The world behind the mask is bigger than the world outside.
It's shapeless and invisible. But when I'm wearing it and playing the part aptly, no one can get to the core of me. I can turn from one face to another and the mask turns with me(more). Softening a smile here, hardening a stare there. I become what they want of me.
Ekphrasis. No matter what they speak of, they are really describing themselves. I shape myself to the cracks and curves, probe every inch of themselves that they reveal, nest in the emptiness, furrow to their core. I give them what they never knew they were missing.
Perhaps its greatest power of illusion is allowing me to change the way I see myself. A sharpness in my words. A brazen hand on the body of a near-stranger. Such behavior in myself fills me with surprise and delight, thrill even, as if it's not me doing it at all. What's more, I can learn to see beauty in things that might other wise seem ugly-- even monstrous.
And at the end of the night, when I take the mask off, all of the sins go with it. I am who I am again, and he is someone else, someone far, far away from me. (less)
I found solace in empty gyms. It was usually midnight, when I'd use my ID to fuck with the lock on the doors of Cal State Northridge's basketball court. Maybe I'd get in, sometimes I wouldn't. When I did get in, I'd stay for hours, running dribbling drills, shooting(more) free throws, playing in the dreams of not-yet-realized realities. (less)
and when i donned the facade i suddenly felt a strange sense of meaninglessness. as if i had only just put on my real face. and the little whispers started and the little voices sounded and the little angels fell one by one like flower pots on a balcony(more) and i was me. then some time later when i put my fingers to my face and found that no amount of prying could get it off and no amount of screaming could quench the emptiness and then i knew. (less)
On a couch in an air-conditioned hair salon, I am listening to women gossip while they get their eyebrows dyed to match their hair.
Their words feel as foreign to me as I feel in my seat, flipping through catalogues of girls that will some day age. There(more) must be a thousand pictures at least, but they could all be the same person, with the same 'fun girl' hairstyle.
But I want something else. I have another list on my phone, and I pull this out for quick reference. These girls are still ageless, but timeless, edgier somehow. Less flirty. Sexy in their deliberate, unpretentious European unkemptness. Kind of how I was seen in college -- the girl who hacked off her hair overnight and owned every look that came after.
In college, I refolded that envelope and mailed it out to the world to make what they wanted of it.
I tried hacking my hair again years after, broken and a bit lost in all the structure suddenly around me. I can't say it had the same result. That autumn, I tucked my knees tightly against my chest and hid away for the endless winter.
"So, what would you like today?", she asks me. My hair has grown out to my shoulders again and it will be teetering on unruly in a few weeks. I bite an already bitten lip as I hear myself think the words. Who have I become? I fling wildly between my ape-rebellious self and the polite 50s housewife I sometimes feel destiny might have wanted me to be. Which one of those dangerously sexy hairstyles should I ask for?
I ponder this for a long while.
"I want a trim", I sigh. Just things as they were. Me in the city, with friends.(less)
It hurt for a moment but then all of the last life left Cassidy. She woke up as no one. Then pieces of something. Then she was old enough to know things others knew but not how to apply them to life. In a few more minutes Rachel, as(more) she would be known now, knew more than someone who had lived two hundred years.
before you say it, before you even say it, think of all the fun we had. the time i bought you ice cream when yours dropped. the time i carried you across the wet road. the time i messaged every little bit of you. the time you came so(more) hard that you ripped the sheets. the time when you told me you loved me. think about the loving cuddles at night. think about the time i cared for you when you were ill, and drove half an hour away to get you the soup you liked. think about when we rode bikes together in the rain. please, i beg of you, think of us. think of what we can become, think of our future.
Gotou had walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his shoulders - he meant to tell Masayoshi that the shower was free, he could start his own morning routine - but he stopped when he saw Masayoshi sitting upright on the edge of the mattress, eyes squinted(more) in the morning sunlight and looking more asleep than awake.
He was also wearing only the briefs he slept in, and he was clearly hard.
Gotou turned red on instinct, and Masayoshi didn't even look at him, somewhere in that strange twilight state between asleep and awake. It was morning wood, it happened to him, too - but they were a /thing/ now (even if he wasn't quite sure what the definition of that /thing/ was), and - well, that certainly wasn't a /bad/ way to wake up....
Which is how Gotou found himself between Masayoshi's legs, bare knees to the tile floor and Masayoshi giving him a sleepy, perplexed expression that slid into pure bliss as he swallowed Masayoshi's cock down. There was an art to sucking cock that Gotou hadn't quite mastered yet - he knew Masayoshi didn't complain because he had no basis of comparison - but Gotou was bound and determined to get there, especially when he realized that first time that yeah, he really did not mind sucking dick like he figured he would.
Masayoshi tipped his head back, eyes closed in pleasure as he made soft wordless noises. He tensed quicker than usual and when Gotou slid his mouth off Masayoshi to make a quip about how quick he was getting ready to come, he was surprised by that very action. Masayoshi's come splattered across Gotou's face, he closed his eyes just in time.
"Ugh," he muttered, wiping it from his eyes. (less)
"Don't even start with me, don't fucking start. I'm sick of this shit Helen, IM FUCKING SICK OF IT," a row of dirty dishes were then scattered by an angry forearm. "I don't deserve this." He said panting.
They become an intelligent being with no purpose of function. A jumble mess of soundless wonder brings to life a crazy entity with gripping tangling tentacle. Wild and monstrous, scratching and clawing at every little thi(more)ng with sudden shifting change of direction. Running from this corner to that corner - to the front to the back.
I slam my head on the pillow. Lift - slam - lift - slam. Pull at my hair. Shut my eyes tighter. Relax. Calm. Breath.
They jump from here to there. Fly from angle to angle without even completing a turn.
Please, OH PLEASE! Let me sleep, Ugly Monster!(less)