Blue Eyes and White Lies

A writer, lover, thinker, and midwestern, book-loving sexpot.

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It’s been so long now. Too long. I want it.



Maybe We’re All a Little Pansexual

So I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual. I’ve honestly thought about being with any type of person and one’s sexuality or gender identity doesn’t influence whether or not I’m sexually attracted to someone. What I mean is I could sleep with anyone with any parts they have. Of course, when it comes to a relationship, I am attracted to masculinity. I like feeling like a little girl, like a princess, like I’m protected. So for there to be a relationship, the person would have to display some masculine qualities. But there are other times when I’m attracted to the feminine, such a woman’s scent and the feel of someone’s skin.

And let’s make one thing clear: being a “man” or a “woman” is gender, and gender is not the same as one’s sex. Sex is biological, gender is not. So when I refer to “man” or “woman” I mean those qualities usually embraced by people who identify with those genders .

I wonder sometimes if everyone is pansexual. I tend to believe that anyone can fall in love with anyone else, it’s just that from a young age we’ve set up certain barriers. For some, these barriers are very strong and for others it’s not. When I first thought of being with a man who identified as a woman, I didn’t think I could do it. It was too much. But the more I thought about it openly, the more appealing it became. It wasn’t scary anymore, and I don’t think it should be. Homosexuality has almost become normal in a way and now it’s the transgendered who are just outside what we consider the norm, but hopefully that will change.

Anyway, just some thoughts I had. I’m not trying to solidify gender stereotypes here, I’m just trying to be descriptive and I hope this makes sense. I also don’t want to offend anyone, so my thoughts are wrong, please let me know.

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So I Had Sort of a Mental Breakdown (Part 2)

After work I go home and pour myself a big glass of cabernet sauvignon and eat brie and bleu cheese and crackers. Ever since high school, I would pinch my cheeks to gauge how drunk I am. Well I drink until I can’t feel my cheeks and then I pour myself some more. I’m going to be honest and don’t judge me, but I love being drunk. I’m actually happier and the world seems lighter and my boldness is increased ten fold. So I sit in my room with candles burning and a cigarette in my mouth, typing out this long letter to Tyler that I had decided I was going to send to all his friends and family. It was an exposé on his secrets that he said he’d never shared with anyone.

Suddenly: Knock knock knock.

It’s almost midnight. My roommate is out and I’ve the place to myself, so I decide to just ignore it and hope whoever it is goes away. Then I hear a knock again and a moment later my phone buzzes and there’s a text from Tyler. “Are you home?”

“No,” I type back.

“Your car is in the parking lot,” he replies.

Keep in mind I’m drunk, so I don’t have my wits. I think of a million different things to say, but don’t text him any of them. Instead, I just close my phone and wait, but then he texts me again, begging me to answer, begging me to just give him a chance. He’s sorry, he says, he’s sorry and he misses me and he shouldn’t have said those things about me at my work. So there I am, drunk, lonely, sad, and clearly unable to think. I get up and open the door and there he is, standing their with flowers. He hands them to me, says he’s sorry, and turns to walk away. I watch him pad down the hallway and just as he gets to the stairs, I say, “Tyler, wait.”

He turns and just looks at me, his face is pathetic and sad and it looks like his skin has no life in it. “Come here,” I tell him and he walks back to me. I say, “You really hurt me today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You hurt me a lot in our relationship. That’s why I broke it off.”

“I’m an idiot.”

With the scent of the flowers I’m holding in my hand, and the wine, and the heartbreak, my brain fizzes out and despite my better judgment I hear myself saying, “Why don’t you come inside.”

I say, “Lay down with me.”

I tell him, “One last time.”

The rest is like a dream. I hear the click as I lock my door. We don’t speak. Our feet make soft creaks in the carpet and floorboards. My door opens. It shuts. There’s no romance to it. No beauty. We turn our backs to each other and strip. I slide into bed. He slides in next to me. As our hearts beat faster, so does our pace. We don’t kiss. We don’t look each other in the eye. But it feels good. I remember the room being blue from the moonlight and the way the candles smelled and a nearly empty bottle of wine on my bedside table.

After we finish, Tyler and I look each other in the eyes for the first time. He slides his body off me, and goes into the bathroom. I dress. The toilet flushes and the sink runs and then Tyler comes into my room. He doesn’t look at me and I don’t look at him. I walk past him and go into the bathroom and when I come back out, he’s gone.

Click here to read Part 1.