I need masculism because who’s going to call me a slut and a whore for being confident in my body if that evil witchcraft ~Feminism~ starts desexualizing a woman’s body in society and gets people respecting the fact that if a female chooses to bare her legs or cleavage it has no bearing on her sexual status and gives you no right to objectify her!?!
Staff note: Something in this hit me just right.
“We’re finally 21, where to from here?”
Twelve lovers loving, eleven lighters lighting, tentative to nothing but the click of our heels against the dark pavement shining a dim yellow brick road courtesy of faded lamp post. Tonight the city is ours, our lives are borrowed, these petty minutes still so colossal in the Summer of our hearts. She takes a breath the way she takes I-Love-You, with a nod and tongue in cheek. Not quite serious, two quirks shy of a fuck off.
“Looking forward to twenty-five when we can get into the good bars.”
Something makes my head blur. Something in the sky doesn’t fit all the simplicities in her smile and bored stare. A mirror without a face hanging on the edge of misery, just around the corner from too much of a good thing. She makes me feel like I’m not enough, and that’s a good thing.
“Now is never enough, is it?”
She slinks into my arm and pauses just long enough to make me nervous.
“No,” Is all she says.
“But you’ll do.”
