study on the topic at hand.

To quote a poster on one of the response brought up by my searches: "What I find hilarious, is that so many straight men assume that women don't find it erotic, just because THEY [men] don't."

"But after years of men grind stoning women’s sexuality to the fine powder it is today, why should anyone be the wiser? Two women going at it? Crack a beer and enjoy. Two men going at it? Ultimate party foul. It’s typically pretty hard to party once the gay bomb drops."
8. I don't understand that first sentence at all. "But after years of men grind stoning women's sexuality to the fine powder it is today," what does that even mean? Did you even edit this before posting it to such a public forum? And what do you mean by "grind stoning women's sexuality"?

Two women are having sex with one another and this is suddenly a party? Do men do that? They all get together and watch lesbian porn whilst drinking beer? Someone puts in a gay porno and then all bets are off? "Gay bomb?" Truly, your word choice is ridiculously childish.

"I can’t begin to believe in bisexuality in a society where men’s sexuality isn’t nearly as fluid as women’s."
9. The problem with men's sexuality being fluid has nothing to do with whether or not bisexuality exists, but lies (once again) with the male psyche. Men seem to have this preconceived notion that it is unacceptable for them to be bisexual. Out of all the homosexual and heterosexual men I have met it comes down to this idea that they have to choose. That there is no "this" and "that." It is all "this" OR "that." It astounds me, actually, the number of men who find some other men attractive, but won't do anything with that attraction because they also find women attractive. That is definitely a problem with today's society, you are correct on that part. Society says it is totally wrong to think or exist outside of the sexuality box it has created for us.

"Recently in Hollywood, loads of successful women have come out as bisexual."
10. Hollywood is DEFINITELY a good place to look for reality and facts. Plenty of people will say whatever it takes to become famous or to have the spotlight shine a bit brighter on them. That doesn't make it fact.

"But the future may be bright. Frank Ocean is one example of a successful man who’s admitted to having a relationship with a man."
11. I find it sad that the final breath of your article is a sarcastic, and pithy, "Men in the limelight aren't bisexual so no one can be bisexual."

I am a bisexual woman. I am proud of my sexuality and who I am as a person. I have a loving husband and a wonderful girlfriend. I can't imagine going through my life without either of them. There is more to my being attracted to them than their gender. More to my love for them than their genitalia. Its people like yourself, that raise the banners of prejudice and bias against what you don't understand and don't bother to understand.

sincerely,
Sarai.

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Three

I decide, at random, to go to the library and check out some movies. I have grown bored with most of Clark's avant garde collection, though I like some of them. I wander the aisles, browsing titles and remembering times I wish I could forget. I stumble upon "Titanic" and the memories bubble up before I can suppress them.

I had just turned sixteen. I was still a virgin, though David's pressure for us to have sex had been building. I felt like I was going to explode, because I wanted him just as badly. I was just nervous, a little afraid even. For my birthday that year my sister, Anna, bought me "Titanic," knowing my love for the main male protagonist. I decided that, after watching the movie, I would finally allow David to have my virginity.

I planned everything meticulously. I bought a new bra, a new pair of panties, a lubricant and condoms. I set up candles around my room for the "mood." My mother and Brad would be out of town for their anniversary and my younger sisters would be staying with Kevin. Anna would almost certainly be over at Greg's house all during the weekend; they were planning their wedding after all. I had the house to myself.

On the appointed day I invited David over, after confirming my sister's midnight blue Mazda was gone from the driveway. He showed up with my favorite flowers, white hyacinths. We put them in a vase and I fixed us dinner. It was the first time I made my fancy BLT's for him. Then I coaxed him into watching the movie with me. At first he refused, claiming it was such a "girl's" movie, but he eventually settled in and we snuggled. His hand would stray toward my breasts during and, instead of smacking his hands away like I usually did, I reveled in the sensation.

After the movie, I excused myself to the bathroom where I put on my new "lingerie," digging the lubricants and condoms out from behind the tampons and maxi pads under the sink. I re-entered my bedroom decked out and nervous. David looked shocked, though obviously aroused.

"Are you sure?" he said, as he gently pushed me back on the bed. I nodded meekly, allowing him to touch me in places I had never been touched.

"Promise me something," I moaned, his hands caressing.

"What?" he breathed, nipping the skin of my neck. I stopped him and looked deep in his eyes. I wanted him, but I wanted this promise more.

"Promise you will marry me someday." I said, a little breathless, tears welling up in my eyes. He looked at me, with an expression I took for serious sincerity at the time. His breathing slowed and I felt my legs being separated.

"I promise." he said. With those words my virginity was lost.

Staring at the cover of "Titanic," I know I have to watch it again. I haven't seen it since that night, almost eight years ago now. Maybe it is a way to come full circle, a way to heal. Or maybe I will be beset by memories the entire time and unable to enjoy any of it. I almost wish I would run into Jae so that I can make new memories with someone else. Instead I run into David.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, clearly surprised by my being out in public.

"Checking out movies, obviously." I reply, holding up my movie selection. His eyes snag on "Titanic" and linger. He looks at me and then back at the cover.

"I haven't seen that in years," he says, pointing to it.

"I know." I reply. "Its been eight almost."

"Yeah. It has been. I thought you didn't really like it. Why are you checking it out now?"

"I used to love this movie." I say, somewhat defensively. "I just never watched it after that night because the memories were too powerful."

"I would think you would have watched it more then, not now."

"What does it even matter to you what I do and do not watch, David?" I ask, irritated by his manner and tone. How could I ever love this man? Why did I love him? Why did I let him have all those years, all those secrets and trusts? He shrugs his shoulders, so nonchalantly.

"It doesn't. I was just curious. I suppose I'll leave you now." he says and as he walks away, I can't keep the acid from dripping off my tongue.

"You left me a long time ago." He stops, but doesn't turn, at first. Slowly, almost painfully, he turns and looks at me.

"We're in a library, so I won't make a scene." he says. "But you are wrong. I didn't leave you until that day at the altar. I suppose I just couldn't stomach you any more."

His words bite like a snake, quick and poisonous. I feel like I've just been slapped.

"You left the night I gave you my virginity." I whisper, vehemently. I check out my videos and head out the door, David close behind.

"No. I cared for you at that point." he says. I turn to face him, my eyes searching his face as though trying to see a chink in the armor. Anything to give me a chance to strike back.

"You never cared." I say, struggling to keep from yelling. "You may have cared for my body, but only when you wanted to use it. You never cared for my mind or my heart. If you had you never would've played with them like you did."

"Girls are like toys to be played with, really." He says, a cocky grin on his face. "Like living Barbie dolls. It's amusing. I watched you and Alice disintegrate like you'd been blasted with fire. I had Alice convinced that being with you was the right thing to do. That her love for you should let me stay with you, even as I kept professing my undying love and my desire to be with her. She put up no fight. No resistance."

I blink. Once, twice. Tears sting my lids. I have to force myself to start breathing again. My lungs feel like they are on fire. And, without thinking, I drop my movies, haul off and punch David right in the nose. He stumbles back, startled by the suddenness of it, and then clutches his nose which begins spouting blood. I pick up my movies again and walk away. No one tries to stop me and the only person that tries to help him is his unlucky wife, who screams profanity at me as I walk away.

I know that that was incredibly stupid. I know that I shouldn't have punched him and that I will pay for it. My hand is already throbbing. However, it felt so amazing to finally do that. To have my moment of feeling justified. To have my moment of, so-called, revenge. Its the only thing I've done that actually hurt him. Of course it hurt me too, but it still hurt him. Why didn't I just do that in the beginning? Why didn't I do that when he first tried to seduce my engagement ring away from me? Why didn't I do that when he tried to sleep with me? Why did I let him into me, no resistance, when I could've done what I did just now?

I know Alice will seek me out. I know her well enough to know that she will want to confront me. I almost turn around so that she can do it now, instead of having to wait. But I don't, I keep moving forward. I swear to myself that, from now on, that will be the only direction I move.

It takes some time, and convincing, but I convince my former boss, at the book store, to allow me to return to work. I move out of Clark's apartment and into a tiny apartment above the store, which my boss gives me a discount on. I take up painting, in my spare time. My favorite subject becomes Snuggles, who refuses to sit still for a portrait. I stop going to the bars, I stop having sex, though that part is a lot more difficult.

I do give in a couple of times, after running into Adam one day at the store. And once more after running into Niya at the library.

I know that my confrontation with Alice will happen eventually. Just because it hasn't yet, doesn't mean it won't. I know her better than that. Because of this, I am not at all surprised when she comes to see me at work.

At first she doesn't say anything. She ignores my presence and my attempts to assist her in finding a book. She wanders the store, never in a position where she can't glare at me. Finally she brings a book up to the counter and slams it down, in an attempt to gain my attention.

"May I help you?" I ask, politely. I don't look up, instead I continue to pretend to be fascinated with my tea.

"I'd like to purchase a book on how to get rid of a slut." she says. I look up at the book and see that it is a book of sexual positions.

"I'm afraid you won't find what you are looking for in that particular book." I say, seeming un-phased.

"This book is for me and my husband. Who recently got attacked and is still recovering from a broken nose." Being a bitch, I can't help but smile at that. My hand was tender for a few days, but I have fully recovered, physically, from our "encounter of the violent kind."

"Well then you won't want to try the position on page thirty-five. It may re-break his nose." I go back to stirring my tea, refusing to be riled by her insinuations. Did I whore it up? Yes. Did I break David's nose? Absolutely. Am I going to fight with her anymore over it? No. She fumes, silently for a while, but I don't care.

"You are a whore. I don't know what he ever saw in you." she spits.

"I don't believe he ever saw anything in me. Nor in you, really. He just knew how to manipulate us both. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of dancing like a puppet on a string with no choices or free will. You may continue dancing if you like, but kindly leave me out of it."

She doesn't say anything at first, letting the words sink in. Then she turns bright red. I look her in the eye, the first time I've done it since everything fell apart. She knows that what I said is true and that there are no words to redeem him at this point. She knows I am right and it pisses her off, even as it frightens her. She still loves him. She married him. Like me, she lost her virginity to him. I'm sure she can't help but wonder if I was a better lover or if he ever truly loved me.

"I'm leaving." she says, leaving the book on the counter. "I don't want to see you again, Abra. I will get a restraining order if I have to."

"Good luck." I say. "It isn't exactly the biggest town. We will run into each other by accident all the time. I have as much control over that as you do over the sun shining in the morning. I promise not to intentionally bother either of you anymore, however."

With a last sharp look, she turns on her heel and walks out. I sigh and sit back down, stirring my tea. I don't even look up when I hear the bell over the door jingle again.

"Forget one last cutting remark, did we?" I say, taking a sip of tea.

"No," she says. "I forgot this."

I look up just in time to see her hand flying toward me. The contact echoes and I can only look up at her in shock. She looks shocked as well, her hand reddened by the slap. My cheek throbs, tears well up and one slips down my cheek.

"Is this what we've come to, Allie?" I ask, using a nickname I haven't used since we were children. "We have lost everything for a man. A stupid man who probably never actually cared for either of us. He used us both, can't you see that? Don't you see what is happening here?"

A tear slips down her cheek as well, but she shakes her head at me.

"He loves me." she says. "You just can't handle that he never loved you."

She turns then and walks away. I don't stand to follow her, I don't move at all. I can't. We've broken beyond repair, corrupted from the inside out and there is no cure for it. I catch a glimpse of her face, she looks back at me before she opens the door and disappears into the outside world.

I wonder if she has any doubts about her husband now. I wonder if she will think about what I've said in the years to come. I wonder if it did any good. I doubt it, as I sip my tea. It was only after he left me that I realized how bad David was for me.

I lock the store up for the evening, a cool breeze whistling by. I am feeling down with all sorts of thoughts drifting through my head. I walk slowly, dreamily. I attempt to not let the anxiety, and depression, slowly creeping in get any foothold, but it is hard. I feel terribly alone and isolated. I haven't seen Noah in ages, my best friend and I have fallen completely apart, my ex-fiance is a tool and I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I'm actually a little terrified of what will happen to me.

I manage to find myself on a bridge, a couple miles from the store and my car. I stand on a rail, gazing into the midnight blue water and wonder. I wonder what it would be like to just jump. I wonder what it would be like to feel nothing ever again. I wonder if I would see Annabelle again. I feel like Rose in "Titanic." Nowhere else to go. I've never felt this overwhelmed, this lost.

No one else can save me, I have to save myself. I have to be my own saviour. And at this point I don't care that much about being saved. I lean forward, grasping the railings so that if I lose my balance I will still be hanging on. A still voice tells me to just let go, let everything go. I can't change anything, it says.

I could let go. I could let go and slip over, falling into the cool water below. I imagine the water slipping like poison into my lungs and filling me until I can take no more. I imagine the water like satin sheets, burying me in softness that erases any desire to leave. I imagine the darkness closing my eyes and I shiver when I realize I wouldn't fight it at that point.

I don't let myself think about David or Alice. I don't let myself think about Noah or Annabelle or Liam. I don't think about Jae. I don't think at all. I just dangle above the water wondering what will happen next. A car honks at me, startling me out of my reverie and I, guiltily, climb down. I go to a payphone and deposit my last two quarters, punching buttons like a madwoman.

"Hello?" he says. He sounds sleepy and stuffy. Probably from the broken nose I gave him.

"David, don't hang up." I say, lamely. I know I need to say something to him, or I'll never really heal.

"What the hell do you want?" he whispers, angrily.

"Who is it, darling?" says a soft voice in the background. He mumbles something, a lie of course.

"I have to talk to you. Will you meet me?"

"So you can re-break my nose?" he asks. He must've gone into another room, because I no longer hear Alice.

"No. Because I need to get something off my chest and I can't do it over the phone. Bring Alice, we'll make a party of it."

"We don't need to involve her." He says, hastily.

"Why? Are you afraid she'll see the truth and leave you without a plaything?"

He is quiet for a few moments and then I hear him sigh.

"Where do you want me to meet you?"

I give him directions as best I can, considering I walked here in a daze. He says he'll meet me in fifteen minutes and hangs up. I shiver as I replace the receiver. There is a slight chill in the air. Or maybe that is the fear of what will happen next. Maybe it's the exhilaration of finally getting to say what I have needed to say since the beginning of this soap opera.

Fifteen minutes passes quickly and I see him walking toward me, his black leather jacket and jeans recognizable even in the semi-darkness. I stand under a street light and wait. There is nothing else around, no sound. It's like the whole world has stopped to watch this newest drama unfold like rose petals in the moonlight. I try to stifle a smile, a nervous habit, as he approaches. He is scowling and his nose is swollen and bandaged. I don't feel guilty for it, though I know I should.

After what feels like years, we are both standing under the street lamp, only a foot or so of space between us. I look into his eyes and wonder if he ever really saw me. Did he ever know me? I can't help but want to kiss him right now. A silly attempt to erase all the time and distance between us. A romantic attempt to save us from the erosion and betrayal.

"I still love you."

Popping the Cherry

I don't understand popular culture's views on virginity. Particularly the ones revolving around losing said virginity. Books, Movies, TV shows, etc... They make it seem like the most amazing experience. Worth all kinds of trouble and perfect every time it happens. No one ever admits that losing their virginity sucked hard core. No one ever wants to read about that. If they are reading about it, they want it to be beautiful so they can pretend that was their experience too.

Truth of the matter is this:

Losing your virginity (if you are a woman) is not really pleasant. It varies from woman to woman, but even if it doesn't hurt (the actual penetration that is) it is still super uncomfortable because your hips aren't used to it. There may be a little blood or a lot, depending, again, on who you are.

And sometimes we lose our virginity to someone who doesn't deserve it and that thing we've always been told is precious is gone. It makes the whole situation miserable to even think about. But when a book or a movie portrays losing your v-card as beautiful and romantic and pain/blood free, they are lying to you.

Yes, it may be romantic. I'll give you that. Mine wasn't super romantic (mostly by my choice, really). Yes it may be relatively pain/blood free. But it is still super awkward, uncomfortable and if you are unlucky with a partner, traumatizing.

Losing your virginity (if you are a man) is not like having sex later on, when you've learned to control yourself. You are probably not going to last more than a few minutes. Some men last longer, but, once again, it entirely relies on the individual. You are not going to be the best in stamina and sex and the world on your first try. Not how that works.

Also you aren't going to be "good" at sex the first time you do it. No one is. The books/movies/tv lie to you when they make it appear that you are the perfect lover right from the get go. Truly not the way it works. Like many other things, it takes practice to be a good lover/partner. Whilst you may be better than average, you aren't going to be the best right off the bat. It takes a couple tries to be really good at something.

I don't understand why we portray it in a better light, really. Are we afraid that young people are going to be scared off from sex forever and then we'll slowly die out? Because desire will win out in the end. It always does.

Also, I don't fully understand why women portray the loss of virginity as beautiful, pain free, etc... while men (who've never actually experienced it like we do) portray it exactly as it is. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't the men be trying to make it seem better? I mean, because they are the "takers" in this situation. They are the ones removing said virginity, so wouldn't you think they'd want to make it seem like they are all wonderful and gentle lovers who make everything perfect every time? Nope. They are the ones being, brutally (sometimes), honest and women are the ones covering it up in flowery phrases and metaphors.

I suppose, on a cognitive level, I understand this. Especially if the particular virginity losing episode was traumatic/painful/bloody/weird/uncomfortable for the particular female writer. I can see that. Trying to make it better than it is. But shouldn't you also be realistic? I mean, because you are influencing the young women around you.

They are all going to be disappointed with their first time, because it will never be as wonderful as the books/movies/tv shows make it out to be. They are all going to be saddened by the experience because it wasn't what they had been lead to believe it would be.

I suppose I am also very much guilty of making it flowery in my own story... However, that was between two women and that makes things a little different. There is no actual hymen breaking, unless you go for a dildo. Which my characters didn't. Physically, Jahan leaves that relationship intact. Emotionally, sexually, mentally, she isn't so intact. But that is a different story all together.

Ladies, your first time is different depending on who you are. Everyone is different. Your first time may be everything the books/movies/tv shows promise it will be. If it is, congrats! You have discovered something wonderful.

Gentleman, your first time is different depending on who you are. Everyone is different. Your first time may be everything the books/movies/tv shows promise it will be. If it is, congrats! You aren't like a whole bunch of other guys.

All of Her: Chapter Six

I hesitate. I don't want to answer the door, but I don't want Noah to do it either. It isn't fair that I force him to answer my problems when they come knocking. I wish I could I just run to my bedroom. What used to be our room. Used to be our sanctuary from reality.

I can’t believe I’m still dying over all this. Of course, I should be a little easier on myself. After all it was a ten year mistake. I could’ve been doing something else useful during that time. Like not being in love with a jerk that dumped me at the altar. Like being my own independent and beautiful person. I could’ve been doing all that. Maybe married now with a baby on the way, with a man who appreciated me and loved me more than anyone else. Maybe in a different scenario I would end up with someone like Clark Samson, instead of just playing around.

I'm rambling and David is still waiting on the other side of the door.

Before I can say anything, my hesitation gets the better of me and Noah answers the door, allowing me to escape to my room. I'm such an idiot. I bang my head against the door and immediately regret it. Why did I do that? Because that is just as intelligent as forcing my best friend to have to deal with my ex. I'm a coward. Good Job, Abra. You're doing well, aren't you?

I hear the door close and I sneak back out toward the living room, peering around the corner. Noah is holding something in his hands. He seems irked, but no more than he was before. Of course, that was at me, maybe his displeasure has been aimed elsewhere by David's, oh so, inconvenient interruption. Well, inconvenient for Noah.

“What did he want?” I ask. Though, I'm pretty sure I know. Rent is due tomorrow.

“He was dropping off his portion of the rent. He was in a very sour mood.” Which explains why Noah looks annoyed. He hands me the check.

I can't help but smile at it. Like an idiot, I might add. I can't help that it still makes me giggle that he is stuck with me until the end of the lease. Or I find a roommate. Either way he gets to be uncomfortable for a little longer and I get to feel like I'm taking some small portion of vengeance.

“What is going on with you, Abra? What is going on inside your head? You are acting strange.” He pauses and then adds, “Okay, stranger than normal. Seriously, though. What is going on?”

“I’ve decided I no longer care, that's all.” I say, moving toward the kitchen. I realize I can’t continue living here, too many bad and wonderful memories. The lease is up in two months or so. I should start packing now.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Noah grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him. “Tell me, Abe. We’ve been friends for a long time; don’t try to diminish that by pretending that I don’t know that something is wrong.”

“I slept with Clark Samson last night. That is what you want to hear, isn’t it? I slept with him and I enjoyed it. For the first time since David, I really and truly enjoyed myself. I enjoyed it more than I ever did with David. And I’m not going to hold back from experiencing it with other people.”

“Oh babe, you aren’t going to find what you are looking for that way.” He looks disappointed. I hate that look.

“What am I looking for, Noah? What am I looking for that I can’t find in the arms of another man? Or woman, as the case may or may not be.”

“You do know that sex doesn’t equal love, right? That it doesn’t equal fulfillment or anything like that?” He looks at me very seriously. Of course I know these things. But for a few moments it’s easy enough to believe that sex does equal those things. For a few moments the whole world melts away and you can make-believe that you are in love and fulfilled. Well, filled anyway.

“I’m not doing it to get fulfillment, Noah. Nor am I seeking love. Love is a poison and I’ve had enough of it. I’ve just decided to live out some of those break-up songs that I hear on the radio. I’ve just decided to date who I want and then decide when I’m done. I’ve decided to do what I want, because I’ve lost all desire to care.”

“You are going to date people in the hopes that it will end up matching a situation in a break-up song? Doesn’t that seem a little stupid to you?”

“Well, yes. But the idea of not caring any more because of one relationship seems a little stupid too.” I shake myself out of his grip and start marching toward my bedroom.

“No, that is the only part that makes sense!” He says. He follows me to my bedroom. “David is the only man you’ve ever been with. Well, was the only man you had ever been with. It is not that strange that you would be devastated by the break-up. I mean, you almost married him! Of course you are going to be numb and not care. I felt the same way after my break-up with Matthias. Surely you remember how devastated I was. I couldn't eat or sleep. I was a nervous wreck, I was depressed as hell.”

Several snarky and uncharacteristic comments pop into mind. I ignore them and flop down on my bed. It is a failing attempt to cover up the tears that are welling up. I don't want to cry. Not again. Not anymore. I want to be happy and do whatever the hell I want, with who I want. I want to be with Clark until I decide that I need to move on.

"You are just failing to realize that I've lost my mind." I mumble.

"No, I've noticed. I am just trying to reason with the small part of your mind that must still be in there somewhere."

He sighs and sits on the bed next to me. I peek up at him. He is staring off into space. Unexpectedly, he lies down next to me and pulls me into his arms. I don’t know why, but this makes the tears I’ve been fighting come. He holds me, in my bed, until I’m all cried out. We lay like this for awhile. I don’t even know how long. I’ve lost track of time in this insanity. He kisses me on the cheek and wipes away a stray tear or two. A sweet best friend, that I don't deserve.

Sometimes, like right now, I wish he wasn’t gay. I could be in love with Noah. I wonder if we would’ve been happy if things had worked out differently. I suppose, however, there is no use in daydreaming on it. I wouldn’t change him for the world. Just being here with him is good enough.

Nothing has changed, however. I am still going to go through with my plan. I consider this to be the sexual equivalent of cutting myself. I know it is harmful, but I don’t know any other way to express the emotions and non-emotions I feel. I don’t know how else to communicate with that part of me.

Though a part of me doesn't want him to leave, I urge Noah to go home. That I'll be fine. I'm going to take a hot bath and then relax for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe watch a sappy movie. He asks if he should come back after my bath and watch it with me. I tell him not to worry about it. He has work tomorrow like I do.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"I'm sure. I'll be fine." I force a smile. Right this moment I just want to be alone. Maybe listen to those break-up songs. Take a nice long bubble bath in my big claw foot bath tub. Plan my next move maybe? I kiss Noah’s cheek and close the door behind him.

As the water warms, I get the CD I was listening to when I left my mother’s house on homecoming night. Clark will need a song. Which song shall I re-create? To be honest, I hadn’t actually thought about re-creating the scenarios in break-up songs so much as just having something to kind of relate to. I won’t tell Noah that he actually gave me an idea. A little bit worse of an idea too. I think he already feels guilty enough without me adding to it.

I sink into the hot, soapy, water and turn the music on. The first song is Alanis. Her scathing lyrics fill my bathroom with rage. That song belongs squarely on David's shoulders. No other song fits so perfectly. If only I could stay angry. When I see him all of the old feelings flood up to the surface.

I want as sweet a break-up with Clark as possible. No broken hearts, no tears. Just a soft parting of ways. Just a softly spoken goodbye. Are those kinds of break-ups possible? Is it possible to be friends with former lovers? I've been so naive and sheltered when it comes to relationships. I should've left David years ago.

Thinking of Clark makes me feel all fuzzy and warm inside. I feel a little drunk, except I haven't been drinking. Maybe I should actually try with him. Maybe we could be happy? Or maybe we wouldn't be.

Its moments like this that I wish I was a poet or a writer in general. I'd have so much material to work with. I'd be up to my eyeballs in sappy, heart-ache crap. Enough to write a novel, a book of short stories and a book of poetry. Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I could write a lot.

I've been so deep in thought my water has gone cold and my CD is skipping. I shiver as I drain the tub and stop the CD. I wrap a big, fluffy, towel around myself and pad my way into the bedroom. Snuggles is sprawled on my bed, napping. I rub his head as I walk to my vanity.

I notice some dark circles under my eyes. I wish I could sleep like I did in Clark's arms every time. I've never felt so secure. Not even with David. Whom I've decided to refer to as jerk-who-shall-go-un-named.

I suppose its time to tally the toll all this has taken. I've lost fifteen pounds from not eating. I've lost the will to look beautiful. I don't sleep. And when I do it is the worst sleep ever. My honey-gold hair looks lackluster and my cocoa colored eyes have lost their shine. I've become a slut. All because of one measly ten year relationship. One stupid jerk-who-shall-go-un-named. What an asshole.

Its only four o'clock and I want to give up for the day. I am just about to go take a nap when my phone rings. The caller ID lists a number I don't recognize. I don't think I'll answer it. I don't know if I want to answer. I debate, internally of course, for a moment.

"Hello?" I say.

"I know the rule is three days," says a sexy voice similar to that of Sam Eliot. "but I couldn't stand to wait. Do you want to go get dinner tonight?"

"Clark? Didn't we just have breakfast?" I giggle.

"I know, I know. But won't you be hungry again in two hours or so?" He sounds so sweet. I really do want to go out with him tonight. If only to feel like I'm not completely alone. Maybe we could have a repeat of last night (without the crying) and I can get some well-deserved rest.

"Sure," I say. "why not? Where do you want to meet?"

We decide on an Albanian restaurant downtown. I say I'll meet him at seven. He lingers on the line for a moment before hanging up. Sounds like he likes me too.

I know what song I want to remember Clark by. After all we've been through, I know we're cool.

It hasn't been very long, but already I'm thinking of breaking up with him. We aren't even officially dating yet and I'm thinking of ending this fledgling relationship. Common sense says to give it a couple months and then bail, but my heart is terrified I'll fall in love with him.

I'll give it a couple months. I can't bail now, that defeats the point of break up songs and random relationships with random people. This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I want. I'm too deep to get out now, though.

Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Here's to the plunge.

It Happened in Indiana

This poem is based on the horrible things that happened to a young woman named Sylvia Likens. She was brutally tortured and abused, and murdered. That was in 1965.

She was 16.

Go here to learn more about the horrible things that happened to Sylvia [http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/young/likens/8.html] and [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Likens]

I don't know if it helps at all, but I can't help but believe that this young woman deserves to be remembered. Especially on this day, the day she died in 1965.

It Happened in Indiana
"I'm a prostitute and proud of it!" scrawled in burning letters across her skin,
bruises forming blue and purple spiders that can't scatter away from the light.
Tied to a filthy bed, naked and dying, she can't even avoid soiling herself.
"You can't ever get married... You can't ever undress in front of others..." the
words filter through the unending pain and the torturous days and nights.

The stench of urine and feces permeates her dreaming, the taste of shit in her
mouth makes her gag. Why do they hate her so? What did she ever do to
deserve this abuse? She is shaking, so hungry for real food, hungry for gentility,
hungry for escape. Could she run? Could she escape? Could she convince
someone to help her? She is terrified, because she hears them coming, like
thousands of venomous snakes tasting her fear, eager for her blood, for her pain.

She is swollen, bruised by the forced violations. She is naked again, their leering
eyes dancing over her skin, over the burns and wounds. They are laughing at her,
laughing as her abuser forces her to push the bottle further up. What will happen
next? More scalding baths? More salt in the wounds that they inflict? Or will it be
another forced tattoo?

Is this to be her fate, to die on this filthy mattress, locked in a cellar, in the dark?
She cries, cries for an imagined baby and a mutilated body, for burns and bruises,
for her sister and for herself. Forced into a tub full of scalding water, salt
viciously rubbed into the burns, skin falling off. Her bones jut out at odd angles,
the result of malnutrition. Welts from the belt rise to the surface, eager to show
themselves for what they are.

A 16 year old girl; tortured, submitted to a sexless sex crime and other horrors,
lies dead on a soiled mattress in the dark. The words "I'm a prostitute and proud
of it!" burned into her stomach, a 3 scarred into her chest. Bruises like blue and
purple spiders scattered across her pale flesh, naked and eyes fixed on oblivion.
Her name? Does she even have one? Or is she just a dead girl from Indiana?

Sleeping Beauty

Current mood: Angry

http://news.yahoo.com/video/health-15749655/real-life-sleeping-beauty-tells-tale-18048539

By the way, DO NOT watch "Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief". Why? Well because they claim that one of the "Olympians" or demigods is the daughter of Athena.

Think about that for a minute...

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Okay, done thinking? No?

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Okay, let me spell it out for you. Athena was a VIRGIN GODDESS. Nowhere in her mythology ANYWHERE is she EVER anything but a virgin. Now don't bring up that "virgin mary" bullshit with me.

Athena was NOT a mortal woman filled with the seed of God. She WAS a Virgin. I CANNOT stand people who RUIN mythology like that. READ YOUR FUCKING MYTHOLOGY YOU BASTARDS!