heart throb.

*+ oh my

Batman's soft side

                                                     Fan art via Blacklisted's Facebook Page

uh, what's that now?

So, I was talking to this friend of mine and the subject of what makes sex ‘terrific’ came up. I said I could count having “terrific” sex on one hand. (half-pun intended) Good sex, sure, terrific sex; sex I would write home about? (not my home, mind you), Nay. Which, reminds me; I have known too many Lumberginas who love to give me their “resume” of sexual prowess. Without provocation or in any sort of context. For example:

Me: I was at the store the other day getting a gallon of milk when this turtle walked right through the produce section….

Lumbergina: I like butter. Every woman I've EVER been with screamed God’s name in another language and broke all my good china. EVERY. WOMAN.

Uh, yeah. Sure. All that has ever done for me is make me cringe. And check them right off my list of possible “One Night Stands”. My “real” lesbian friends don’t talk like this. I’m not saying we or any of my girlfriends do not talk about sex, but we certainly don’t do this. I don’t care if I make a chick tear the plaster from the walls, I’m not telling anyone that. It only makes me look like a self-satisfying, egotistical asshole.

Er…anyway, so what does make “terrific sex”? I'll tell you, if you’re still reading this….
you’re weird.

By the way, I can break all your good China and wreck the plaster in your house.
*I used to work in construction.

**Lumbergina-A stereotypical blockhead lesbian with all the accouterments.

Charity

You creep through my window knowing the warmth of your flesh is an open

invitation. In the dark all I feel is the points of your skin spreading over mine,

whispering stories of tenderness in my ear, licking the beads of sweat from

my neck while fingering my

remote looking for a distraction, a meditation, medication for your boredom

as I sink between your legs half masked by the buzz of channel 8 nine and 

Crown

anything to help you escape.

I do not notice or care about the knife you slide in ever so

urgently and expertly nor

the blood gathering in my ears, hot like tears, forgotten as orphans.

Heath Ledger; The Joker, 1/23/13

                                                              by Mary Jane Bane

propagandism

I see your pastie sprinkles and cupcake puppy dog tails as you leak all your news into

my face. Gouging out my intellect with your happy smiling bullshit. The sheen off

your doctored perfect teeth reminds me of my favorite baseball bat, shiny dented used. You blow

your smoky picket-fence dreams into my mouth expecting me to open up and swallow them,

never breathing long enough to hear my fuck-you shut-up screams.

Your opaque eyes cannot see what you wish ignoring the loves passing in and out around

my ankles. You think this rainbow belongs to unicrons and fairy tales grinning under its glare

and wretched stench while keeping your hands busy, never realizing it wells from within; full of

the very same hopes you take for granted as you eat your chocolate cigarettes and fuck

in your crumbling plastic homes and two-dimensional television screens.

+

Forgive me blogger for I have sinned. Ignoring you was not ok. I was thinking of you the whole time.