I got promoted to the advanced class to work even more on pointe. I've never been more tired or more excited. Some people didn't like me as a tall Clara, saying that my height made me look too old for the role. Being taller than most of the girls my age, I've always been known as "the tall girl". None of the boys want to partner with me because I'm taller than a lot of them are and, because of the shortage of boys, I might have to partner with a girl.
My heart fluttered at the thought of being so close to another girl. I didn't understand my boy-crazy friends and just thought that Mindcrack had a shortage of cute boys and too many cute girls. I don't understand why some people think it's bad for girls to like girls. Why do people think it's okay to say it's bad to love someone when those same people are too busy driving others into suicide and filling the world with hate?
Though I try not to notice, it gets to me when I see how other girls are so thin and beautiful. Do I want to be with them or do I want to be them? Another girl did effortless echapées in her pointe shoes. How did she do that? I've heard that tall dancers have difficulties with moving quickly and, being the tall girl, such is my reality. That and being taller makes me look older despite being the youngest girl in the class.
Our exam will be a solo from Act 1 of Giselle. Every girl wants to be Giselle, which makes it the competition that much tenser. Naturally, I'm working on my positions and looking like I'm gliding across the stage. I've heard it said that my strength is making music with my body rather than just moving to it. It helps that I sing, play the trumpet, and have just begun to learn full kit drumming. The more music I can make, the more I can see myself as someone more than the tall girl.
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Saturday, June 30, 2018
Monday, June 25, 2018
What's Wrong With Me? (Steve)
(A/N: It's revenge time.)
I wish I saw in the mirror whatever made the public think I was worthy of their constant adoration, but all I see is something that I want to kill. How could anyone stand looking in my direction? It makes me sick--so sick that I had my head in the toilet after eating the homemade food Everan made for me. Going down, it was delicious, but I couldn't let it settle anywhere on my body. I had already lost muscle. I didn't need to be fat too.
Nothing slips past the eyes of the public--at least nothing that they want to see. They turn a blind eye to all the shapewear, extensions, makeup, extreme diets, and overall discontentment of the famous while there's always someone willing to make a conspiracy theory about lipstick on a model's teeth or using my suicide attempt to justify some crackpot theory about Big Pharma. I thought about the night I had with Mark. What did he find tolerable, much less attractive, about me?
People think I don't--or even can't--notice or care about the covert whispers exchanged among female teachers and prominent Twitter activists. The thing is, I do notice. I have no choice but to notice--and noticing means I need to fix the problems I see. That started with speaking normally and then doing my hair differently. Now, I need to fix my body. If that means I have to throw up every time I eat, so be it. People are free until they are needed--and now I was needed more than ever.
Amid all the politics and the fighting, people needed me to be this face, this image of something that was okay no matter what. But I'm not okay and I'm not as strong as everyone says I am. I'm like a piece of gold armor: cool and shiny, but so flimsy that any real use will cause it to bend out of shape. One of my students had a phone case that said: "If you can't be useful, be pretty." Did people only "listen" to me because I was just another piece of eye candy in the dish?
Just yesterday, a little boy stopped me in the street the other day and told me that he wanted to be just like me. I smiled and ruffled his hair as my stomach churned thinking about him willing himself to throw up. But I still couldn't stop. I rinsed my mouth out and fought myself as I tried to avoid the mirror. I knew I would see the visage of a bloated corpse, but I also knew that the camera was a brutally honest friend.
I wish I saw in the mirror whatever made the public think I was worthy of their constant adoration, but all I see is something that I want to kill. How could anyone stand looking in my direction? It makes me sick--so sick that I had my head in the toilet after eating the homemade food Everan made for me. Going down, it was delicious, but I couldn't let it settle anywhere on my body. I had already lost muscle. I didn't need to be fat too.
Nothing slips past the eyes of the public--at least nothing that they want to see. They turn a blind eye to all the shapewear, extensions, makeup, extreme diets, and overall discontentment of the famous while there's always someone willing to make a conspiracy theory about lipstick on a model's teeth or using my suicide attempt to justify some crackpot theory about Big Pharma. I thought about the night I had with Mark. What did he find tolerable, much less attractive, about me?
People think I don't--or even can't--notice or care about the covert whispers exchanged among female teachers and prominent Twitter activists. The thing is, I do notice. I have no choice but to notice--and noticing means I need to fix the problems I see. That started with speaking normally and then doing my hair differently. Now, I need to fix my body. If that means I have to throw up every time I eat, so be it. People are free until they are needed--and now I was needed more than ever.
Amid all the politics and the fighting, people needed me to be this face, this image of something that was okay no matter what. But I'm not okay and I'm not as strong as everyone says I am. I'm like a piece of gold armor: cool and shiny, but so flimsy that any real use will cause it to bend out of shape. One of my students had a phone case that said: "If you can't be useful, be pretty." Did people only "listen" to me because I was just another piece of eye candy in the dish?
Just yesterday, a little boy stopped me in the street the other day and told me that he wanted to be just like me. I smiled and ruffled his hair as my stomach churned thinking about him willing himself to throw up. But I still couldn't stop. I rinsed my mouth out and fought myself as I tried to avoid the mirror. I knew I would see the visage of a bloated corpse, but I also knew that the camera was a brutally honest friend.
Saturday, June 16, 2018
Tied Up (Yuuto)
A/N: This is pretty explicit. Make sure your parents aren't looking over your shoulder.
Wait...how do I do this again?
I found a shibari tutorial online because I was bored and Landon brought it up in a conversation of ours. He said he'd always wanted to try it along with some other standard kink fare, but Steve never really tended to well to their...well...needs in that respect. Naturally, I collected the ropes and everything else I needed. How many knots are in shibari? It's a good thing I practiced scales on French horn. Otherwise, my fingers would never be nimble enough to do it.
When I transferred high schools, I had low self-esteem at the time and was painfully aware of people calling me gay (which is true) or a girl, so I compensated by sleeping with as many girls as I could. Neither of us was happy. The acts were so clumsy and furtive that I would have been better off reading discount yaoi from the local bookstore. I felt a tingling sensation between my legs as I heard footsteps coming towards the door.
I brought Landon's wrists together in one swift motion and tied the first knot after removing his clothes. Being the talented actor he is, he looked genuinely surprised despite us having planned this. I tied more and more knots and prepared myself. Landon's yelp had indicated that I was doing something right, so I bound him to my bed for good measure.
When I got to the final knot, I decided to have a bit of fun. I found the paddle on my dresser, a rather flexible one that resembled a flyswatter, and spanked him with it.
"Stop."
"Beg for it." The power rushed through me as if I've had four cups of coffee.
"Please." Tears built in his eyes. "Please stop."As he fought the ropes, I tossed the paddle aside and used my hands. His skin was already visibly red. He had told me in his contract that tears meant I should keep going, but unresponsiveness meant I should stop. How much of a pain kink does this guy have? If it were anyone else, I would have stopped at this point. However, I knew what Landon liked, so I progressed into preparing us for the final act.
Both of us felt energy coursing through our bodies, aching for release. However, both of us held back knowing that would make it that much sweeter. Taking turns gasping with pleasure, the relief washed over both of us and left us breathless and daze. After offering Landon a tissue and a spot in the shower, I got dressed and went to the kitchen to get tea and snacks for both of us.
Wait...how do I do this again?
I found a shibari tutorial online because I was bored and Landon brought it up in a conversation of ours. He said he'd always wanted to try it along with some other standard kink fare, but Steve never really tended to well to their...well...needs in that respect. Naturally, I collected the ropes and everything else I needed. How many knots are in shibari? It's a good thing I practiced scales on French horn. Otherwise, my fingers would never be nimble enough to do it.
When I transferred high schools, I had low self-esteem at the time and was painfully aware of people calling me gay (which is true) or a girl, so I compensated by sleeping with as many girls as I could. Neither of us was happy. The acts were so clumsy and furtive that I would have been better off reading discount yaoi from the local bookstore. I felt a tingling sensation between my legs as I heard footsteps coming towards the door.
I brought Landon's wrists together in one swift motion and tied the first knot after removing his clothes. Being the talented actor he is, he looked genuinely surprised despite us having planned this. I tied more and more knots and prepared myself. Landon's yelp had indicated that I was doing something right, so I bound him to my bed for good measure.
When I got to the final knot, I decided to have a bit of fun. I found the paddle on my dresser, a rather flexible one that resembled a flyswatter, and spanked him with it.
"Stop."
"Beg for it." The power rushed through me as if I've had four cups of coffee.
"Please." Tears built in his eyes. "Please stop."As he fought the ropes, I tossed the paddle aside and used my hands. His skin was already visibly red. He had told me in his contract that tears meant I should keep going, but unresponsiveness meant I should stop. How much of a pain kink does this guy have? If it were anyone else, I would have stopped at this point. However, I knew what Landon liked, so I progressed into preparing us for the final act.
Both of us felt energy coursing through our bodies, aching for release. However, both of us held back knowing that would make it that much sweeter. Taking turns gasping with pleasure, the relief washed over both of us and left us breathless and daze. After offering Landon a tissue and a spot in the shower, I got dressed and went to the kitchen to get tea and snacks for both of us.
Friday, June 1, 2018
Cool For the Summer (Steve)
Mark and I met for lunch and, though the food was good, I hardly remembered it. He made me laugh and unwind in a way that I didn't think was possible. We headed to the mines, pickaxes in tow. The cold air of a cave makes me feel at home. I still miss Caitlin--I always will--but the way Mark talked to me made me realize that I like him in a way I never thought I would. I don't know if fate is actually something, but it must have been fate that we were friends. Can we be more than that? It seems that the answer is not if, but when and when is this moment and onward.
Mark and Caitlin were polar opposites in more ways than one, but similar in many others. Mark had the same inviting smile, genuineness, and warmth about him. However, he wasn't bashful about it. He walked like he owned the world. I don't know why he was nervous about me telling me that he liked me. If anything, I should be the nervous one. I shake before I face the camera or step on the podium. I stay up all night worrying about how I come off to others. Mark isn't like that, partially because he's not the face of the world, but something tells me that he would be better at it than I am.
I found a few diamonds, but they didn't shine as bright as Mark's eyes when he comes up with a bad pun. I need to get my sword repaired soon. A zombie groaned behind me, but a groan had alerted me that Mark defeated it with his two katanas. I returned the favor by charging a couple of skeletons and collecting their armor. The combat program at Mark's school can use some armor, especially since the seniors trashed the armory in support of banning compound bows and bows with automatic nocking functions on school campuses.
Since it was getting late and that meant having to fight even more zombies, I suggested that we stay at my place. Mark agreed and followed me. We removed our helmets and found an overhang to rest under and, as I started to breathe, I felt a hand making its way around my waist and a tugging sensation as I was tugged into a kiss. I tried matching the movements of Mark's lips the best I could and having played the lead part in Bugler's Holiday in the morning my embouchure had its warm-up for the day.
"You're a good kisser." Mark was now on top of me. Blushing fiercely, I furtively agreed and we continued on.
When we got back, I waited to shower. Both of us have marching seasons to prepare for and that means not writing drill while sleep-deprived. I got both of us glasses of water, but, when I turned around, Mark wasn't there. After looking around, I caught a whiff of something that smelled like roses, strawberries, cinnamon, smoke, and many other things that shouldn't go well together, but did. What was going on?
I followed my nose to my room. I wanted to sleep, but, judging by the way Mark positioned himself on my bed amid some random rose petals, he had other ideas. The burning incense wasn't overpowering, but distinct enough to clue me into what Mark had in mind. His clothes were in a pile at the foot of the bed, so I followed suit and joined him.
"How was that?" Mark was on top of me once again. He put his clothes back on and sat next to me. I would have said he did excellently, but I couldn't. Every part of my body trembled with a pleasure that I've never felt before. Before, I wouldn't have said that soulmates exist, but Mark had proven me wrong. When the shaking died down, I took my shower, put on my pajamas, and curled up in his arms feeling safer than ever.
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