‘Kiss me on my open mouth’

“Now I’m off to the races, laces
Leather on my waist is tight and I am fallin’ down
I can see your face is shameless, Cipriani’s basement
Love you but I’m going down
God I’m so crazy, baby, I’m sorry that I’m misbehaving
I’m your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island
Raising hell all over town
Sorry ’bout it.”

— Lana Del Rey, “Off to the Races”

I’m obsessed with Lana Del Rey right now, and this song in particular. As if I needed a new theme song.

I got to thinking on the long drive home about “50 Shades of Grey.” Or as Mom says my book will be, “50 Shades of Rage.”

Anyway, I haven’t read the trilogy. I want to. I guess. It’s just that I was writing this shit when I was a teenager and I hate it that someone else is getting rich off of my storylines.

My deal was that I put the books down so I could get some life experience. And I wish I were getting more.

Anyway, on the drive, I realized I had a Christian Grey of sorts. Not Chris Hemsworth hot. But, you know, someone who got to me.

I find that I have the most fun when I’m not emotionally involved. Detachment apparently makes me more desirable. And I think that absolute lack of pressure helps me to enjoy a heightened sense of pleasure from every moment.

So I got to thinking about this wild affair, sneaking all over town and hooking up in theaters and museums and all kinds of other exhilarating (for me) places. Which, he was no dummy. He planned that shit. He knew what would do it for me.

What ended it was the usual — me running away. Not that I had reasons to stay, really. But I just couldn’t do what he was asking.

No, not those kinds of things. I’m pretty … ah, agreeable. I mean, like really raw, vulnerable, intimate things. Everyday things. Things you do effortlessly without people watching.

I’m not so good with that. I … just can’t even talk about it.

Recently I let one of my boys actually touch my hair. Twice. It was maddening, in a way, because I don’t let anybody near my hair. The trust it took, he’ll never actually know.

Even though it was a friend and we were just talking, I was hyper-aware that anything resembling having someone in my space without a cocktail or an agenda is relatively unchartered territory.

Anyway, Christian Grey. Maybe I need to look into this “reading something other than the Wall Street Journal” thing. All work and no play has made Goddess a bit of a dullard, even if she has an emerging market that needs to be tapped.

Hmm. New headline for my Match profile? 😉

Comments closed.