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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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28 February 2005


Detroit Rock City

When Craig and I started out, we spoke several hours by phone every night for a month. Without physical contact or visual frames of reference, it was much easier to open ourselves to each other on an intellectual and emotional level. I never had to worry whether something I’d said caused his brow to furrow, or made him smirk in self-satisfaction. I loved his intelligence; he was amazed at my wit and brilliance. ("How can these astute observations be coming from the mouth of a 21 year old?") Our first meeting in Cleveland confirmed that on the physical side of things, we were definitely a good fit. So, all systems go- Maddie goes diving in headfirst after her man. He is her parents' contemporary.

We were together, exclusively, for the next four years. I arranged my class schedule my junior and senior years in college around weekends in Detroit or Chicago. He came to my town for Spring Break and we went on a 6-day road trip to the most obscure places in the Midwest, stopping at junk shops to buy treasures and falling into small-town cafes to eat pie. (“Do you have Raisin?? Oh, my God! They have Raisin!”)

He was the most arrogant person I had ever met. I loved it. He was passionate! He had ideals and convictions! He didn’t give a fuck about conventions, unless it was the 1968 Democratic National one in Chicago, where he was beaten and arrested at age 15. Politics, history, economics and art were mainstays of our conversations. He’d said, on more than one occasion, “I am the smartest person I know.”


By that time, though, I was hooked. We had amazing weekends, every month or two. The summer between Junior and Senior years I moved to Detroit to live and work with him. It was a disaster. I went back to school in August, and things between us went back to the way they were. I convinced myself that we just didn’t have any experience living together. Of course, we were working together, too- that had to have something to do with it. Another nine months of long distance, and I graduated and moved to Detroit to live (but not work) with him.

There were two problems there. One was that he worked from home, a tiny one-bedroom apartment filled with newspapers older than I was. He worked like crazy, drinking coffee and smoking for days on end. The other was that he was bipolar. This I would not know until much later.

When things were good, they were so good. When they were not- which was more often- it was the worst. Those convictions of his were held so strongly that friendships ended over them. He isolated himself from his entire family, all of whom he considered “of poor character.” One by one, friends each did something “unforgivable" like disagree with him- and were blacklisted.

I was afraid to do or say something wrong, whatever that might be; it could change daily.

It wasn’t the physical violence (which happened occasionally) that hurt , it was words- those words I’d loved so much-cut my fucking heart out.

He told me he loved me.

You are so fucking stupid.

He pleaded with me not to leave; he wanted to marry me.

You are so fucking naive.

I was the sweetest person in the world; his dead father would have loved me.

You are such a fucking disappointment.

He wanted a son named for his father.

I started seeing a fucking therapist.

25 February 2005



7th grade girl
9th grade boy
flock of seagulls hair
Maddie moves away
10th grade girl
12th grade boy
phone call
eddie murphy raw
parked at the lake
his place
naked on the floor
his cock is huge
i am scared
lesson #1
how to suck cock
lesson #2
cowgirl on the bedroom floor
late night
phone call
riding this boy
lying to my mother

Spin Cycle

Four-year-old Miles poked his head into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth. He had that look: he was going to say something very sweet.

"Momma, guess WHAT?!"

"What, baby?"

"I'm gonna marry you!"

(A VERY brief Oedipal scenario plays in my head...Had he already killed his father??)

"You're going to marry me?? How will you do that?"

"Well, I already know how to marry. First, we kiss, next we hold hands, an' then we SPIN AROUND!"

That explains it, I thought. I had it all wrong from the beginning.


There's nothing sneakier than a single parent trying to get laid.

Spontaneity is tough. You need to plan it, do it and then get the hell out because you have to get the kids from school and you haven't even thought about dinner.

Secrecy is tougher. weekly requests made to grandparents to "keep the kids overnight...I need a break," will sooner or later lead to questions.

Never mind the forcefully whispered "Get back to bed! You've already brushed your teeth, and you cannot have a granola bar!" while covering the mouthpiece on your phone. Then, "Hey,, I'm still here. Now, about that cock of yours..."

When I was first separated I didn't go out for about 9 months. The sting of betrayal...or something. When I did, I hooked up with a friend of my brother's. Scot was a few years younger than me--okay, eight years younger--and knew about my sneaky life as a single parent. He was a shameless flirt, like me. Slightly perverse, he was the perfect first post-breakup boyfriend: no strings, short-lived, sweet and honest. And very enthusiastic in bed.

One night I was at his apartment, having let myself in. He would be home in about 20 minutes. I moved the folded laundry off the bed, undressed and lay down. It was late, and I couldn't be gone all night. I looked around me: There was the requisite collection of shot glasses, band posters and an electric Michelob sign on the walls. I remember thinking that this will make for an amusing anecdote one day..

I woke up with my wrists held over my head; his breath on my neck. We didn't speak. He pinned me down and took his time. We would be here for a while. He thought my flexibility was so novel and loved to push my legs straight back, folding me in half as he fucked. He'd let me cum, wait a minute, then somehow grab a leg and flip me around. (I wonder if he was a wrestler in high school, now that I think about it...)

All of a sudden I was on my back, my hips the only thing touching the bed. Back arched, arms braced on the floor for balance and leverage. The boy was getting my g-spot every time--and he didn't even know what a g-spot was! I was impressed! And he was so enthusiastic, like I said. So eager to be a good lover.

I took this as a sign.

Over the next month we saw each other regularly. We divided these meetings into two parts. The first part we would warm up, get naked, have a little sex and talk about what we'd like to do that day. Part II would be something he'd either never done but always wanted to, or something he wanted me to explain or critique. There was something so sweet about it: I'd teach him anatomy and demonstrate, for example, how a well-placed finger makes an ordinary blow job anything but. Questions, answers, practice drills!

One day he was paying more attention to my breasts than usual. I had stopped nursing Jack six months before, but apparently my breasts were holding out for more takers. Poor Scot got a mouthful of milk when he bit my nipple while sucking. He was very surprised; I was very embarassed. We laughed for a long time. But it didn't freak him out; he wanted more. Such a sweet, strange boy. I really liked him.

The last time we were together, I was riding him on the floor of his bedroom. It was very quiet. I came, then he did. I curled down onto his chest, his arms circled me. We stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing. He whispered into the silence,

"God, I love you."

"No you don't. Don't say that."

I broke up with him three days later. He met a cute girl the next week. They're getting married in September.

Lucky bitch!

18 February 2005



When I was 19 I babysat for my English professor's daughter every week. Saturday nights I would go over, there would be pizza for dinner, and after the girl was asleep I would study. My professor and her husband would come home and we would sit on the floor of their den, drinking bourbon and smoking Gitanes cigarettes (sans filtre, merci).

I was a Sociology and American Studies undergrad. They were married English professors in love with other people. For him it was Hegel; she adored Faulkner. We sipped, smoked, spoke incoherent, drunken French and were very, very cool. Eventually I moved in. We kept a huge bottle of Jim Beam in the pantry. My brother sold us pot.

One Christmas vacation, my friend Dave and I were watching a movie, getting high and eating taquitos. The telephone rang, and I answered.

He: "May I please speak with Beth?"

Me: "She's out of town for the break. She'll be back January 3rd."

He: "Oh- my birthday!"

Me: "Who is this??"

He: "Who is this?"

And so began my love affair with Craig, a consultant in Detroit, twenty years my senior. That first night we spoke for seven hours. Poor Dave finished the movie, put the dishes into the dishwasher, said goodnight and left. I switched from smoking pot to drinking bourbon midway through the conversation. By the end of it, the birds were singing and Craig and I, amazed at each others' wit and charm, knew we needed to meet.

What started out as late night phone conversations turned into a first meeting in Cleveland (City of Light; City of Magic...). He wanted to meet in a neutral place, so he let me pick the city. Chicago would have been the obvious choice between our respective cities.... but I'd already been to Chicago.

He picked me up at the airport. He had seen photos of me by then; I declined when he offered to send me his. I was already in love with his brilliance and with the idea of an intellectual attraction. And well, you know... Photos would just be so conventional.

He was good looking. Thank god.

We drove to the hotel, where he had reserved two rooms. When we walked in, the room was dark and the message light on the phone was flashing. He called the front desk and went downstairs. I was alone, nervous in the room. There was a bottle of bourbon and an ice bucket. I poured myself a drink, shaking. I started to relax as the bourbon made my cheeks flush. Craig came back holding an envelope with my handwriting. Inside was a note:

"In case I haven't told you yet, I'm having a good time." ~M

He took my glass. kissed my mouth. We fucked for three days.

Back home, my friend Jackson picked me up at the airport. We talked about my weekend with my new lover. In the car, I asked him if he'd ever had anal. He said no.

I smiled, "You should try it sometime...."

15 February 2005


Babies Posted by Hello


Valentine's Day. While I am not a person to be drawn into the commercialism of Hallmark holidays, there is still something about Valentine's Day that I love (The fact that my birthday is the next day may have something to do with it..). Not cards or flowers or chocolate- I don't really get that. But a holiday for lovers? Sign me up.

Jack crawled into my bed early Monday morning. "Momma, are you happy?"

"Yes," I say. "I am happy because I have you."

He is two and a half, and very small. Blond, thin and sweet as hell with a scotch-and-soda voice that sounds like he's got a perpetual cold. "I love you, Momma!" (He buries his forehead in my neck.) God!

I love boys. When I found out I was pregnant with another boy, I was neither surprised nor disappointed. My first son, Miles, would be two when his brother was born. I grew up with four younger brothers and was always more at ease around them.

Lately I've been trying to temper my negative feelings toward Jack and Miles' father with my love for them. They are such amazing kids. Sadly, he is not the most involved; they see him every 6 weeks or so for two days. I know this is a lot compared to other kids who never see their dads. So though I try to be as congenial as possible when he is here, we often wind up having an argument about something stupid. Daniel comes into town and they have action-packed, full-of-adventure weekends which I'm afraid make the rest of the month seem ridiculously mundane to them.

Daniel had taken the boys shopping on Sunday for a birthday present for me. The fact that he did that with them meant a lot. Maybe he is trying to make friends...that would be nice. They came to the house, sang to me. He half-hugged me, kissed the top of my head, and told me happy birthday.

I don't remember the last time either one of us even casually touched the other. That was strange. Sometimes I wonder if the last two years had never happened, how I'd feel about him if we were still together. What would happen if I put my arms around him like I used to- just to see...

The boys and I said goodbye to their dad about 3 PM and settled into our Sunday routine. Bedtime came early, so lucky for me I had a new book to continue: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Then The Big Broadcast on WFUV radio, which Jefferson had recommended. We chatted again, continuing our conversation from the previous night. Shortly before midnight, he wished me a happy Valentine's Day. I wanted to return the sentiment.

I think I succeeded.

On Monday morning a client asked me if Valentine's Day was a sad day for me (supposedly since I am no longer attached). I hadn't really thought about it. But those are the conventions, and the reason so many single people hate Valentine's Day. So, no- I was not sad, nor did I have "big plans."

No date, no flowers, no expensive dinner, no mind-blowing sex... (okay, a skillfully guided masturbation webcast which was delicious, thank you!)

And waking up to a sweet, gravel-voiced blond burying his face into my neck was all the chocolate I needed.

13 February 2005



Jackson picked me up this morning at 9 for breakfast with his kids. My best friend since high school, he has also spent the better part of 15 years in varying degrees of love with me. We dated for a week when we were 15. We slow-danced to Procol Harem at his friend's house and he kissed me. It was like kissing my brother. So I broke up with him and we made friends. He knows intimate details about everyone I've slept with or dated. He has never failed to help me move, drive me to and from the airport for weekend trysts with whomever, fix my computer or offer to arrange an "unfortunate accident" to befall my ex. I have a feeling he has an ulterior motive for this breakfast invitation, but who am I to refuse free mimosas??

Two months ago, after professing his devotion for the thousandth time, Jackson got bold and said, "So- you wanna make out?" I was a little drunk, laughed nervously and said something like, "What the hell- sure." For months I'd been chiding myself about not ever having the nerve to sleep with him. (Maddie! C'mon!! Just Throw Down! If it's good, great! If not, at least you'll know! But what if it's great and he wants to be my boyfriend and then I'll have all that to deal with, plus the obvious Brady Bunch references since between us we have five boys, ages 6, 5, 4, 3 and 2.)

For the next twenty minutes I tried- really tried to get into it. And while all we did was kiss, and I think he's a good kisser, I could not get my head around what was going on. It freaked me out, and I think I even started laughing a few times. I felt awful. Mercifully, I got a phone call from my mom, who was watching my kids overnight. The baby was throwing up; could I come and help with that? The perfect out. We each got our coats on and left my apartment, getting into our separate cars and driving away.

The months after our encounter have been a bit strange. For the first time I felt like I couldn't tell him about my sex life, even though he said it didn't bother him. He knows about my recent meetings with Thomas; about Jason, the 22-year old boy from last summer who went back to college a better lover than when he'd left; about my crush on the barrista in the coffee shop. I know that he would like to be my boyfriend. I know that I don't want to be his girlfriend. He swears that, yes, he loves me, and so wants me to be happy. And this makes me happy.

And even though he has plied me with bacon, eggs, coffee and fruit compote, I am not telling him about my first date with a new friend, online, last night.

11 February 2005



After spending Wednesday and Thursday horny as hell without human assistance, I came to the breaking point. Thomas texted me last night. What did my day look like Friday?

"Clients at 9:00 and 2:30."

"Can I make an appointment?"

"Oh, hell yes! Come over at noon. Bring a lunch."

This is a boy I met online, who lives and works an hour away, and whom I've been fucking on a regular basis for the past 5 weeks. He has a very dirty mouth, which I love; and does a very good job of roughing me up when I ask him to. He also has a very nice cock.

I mean that it's very nice looking. Nicely sized and proportionate. Perfect for me. I love sucking that cock. It's like I'm addicted.

I see my first client, run some errands when she leaves (Should I pick up something for lunch? I decide we won't have time, with all the sucking and fucking.). Come home, shower and dress for the boy. All black- a little cliche, but what the's a nooner, after all. From the heels to the stockings to the panties to the cami. I am such a slut.

Just as I'm starting a load of laundry (so the neighbors can't hear), he knocks on the door. I crack it open (in case it is my landlord, the creep), and let Thomas in.

He pushes me up against the closet door, takes his hand to my throat. Kisses me. I am already unbuckling his belt; I have been waiting for this cock for too long! I start licking and sucking his cock. Nice and slow. He loves it when I use my tongue along the underside, making it last....I could do this all day. He stops me, wants me to walk to the other side of the room so he can watch. He likes the stockings. He likes my ass through the panties.

"I have to finish putting the laundry in," I say, "the washer's stopped filling."

He follows me to the washer and it's all i can do to throw in a set of sheets before my panties are around my ankles and he's fucking me up against the machine and slapping my ass, making me insane. I'm thinking, "This is too close to the neighbors' laundry room; what if they are doing laundry too?" (Shut up! Quit thinking!) I cum, then go straight to my knees to suck his balls...they taste like me. Fuck!

We walk into my bedroom. "New duvet cover?"

"Yes. No cum allowed!"

"Come here, you dirty girl. Show me where to lick your pussy."

I spread my pussy with my fingers and pull back the hood of my clit.

I am on the edge of the bed, he on his knees on the floor, licking and sucking my clit while his fingers are rubbing my g spot. This guy knows exactly how to make me cum. And he's pretty swift with the condoms! He pulls my legs over his shoulders, then pushes my knees back to the mattress. Oh, fuck! This is so deep; so good... Yoga is the best thing ever...

I am about to cum again; I pull a pillow over my face. Thomas tosses it aside and covers my mouth with his hand. I can barely breathe...he's fucking me so hard. He slaps my face with his other hand while he's standing next to the bed.I cum, my legs are shaking with the force of it, and I'm trying to control my breathing so I don't pass out..

More cock sucking. I have to taste my pussy on his cock. I lick myself off the condom, then take it off and take his cock deep into my throat. Get it nice and wet. He lets me have all I want of his cock, then asks if I'd like to be fucked once more before lunch is over.

"Yeah, fuck me on my knees," I say, turning over onto my belly. He pulls my hips, raises my ass and gives me the slowest, deepest thrusts...hitting it every time, making me moan. I take my left hand and start to rub my clit- god, I am so wet. We don't have much more time, but I need something in my ass. I can't take his dick- I'll be out of commission for several hours, and I have a client in 45 minutes.

I take his hand, bring it to my clit, which is so slippery by now, lube a couple of his fingers and push them back to my ass. He likes this, and fingers my ass while he fucks my pussy and pushes my shoulders down on the mattress. More cumming, and I'm so thankful I turned up the volume on the stereo.

He looks at his watch. "We have ten minutes."

"I want you to cum in my mouth," I say. He goes into the bathroom to wash up.

Kneeling back on the bed, he masturbates- and I love watching him- occasionally taking the tip of his cock into my mouth, sucking the precum onto my tongue. He sounds fantastic when he cums, and I am nearly over the edge just watching and listening. I get a mouthful. After I lick off his cock, we fall back onto my bed. He got up, dressed and was gone in 5 minutes.

It was the best lunch I've had all week.

09 February 2005



"What is going on in there?" I called, busily trying to gather snowboots, mittens and hats for the walk to preschool. Giggles. "Jack, what is so funny?"

"Miles peed on me!!" More giggles.

"What?! He did not!"

"Oh, yes he did!"

Sure enough, there was Jack, two years old and so tiny, drenched in the piss of his four year old brother, who thought the whole thing was hysterical. What the fuck?! I had no idea what to do except change him and have Miles clean up the floor. Thank god it was in the kitchen. Off to school. It snowed several inches yesterday, so the block and a half took a nice long time...

Coming home I surveyed the apartment: needs a serious cleaning, but all I feel like doing right now is getting laid. Sadly, no one is available. I chat with my friend Jeff (hi, Jeff!), who kindly shares dirty pictures with me- not his own- he's engaged and would get into big trouble for that! I am bored and incredibly horny. I say goodbye to Jeff, take off my clothes and start cleaning the apartment.

It's what I do when I'm frustrated. Scrub floors, then masturbate. Thomas calls from the car on his way back to the office. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"grrrr..... I'm scrubbing!" He knows what this means.

"Can I help?"

"yes. you can come over and fuck me." He can't. I tell him I'll talk to him later. After about an hour the place fucking gleams. I'm fairly certain I do, too.

I leave to run a few errands. My printer is broken, so I go to the cyber cafe on 7th street and meet the very cute dark-haired boy who works there. We spend about five minutes trying to place each other, but no luck. I thank him for the latte; he has amazing eyes. He says his name is Jesse. I should come back anytime. I go home and get myself off again.

08 February 2005


Madeline in the Mirror

It's the title of a song my friend Beth wrote about me. We used to live together with her husband and their daughter. Beth used to comment on the fact that I enjoyed looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.

I saw it as meditation; I was looking deeply into my very own soul. I was discovering my power. Shit, that's profound...

She thought it was vanity.

It was pretty hot.

Ice Storm Posted by Hello