Tuesday, June 28, 2005

the first time

The pictures for the last post were taken when driving down highway 6 i realized i couldn't remember in which motel i'd first done the deed (i think there's supposed to be a comma in there somewhere. forgive me). Eventually, a process of elimination - two stories; actually on the highway, not the off-ramp - narrowed it down. But the kicker was a high school friend mentioning the jacuzzis at the comfort inn. I had forgotten about that!

So the answer is a) comfort inn, on July 11th, 2000. Congratulations, nadia.

In order to talk about when it happened, we need to start with when it didn't happen.
  • At 14, with my 19 year old boyfriend at the 80's dance because my dad parked outside the dance thus preventing a visit to my date's van.
  • Again at 14, the evening before moving away from michigan, with my soulmate because his dad made him go to work at the grocery store thus thwarting our afternoon-at-a-mutual friend's plan. We ended up seeing a movie during which he went down on me (a first for me) and got me back to the hotel (because my family was already out of our house) way past curfew. I caressed the fading hickeys he left on my belly for weeks but they didn't make up for what I felt was derailed destiny.
  • At 15, when my christian boyfriend found jesus for the third time that year thus preventing all sex before marraige.
  • At 16, on the golf course, because the boy forgot a condom. I started to give him a blowjob but was so frustrated over the no condom=no sex thing that I quit halfway and left which he likened to a criminal offense.
  • At 17, with my old soulmate, in the back of his car with a box of condoms, shirts off, pulling at pants, and the cops drive up. Killed the mood, to say the least.

At this point I felt like my virginity was a curse. It was never going to "just happen" with someone I was (at least momentarily) in love with. So i took matters into my own hands.

At 18, I found a guy that was reputed to put out (he was a playa' or whatever the equivalent of a boy slut). We met with a group at a hookah bar about a week before graduation. He would come in to IHOP and drink coffee until I got off work. We'd drive around black country roads with the windows down and led zepplin blaring. He would make awkward attempts at compliments and gave me a pink floyd t-shirt for my birthday. He would do.

An integral part of this decision was the fact that he was going in to the services. The coast guard. Reserves. (this was before the current war torn state, so it really was a joke). I was leaving on a ten day trip to Europe with my parents on the 17th. By the time I returned, he would be at boot camp. He would not get out of camp until I had already left for college in new york. So, theoretically, I wouldn't have to worry about a relationship or any of that icky dumping-the-guy stuff.

So the evening before his coast guard physical, he picked me up from a particularly long shift at ihop. We got a room at the comfort inn. I was convinced everyone knew what we were doing. The only room available was a suite. This meant we got a bottle of cheap champagne and two plastic dixie cups and one of the regionally legendary jacuzzis.

He popped the champagne and drew me a bath. We sat across from each other in the jacuzzi, full of conditioning-shampoo bubbles, and he gave me a foot rub (waitresses of the world sigh in ecstasy). At this point I was ready to just go to sleep.

So we got out of the tub and toweled off. I then walked to the bed with my towel slung over the shower rod. He modestly tucked his towel around his waist and made some comment about me being "wild" and "bold". Um, I walked ten feet in the buff. Really wild, there.

He turned on the tv to some war movie set in asia so there was karate, ninjas, and guns. We started making out. I went down on him. At the last minute I pulled up, bit his nipple, and asked him to get a condom.

"What? Oh, man, I don't have any. I didn't want to make any assumptions." Hello! We are going to a hotel together. Translation: we will be having sex. You are the boy. The boy gets the condoms. (Thankfully, I am now liberated enough to carry around a dozen or so condoms for all my friends at any given time. And condoms do not assume anything. They are a responsible persons way of preparing for the future, which could possibly include sex or the need for waterballoons). I rolled over and huffed.

"In that case, I'm going to sleep." I said and closed my eyes. He spooned against me. After a few minutes he began kissing my neck. And then we were making out. And mutually jacking the other off. And he pulled up. "I'll pull out," he whispered as he pushed his way inside me. So romantic.

There was no pain. There wasn't much of anything. There was the excitement of "this is it. i'm doing it. i'm no longer a virgin." but there was also the "this is it? aren't i supposed to have an orgasm or at least feel something." The sex was missionary position and he withdrew to come in his hand. Then he scurried to the bathroom.

After I peed we curled up to sleep. He feel asleep fast and I lay there, staring at the ceiling. He woke up occasionally and I eventually dozed. We had sex two more times before his alarm went off. He had to be downtown at the recruitment center at 5:30.

After he left, I was able to sleep for a few hours. Then I woke up and sat down in the corner of the shower, trying to determine if I had changed. I gathered my things and drove to the house of the friend i had "spent the night with". Her family left their doors unlocked, so I let myself in and went upstairs to her tiny not-quite-a-twin bed. She wasn't home. I crawled under the covers and slept until she joined me after ten.

I eventually went home because I had a dental appointment, after which I slept for the remainder of the afternoon. I rented stealing beauty but the tracking was off. So i listened to the beautiful soundtrack while beginning a new journal in the light of the static. I write a letter to the unborn child I know I'm now carrying and make a condensed life plan for the next ten years until the HIV turns to AIDS. This sounds like a joke, but I was dead serious.

Led Zepplin's Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You became my soundtrack. I had it on repeat and even made a tape with an entire side of just that song. I had already left him, in my mind.

He picked me up from work one more time that week, taking me over to his house, his parents out for the evening. We watched stigmata and alice in wonderland until i turned to him and said, "i have to be home in forty minutes. do you want to do it or not?" This time he had condoms but i still didn't feel anything. After he comes and rolls off me, he sighs, "You're a difficult person to fall in love with." We kissed goodbye and I left for Europe, convinced I would never have to see him again.

About a week after I get home from Europe, he calls. "Can I come over? I need to talk to you."
He shows up and we sit on lawn furniture in the back yard. "I've had a change of plans. Instead of going in to the reserves, I'm joining the coast guard. And when I get out of boot camp, I'm going to be stationed in... New York!"

"What?!?" He seemed shocked by my obvious lack of delight. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Well, I kind of figured I would have some friends there and then we could..."

"I'm sorry, K---, but there is no we. I'm going to college. I have no desire for a relationship right now. I'm sorry if you didn't understand this. Good luck with your plans, but don't make plans for me."

He took it in, then slowly stood to go. "I guess this is goodbye?"

"Goodbye." I hugged him and lightly kissed him.

Classy but true.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

memory multiple choice

It's a game!

Guess in which classy highway six establishment jane lost her virginity. (hint: old entries may or may not be accurate as these pics were originally taken so that i could deduce what had been the actual scene of the crime.)

The choices are:

Originally uploaded by the_educated_slut.

a) comfort inn


Originally uploaded by the_educated_slut.
super 8

Originally uploaded by the_educated_slut.

c) motel 6

We'll give the game 24 hours or so and then i will post the tale, along with my plot for born again virginity.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

birthday curse

so i shouldn't be too concerned with a curse, since it has only been two birthdays. and (at least for the second) not even the entire birthday but rather the beginning. but i feel like there is a curse on my new york birthdays. in the last five years, i've only had two birthdays in new york. the others were spent living with my parents between freshman and sophomore year and at sex conferences for my 20th and 22nd birthdays. but 21 and 23 were doozies.

at 21, my date to my birthday orgy decided to pull me into the other room (at full orgy swing) to tell me he'd come to realize he needed to be in a relationship with someone for a matter of months before he could have sex with them. we met on craigslist, for pete's sake. in casual encounters. he responded to my ad seeking new experiences with the suggestion of golden showers. although i never peed on the boy we had taken several physical showers together and shared a great deal of oral and digital stimulation, but apparently this wasn't sex. it was not so much that i disrespected his feelings but rather his timing, in a word, sucked. by the time he was done talking, we went back to my room to find everyone zipping up. then everyone left except him. he stayed! and slept in my bed beside me. i don't sleep with people!!! (okay, maybe rkb and dacia and one or two other lucky critters, but as a general rule post-sex moments are best spent alone.) so i started having major anxiety and had to drug myself up on xanax as he left in the morning so that i could stop shaking and ended up sleeping through my entire 21st birthday. i woke up at 2am the next day. i had messages of birthday songs from my family, but no one i could call that late. so i cried.

this year was not nearly so traumatic, but it still sucked and it still made me cry. the day before my birthday was spent on delayed flights, the last of which circled for so long we had to land in baltimore to refuel. when i finally arrived at almost midnight (as opposed to 8), i picked up dacia and food and headed back to my place. to sleep? oh, no. to clean! that morning my land lord had called to say she wanted to show the apartment that week (the week of our lesbian fieldtrip). it hadn't been touched since the morning after the party when garbage and moldables were thrown out. i had been out of town since the 36 hours after my graduation.

so, even though it is now almost 2am, dacia and i begin to giggle with thoughts of our houseboy. we laugh louder when the thoughts shift from him cleaning my place in pretty panties again to a shared slobberly blowjob (mmmm.... cock). we decide to call the houseboy in the morning. so i put his number in to my new phone (sorry to the world of people i have yet to call with the new number, i need to pause to catch my breath before i can start talking to the world again). only i don't have the controls down yet and instead of saving the number the phone is now ringing. at 2am. on a monday night.

a piece of late night (possibly drunk) dialing ettiquette. if you begin a call well past normal hours of existence and the phone has already rang, you must stay on the line to leave a message or respond to the groggy "what the fuck?s" with an apology. plus, you might get lucky.

the houseboy answered the phone. he was just leaving a bar in the east village. he couldn't come over in the morning but he could head over now. um, okay. that sounded great to my sleep-deprived cleaning-phobic exhausted sweaty mind.

"wait, he's coming over now?" dacia asked.


"so no crashing in front of a movie naked, now?"


"well, it is kind of hot, having a houseboy at our beck and call, even at 2:30 on a Monday night."


so dacia did some laptop work and eventually crashed naked without me, as i began cleaning the apartment. an hour passed and houseboy still had not arrived. i called and he said he was two blocks away. so i put on a slip and sat on the porch steps (significantly cooler than my sweltering apartment) black thong in hand (as he was without panties at the bar). after about ten minutes, i called him again. he had taken a very wrong turn.

so i got in the car and drove to pick him up. i do get a thrill out of approaching corners with a window rolled down to pick someone up (it makes me happy in my pants). as he got in the car i said, "your panties are on your seat."

we were dismayed to find a complete lack of parking in my neighborhood. there weren't even spots on the side of the street that would need to be moved in five hours anyway. but the fire hydrant in front of my house had an extra half a space to either side. generally in my neighborhood, as long as the other side makes up for minor infringement, you can park a little bit closer to the hydrant than you should. plus i would be moving it in five hours anyways, because it was still on the wrong side of the street. add that i was hot, tired, and a little cranky, and you get an illegally parked car. "are you panties in your pocket?" I asked as we left the car.

"yes, mam" he replied.

i took him upstairs and said, "look, i can be the sexy dommey jane and we can clean and play or i can be the exhausted hot and sweaty jane that wants to take a shower and go to bed." he said the second option sounded grand, giving me a big hug which i used as an opportunity to begin removing his shirt.

brief interlude for mutual shower and soapy boobs. soapy boobs are the best texture ever. except maybe a freshly buzzed head. maybe their tied. but yeah for soapy boobs!

when then dragged a sleeping bag up to the roof and passed out (this was necessary as a sleeping dacia was indelicately sprawled across the bed, plus it was much too hot anywhere in side.) we cuddled a little but i pushed away because of the repulsion to all things hot, including bodies. and we passed out talking back and forth, like a slumber party. when the sun rose around 5:30 i peeked over the roof top to check on my car (no ticket, tralala), went downstairs to pee, and passed out for another hour and a half.

it happened when i woke up at seven.

i looked over the rooftop edge, and norm, my dear precious car, was gone. only a white drag mark on the pavement testified to her kidnapping by the man. bonus: my cell phone was in the cup holder from picking up the houseboy. double bonus: so was my credit card from pulling norm from airport parking the evening before. dacia and i were supposed to leave that morning for our lesbian field trip so all the camping gear was in back. plus, her car had failed inspection and was in the shop so we no longer had any ride.

with the help of dacia and the akward helpless glances of the houseboy, i tracked down the car, the location, the hours, the fee, and yes, i could go into my car to get my credit card to get it out of hock. then i left, without a phone bc i needed some way to reach dacia in case of an emergency, and walked to the gypsy cab stand.

when i got to the pound the folks who worked there were very pleasant. granted, it wasn't even eight o'clock so maybe they were faking it, but they seemed compassionate. the lady behind the desk even grimaced when she told me i couldn't pay the fine with my entrapped credit card because i was not the primary name on the registration. i would need to pay cash.

so i walked two avenue blocks uphill under the bqe on a path paved with dirt and broken glass (and not even the safety kind, i'm talking shards) and seven blocks over through an industrial neighborhood, yawning the entire way. a smart ass amongst the horn blowers and hecklers asks if i need a cup of coffee.

"i need two hundred bucks," i snap, then smile provocatively as i realize that, hey, i would blow him to avoid walking any further in this heat and murk and cheap summer shoes. he just shakes his head so i continue on my way to the nearest atm, which happens to be in a bank.

it also happens to be that the bank doesn't open until nine and as the atm is inside the bank, it doesn't open until nine, either, the manager so kindly informs me. so i kill time eating a pastry and sipping a soda in the pizzeria across the street.

finally, the bank opens, i get the cash, and i walk back looking all the sidewalk loiterers in the eye and greeting them before they have a chance at a second round of snide comments. i pay the fine and am handed a slip to give to the security escort to retrieve my car.

as she walks me towards norm, i am too overwhelmed at the fact that i'm getting her back to look around. i chirp the keys and thank the guard. as i slip behind the wheel i turn on the ac and some music. i glance around. credit card, check. cell phone, check.

houseboy's slinky black thong: check.

splayed on the passenger seat like a four year old with no shame.

i shove them in my purse and begin to laugh/cry for a moment. then compose myself and drive home, stopping for gas, a cooler, a tarp, and an oil change on the way. dacia, sweet beautiful dacia, has cleaned the apartment so all i have to do is jump in the cold shower to maintain some reasonable body temperature while she loads the cooler, throw camping clothes in a bag, and drive away.

off, on our lesbian field trip, en route to camping and whales and lobster, we leave the neighborhood before noon.

tonight, tonight

went so incredibly well. i enunciated and paced myself and they laughed! the audience especially enjoyed my demonstration of the "shoe horn" dildo insertion technique (three fingers in curving towards g-spot, slide dong along palm into place while removing hand). and the folks got a taste of my "baby dyke learns to score" piece for russ kick's upcoming anthology (bc i'm going to be published, plug plug plug) everything you know about sex is wrong.

i am also completely in love with joe jervis of joemygod.com and hanne blank of misia.livejournal.com (and a number of super cool books). my honorable mention goes to dan fishback of danfishback.com and the band cheese on bread (cheeseonbread.com). everyone there was super amazing. i was completely honored to be considered anywhere near their league. go to wysiwigtalentshow.org for the complete lineup and links.

and now, the best sentence i have ever written:

"craigslist had been my source for casual dick and a new coffee table."

now that i will actually be in my apartment for 48 hours without guests (something i haven't enjoyed since pre-iud may 21st), the blogging will commence.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

in the flesh

you should see the pretty graphic for the wysiwig show this tuesday where i will be reading.

that's right, a chance to meet jane in the flesh, and listen to her tell you a dirty story full of girl-on-girl action. you can go to the wysiwig website at http://www.wysiwygtalentshow.org/ for more info. apparently the ticket master tickets may be sold out, but ps 122 holds a few extras, so call them up for the hook up.

if you absolutely can not come tuesday night, but are in the general nyc area, you get a second chance to meet jane at the mermaid parade at coney island on saturday. i will be selling things, probably shirts but possibly my ass. i will need help applying sunscreen to my tattoos. spf 30 or 45, please, oil free. dacia is planning on being there, too (as if you needed the extra motivation).

Sunday, June 12, 2005


i have an apartment in houston!

and i have a texas cell phone. this means they disconnected my new york line (bitches) so folks who would be calling me, i will ring you monday evening with the new number.

love you all. excited and a little creeped out and frozen in the ac.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

meet jane

over the glasses
Originally uploaded by the_educated_slut.
finally, the face shot you've all been begging for.

Jane Vincent, BS

I did it. I have two little letters after my name. And I'm smart enough to change into comfy shoes after crossing the stage.

I'm also smart enough to finally figure out flickr. rock.


This is a test post from flickr, a fancy photo sharing thing.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

feel your balls

check this out http://www.rachelgetsfruity.com/flash.html

almost as good as tom green.

thanks zombie (www.livejournal.com/users/zombienought).

Monday, June 06, 2005

avoiding drama

i'm just trying to get through the next 24 hours and graduate at this point. major family drama, unfortunately.

but the party was wonderful. i had no idea i had so many wonderful people in my life. i will write more on that later, but until then, read dacia's account of the after party http://www.wakingvixen.com/

Friday, June 03, 2005

the naked man in my bathroom (the whole story)

Okay, he’s not completely naked. He’s wearing a purple velvet thong. And he’s scrubbing my bathtub.

I’ve never claimed to be a neat person. Before I was grounded for breaking curfew and kissing older boys, I was grounded for my messy room. Not much has changed. Except now, instead of a messy room, I have a messy apartment. While it is okay for living, it is not appropriate for hosting a party.

So what does a resourceful girl do? Why, turn to craigslist, of course. Yesterday, Dacia and I posted for a houseboy.

Houseboy desired for Thursday evening

My roommate and I are hosting a party this weekend and have become overwhelmed. We are looking for a houseboy to clean our bathroom this Thursday evening.

This will primarily involve scrubbing the sink, bathtub, and toilet, as well as cleaning the floors. You are welcome to sweep and mop the kitchen as well, if you so desire.

We would love for you to clean in an apron, panties, or the nude, but this is not necessary.

We are 25 and (turning) 23 (it’s my birthday party) respectively. One has dark hair, one has red, both have glasses. We’re students and all around busy girls.

No physical contact and no monetary reimbursement. We’re in Ridgewood, Queens off of the L and M trains.

Hope to see you soon.

We received a glut of responses. There were quite a few “why would someone do that for free?” and “what do I get out of it?”, a couple dozen “I’m interested. Call me. Now.” and about a dozen sincere inquiries.

Dacia and I were very excited about an enthused panty fetishist who was especially fond of the nude male clothed female power dynamic. However, when he did not immediately respond, we booked another houseboy. Who confirmed and followed-up with phone calls. But did not show.

So, at nine o’clock, we called our original choice.



“This is Jane. Are you busy?”

“No. What’s up?”

“Well, we are very disappointed. Our houseboy for the evening has not arrived. Would you be available?”

“Yes, mam.”

I put down the phone. “Damn, you were rocking the sexy voice,” Dacia exclaimed from her corner of the couch.

“I try.”

He called when he got off the train. We were waiting on the porch steps as he walked up, backpack slung over one shoulder, scrunching down to read the numbers on the apartment.


“Hi” he smiles.

“I’m Jane.”

“I’m Dacia”

“Thank you so much for coming.”
”Thanks for having me”

We led him inside and up the stairs to my apartment. We showed him the newly arranged kitchen. I took him to the bathroom. “The main things are the floor and the tub. I dyed my hair today, just for you. Do you think you can handle it?”

“I can handle it.”

Dacia and I sat down on the couch and Steve stood in front of us.

“Show us your panties.” He removed a plastic grocery bag from his backpack. Inside were a dozen pairs, mostly thongs. There were pink lacy Victoria secrets and white cotton banana republics as well as exciting finds from Conway and the dollar store. Dacia and I picked out five pairs we liked. A black silk string bikini cut, with full ass coverage to start with. Followed by a sheer red lace thong. A purple velvet thong. I sheer leopard print number with gold sparkles. And a teeny tiny baby blue number that was nothing more than a thin triangle of blue and three strings joined by a small silver hoop the size of a dime.

“Feel how soft this one is,” I said to Dacia.

“Ooohhhh… Put this one on.”

He looked at us, fully clothed, hands to his side. “Well?” he asked.

“Oh. Take off your clothes.” He began with his shirt revealing a well muscled but not over-buff physique (“I don’t like men with too many muscles.” “I didn’t make him for you!”).

“Now the pants.” He dropped trou. He was wearing grey cotton boxer briefs, embracing an exciting (and excited) bulge.

“I’m not wearing panties because what if I got in to an accident or something? My mother would freak.” I love a houseboy with a great sense of humor.

“Okay. And the boxers, please.”

“What about the socks?”

“Well, are you a duchess?”


“Some people prefer to leave their socks on. But obviously not you. Please take off your socks.”

“Feet are good,” says Dacia. “Now show us your cock.”

He blushes as he slides his boxers down, stepping out with one foot, flipping them up to his hand with the other, a maneuver that becomes a trademark of the evening. He rubs his semi-stiff cock with one hand. His freshly shaven balls dangle. Dacia hands him the silky black panties.

“Put these on.”

He slides into them. Tucking his cock inside, attempting to negotiate his balls.

“Now, turn around.” He has such a cute ass. “Okay, face us. Just stand there and let us look at you.” I curl my knees up on to the couch and hold my chin. “You’re just so beautiful.” He blushes.

“I think we should make him change again,” Dacia interjects.

“Okay.” We pick out the sheer red thong.

“Take off your panties.” He complies.

“Now, put these on.” He slides the red pair up his legs and against his cock. The head tucks in the cotton lining of the crotch, balls bulging on either side. It is one of the hottest things I have ever seen.

“Turn around.” His hand rubs his ass, then shyly pulls away.

“I saw that. Smack your ass.” Spank!

“And the other cheek.” Spank!

“Make them nice and rosey.” Smack, smack!

“Wonderful. Now, let’s get to work.”

I lead him in to the bathroom. I show him the milkcrate we had set up full of cleaning supplies. “You have a broom, mop, dust pan, shakey comet powder, windex, and bathroom tile spray, plus two scrubby sponges with the rough green sides. Think you can handle it?”

“Yes, mam.”

“Excellent. Get to work.” I walk back in to the living room to Dacia, giddy.

“Oh my god, he’s so hot” she mouths.

“I know. I want to jump him.”

“But not tonight.”

“Oh. Of course not. That wouldn’t be professional.”

As he finishes each section, there is an inspection and change of panties. After the sink he changes in to the purple velvet thong. As we are instructing his costume change, he asks, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Go scrub the tub!” is my reply. Dacia bursts out laughing.

While he is cleaning the bathroom floor my neighbor comes over to see if we want anything from the corner bodega. I tell her we have a guest. After checking with Steve, I invite her to join us.

He comes in to the living room in his sparkly leopard print thong.

“Rub your dick,” I instruct. “I want to see it pop when you pull down your thong.” Our neighbor is stifling laughter. There is far outside the realm of her normal day-to-day. Steve’s dick grows hard, straining the sheer fabric. When it is nearly bursting we tell him to stop and pull his panties down, slowly. His dick jumps.

We have him continue jerking off. “Turn around and brace yourself against the chair with your legs spread.” We admire the down of his ass and his balls bouncing between his legs. “Okay, face us and put these on.” I hand him the tiny baby blue g-string.

“Now?!?” he asks, motioning to his engorged cock.

“Yes.” He struggles into the panties. His balls split and stretched by the string. We have him pirouette.

“Damn, that’s one tight pair of panties!” Dacia exclaims.

“No kidding,” our houseboy teases, adjusting himself.

“Excellent. Now we need you to sweep the kitchen.” He begins. We admire and eat little chocolate donuts and gummy worms.

“Done,” he proudly proclaims.

He approaches, waiting our next command.

“We want you to jerk off.”

“But I thought we would save that for the end,” he protests.

“Well, this way you can come, and then mop it up.”

“Oh…” his grin speads across his face. He begins stroking his cock. Once erect, he stands and shakes his hips, sending his cock flying against either thigh, fwap fwap fwap. “That feels good”

“That looks good,” we agree.

He sits in a chair, legs spread, bracing against the floor. His tight shaven balls flushed like a nectarine. Dick flying as fingers pump around the shaft, index finger extended, conducting the experience.

“I want to see you shoot,” I say.

“On the floor,” says Dacia.

“Now,” says the neighbor.

He begins to shake, his muscles tense as his orgasm builds. When he shoots the spurts arc as they fly to the floor.

I applaud. After he catches his breath, I motion towards the mop. “Time to clean things up.” He eagerly complies, in the buff.

Before he leaves, I ask him what he wants his pseudonym to be in my “letter to penthouse.”

“You can call me Vladamir. Fresh from Coney Island. Big Dick. 12 Inches. We all have big dick on the Volga.” We crack up and invite him to my party on Saturday. Then Dacia and I go to bed, to happy dirty dreams of our new houseboy.

I’m still giggling.

the naked man in my bathroom

okay, he's not completely naked. he's wearing a purple velvet thong. and he's scrubbing my bathtub.

explanation in the morning. sweet dreams, darlings.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

geeked out

I could have kicked wonder woman's ass today.

Dacia and I woke up early (after I stayed up until 3am building an evite, damn registration erasing the hour and a half of culling email addresses). I hauled the three year accumulation of good will donations from the mountain in the hallway, into garbage bags, down the stairs, and in to the car. Dropped Dacia off at the train. Donated the clothing at the drop off dumpster. Hit Blockbuster. Ran through the discount store for disposable plates and new fans. And bought all the groceries for the party (although i forgot sour cream for the multi-layered bean dip). All before 11:30am.

I then bought a turkey sandwich and a lemonade and took a nap.

Woke up at three to reserve a rental car for apartment hunting in houston, screened for a houseboy, and reserved a camp site and tickets for whale watching with Dacia on my birthday. Took a shower and responded to RSVPs, and shifted more furniture around the apartment. My goal is to only need to buy ice and get a pedicure on Saturday.

Then I hopped a train for Manhattan to the John Frieda salon, with a quick laptop handoff to the roommate who now lives with a boy. Got my first haircut in three years and first long cut (not chopping it off to the earlobes) since I was 13. I will be wearing my hair down with my graduation cap. It was an apprentice cut so the student did about two thirds while the expert demonstrated techniques and guided the cut. I have curly layers. The curls on the side of my face made me feel like farrah fawcett walking in the wind.

The haircut took longer than I anticipated. I ran downtown only to show up at Bluestockings after the reading had ended. Everyone was standing outside the store. Michelle Tea was surrounded by a crowd and a cloud of smoke. I went in the store (which is currently a book store without books due to their awesome renovation which includes a pepto pink bathroom) and chatted with one of the owners I know from dyke knitting circle. I kept looking outside at Michelle Tea but just couldn't approach her. Finally, I slunk away without making so much as eye contact, my exhaustively underlined and perpetually unsigned copy of Passionate Mistakes and Intricate Corruption of One Girl in America burning a hole (hole of shame) in my bag.

Then I accompanied the newly tonsil-less neighbor to meet a myspace friend around the block, which involved socializing for another hour and a half. Now I'm going to lay around in my panties, knit, and watch The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.

I am super Jane and I am exhausted.

missing time

There are two kinds of great books. There are books like the doorman which you stretch out over weeks, savoring four pages at a time in hopes that is does not end. And there are books like Mysterious Skin that you read at any possible moment, devouring chapters while stuck in traffic racing towards the final page.

What do you do after finishing a book like scott heim’s mysterious skin? This beautiful, moving novel details the lives of two boys who share a pedophilic little league coach. The first views the experiences as love. He hustles and tricks older men. The second remembers nothing. He has blank chunks of missing time which he later believes could be due to alien abduction. This book provides a fictional bridge between powerful memoirs such as Bastard out of Carolina and jt leroy’s body of work. The power of the imagery is at times overwhelming. By the end of the second chapter you will never look at cereal the same way again.

With such a strong book it is impossible to ignore personal parallels. After closing the back cover, I lay awake thinking of my own missing time. Unlike brian’s five hours, I am missing two and a half years. I became obsessed with this time my freshman year of college, convinced that something had happened to me. Something did happen, but I do not believe it was sexual.

The last thing I remember is the day before Christmas vacation in second grade. My best friend, Amanda was being picked up by her family on the way to the airport to get her grandparents. As she drove away, one of the girls in our girl scout troop mentioned how annoying Amanda had become of late. I scoffed, “I know. Sometimes I wish she would go away.”

The next thing I remember, I am trying to kill myself by smothering between the mattress and the box spring. I am nine.

In that gap, several major events occurred. First, the morning after Christmas, Amanda burned to death in a Christmas tree fire.

The next fall, my alcoholic grandfather almost killed himself (and another driver) in a car accident. He came to live with us for several months.

Finally, we moved for the first time.

Throw in the apparent early onset of my depression and you have a few legitimate and traumatic reasons to repress a period of time.

The following year, my mother sat with me at the top of the staircase and had “the talk”. She explained sex occurred between a man and a woman who were married and loved each other very much. The man put his penis in the woman’s vagina then released a fluid that was different than pee. This was how babies were made. And it was enjoyable. And a man and a woman could have sex on a woman’s period if they put down a towel first. That was sex. Oh, and there was also rape.

So, sex happened with marriage or rape. I became convinced I was going to be raped. I stared at every approaching car, convinced they would slow down to swipe me. I read the anonymous autobiographies, a la Go Ask Alice, detailing the pregnancies and AIDS deaths. I started writing short stories of rape in which the protagonist never tells her mother or friends and has her child in secret, running away from the shame.

I “just knew” rape was a part of me. In junior high and early high school, I became involved in witchcraft and the occult. Maybe I was raped in a past life. That’s why it hasn’t happened yet. It’s already happened.

The spring of my freshman year of college, at the urging of a male friend, I began to pry at the missing chunk of time. He supported the sexual abuse theory, targeting either my grandfather or the male neighbors next door (who in retrospect were probably a closeted couple).

But then I was raped. And the word left my vocabulary.

instead of this

My obgyn suggested I wait a week or two before putting anything near my cervix. This is for comfort as well as preventing infections. So no dicks, dildos, tampons, or instead menstrual cups.

I miss my instead!

This is my first period without them in over a year. It is also my first pad-only period since sixth grade.

I keep forgetting to put a spare in my bag. Usually, I rinse out the instead cups and use them again for a day or so. (My gyn has okayed this.) But pads only hold so much until overflow. Is it my imagination or have all the tampon/pad dispensers disappeared from ladies’ rooms? The only times I have had leaks with instead is when I inserted them wrong or when I sleep with one on the first or second night of my rag. My jeans now have two rust lines on either side of the crotch.

I had forgotten that very special sensation of hauling ass on a hot day in jeans with a full pad. As Dacia likes to say, crotch soup.