Music for my trip: Death to the Pixies, an old Verve bossa nova compilation, Portishead's Dummy, TV on the Radio's first album, and some Tiger Army in case I get sleepy.
I have this weird passion for the scent of clean, bleached fabric. When I was a teenager and was with my first serious boyfriend he always wore white tees (not the huge kind Andre 3000 raps about) and I always thought his neck was the best-smelling place in the whole world. I'd kiss him there all the time, cause he was taller than me and when we hugged it was the natural place for my face to go. One day I realized it was his shirts, that his mama bleached, that were turning me on. Pheremones may or may not have played a role, but to this day, I love bleached fabric and will only have white sheets on my bed. Right now they're the softest jersey and make it hard to get out of bed.
For the first time in...I don't know....three years or so...I don't want to have meaningless sex. What's wrong with me? My regulars are calling me to go have a good time and I just don't have the heart to do anything. It used to be enough for me to be attracted to someone physically and intellectually (the few times I've fucked people that weren't intellectual enough for me turned out pretty awful). I've had sexual experiences that are the envy of my friends, but now I want to be allowed to care about someone again. I want to trust someone and know that my fidelity is appreciated (and reciprocated).
Talk to me next week.
I know this is melodramatic, but it's better than the video for One Line (my first choice):
I have this weird passion for the scent of clean, bleached fabric. When I was a teenager and was with my first serious boyfriend he always wore white tees (not the huge kind Andre 3000 raps about) and I always thought his neck was the best-smelling place in the whole world. I'd kiss him there all the time, cause he was taller than me and when we hugged it was the natural place for my face to go. One day I realized it was his shirts, that his mama bleached, that were turning me on. Pheremones may or may not have played a role, but to this day, I love bleached fabric and will only have white sheets on my bed. Right now they're the softest jersey and make it hard to get out of bed.
For the first time in...I don't know....three years or so...I don't want to have meaningless sex. What's wrong with me? My regulars are calling me to go have a good time and I just don't have the heart to do anything. It used to be enough for me to be attracted to someone physically and intellectually (the few times I've fucked people that weren't intellectual enough for me turned out pretty awful). I've had sexual experiences that are the envy of my friends, but now I want to be allowed to care about someone again. I want to trust someone and know that my fidelity is appreciated (and reciprocated).
Talk to me next week.
I know this is melodramatic, but it's better than the video for One Line (my first choice):
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Sense memory for smells is a powerful, wonderful thing, and it seems to last forever--it still works for me for cheap perfumes from middle school, unfortunately.
You'll likely still be responding to the fresh-sheets smell when you're in the Old Bookish Ladies' Home, which is good, because they've got great laundry service there.