Posts tagged with "crying"

Tears as a Turn-On

It became painful­ly obvi­ous that my turn-on of girls cry­ing is relat­ed to my own pen­chant for sad love­mak­ing.

I’ve always liked the idea of bring­ing some­one from tears to bliss­ful phys­i­cal plea­sure. Like make-up sex with­out the fight­ing.

A girl was able to do that for me once, so I’ve always want­ed to be able to do it for some­one else.

Either that, or my sad­ness is min­gling with my lust.


When a man is full, what can he do?


—Zorba, the Greek

Or in my case, over­flow.

I start­ed cry­ing in class. Thankfully, no one noticed. People can get awk­ward around a crier. Unfortunately, sup­press­ing a good cry is as unsat­is­fy­ing as sti­fling a sneeze.

A lot of peo­ple hav­ing been say­ing the wrong things to me late­ly. On top of that, the abun­dance of inter­ac­tion I have with peo­ple — a side-effect of my projects — is leav­ing me drained and over­stim­u­lat­ed.

Sometimes I won­der if it’s in my nature to be emo­tion­al. That try­ing to change this is like try­ing to teach a bird not to sing.

I don’t even have time to deal with this. I have to put it all aside, because there are more impor­tant things to think about right now.

At the bus stop, I real­ized that I have a ten­den­cy to brood. I don’t lis­ten to hap­py songs to get me out of the mood. It’s all minor keys and lemon peels, so I can help it run its course.

It’s been a rough week.

Sometimes, a part of myself spills out.


This looks famil­iar.

A place I’ve been, a feel­ing I’ve had, a girl I fucked one night in the fall.

Back then she cried. Lying in bed next to me, she told me she was sor­ry. I believed her, but I did­n’t trust the tears, because she knew how much it turns me on. She got what she want­ed any­way, and I sup­pose I did too.

That was the last night I saw her.

And now this. A replace­ment who used my shots, my con­cept, my idea, and called it des­tiny.

But it isn’t can­did enough. It’s too forced. Unnatural. As if she’s try­ing too hard again to cap­ture what was lost, and what she could have had.

So she found anoth­er ver­sion, and used him in my place.

She Doesn't Know How Beautiful

The art of long­ing’s over, and it’s nev­er com­ing back.

—Leonard Cohen, Death of a Ladies’ Man

They ask me why I’m cry­ing. I tell them the song is too good, not to cry.

They ask me why there’s a bounce in my step. I tell them I’m in love, and I don’t care.

They ask me if she’s tak­en. I tell them she is.

They ask me if she knows. I tell them it does­n’t mat­ter as long as I feel this way, and I’m nev­er let­ting go.

They ask me, “Why her?”.

I tell them she makes me hap­py with­out try­ing.