I wasn’t really sure if I should kiss her or not, but they way she was talking to me kind of paralyzed my body, deafened me. I couldn’t hear anything. I only saw how her lips were moving; her tongue gliding in her mouth, touching her teeth. Her lips were were dry and I saw the wrinkles. I started to count them until I was actually lost. I dont know what power forced my hand, but something did, and I suddenly grabbed her neck, my fingers clinging onto her hair. I laid my other hand softly on her cheekbone, and I looked into her eyes. I didn’t wait, but the seconds before my lips reached hers, I read her eyes. We both knew what was happening, we both wanted it. Maybe we were both so desperately in love that it felt so long, but after our lips touched, and after she followed my tongue, we both knew it was right. I felt her breath; how it went all the way into my mouth and into my lungs. Her hands were shaking and she touched my stomach, then slowly wandered up my chest. I pulled her closer to me. That’s when she started pushing her nails into my back. She wasn’t pulling hard, it maybe hurt for a second, but it was a good pain … knowing that she was close to me. She was on me, and it felt so good. I pulled her up, her legs around me. Her hands were on my jawline and her nails, again, almost in my skin. She left scrapes everywhere, but i liked it. It was like a memory for afterwards, so I know it happened, so I’d have her still on me. We only had this one second before we started kissing; this eye contact. When they were both closed, it felt better. Our bodies spoke a better language than we ever could. I carried her to bed because we both knew it was what we always craved at night. She was laying in my bed, on the white sheets. She wore this cute underwear, the underwear you wear when you dont plan to have sex, but she looked flawless … better than in any other lace undies.
Elay Neal Moses (via journal23rd)

(via coachela)

The Problem with 'Boys Will Be Boys'

naturalmomma:

For months, every morning when my daughter was in preschool, I watched her construct an elaborate castle out of blocks, colorful plastic discs, bits of rope, ribbons and feathers, only to have the same little boy gleefully destroy it within seconds of its completion.

No matter how many times he did it, his parents never swooped in BEFORE the morning’s live 3-D reenactment of “Invasion of AstroMonster.” This is what they’d say repeatedly:

“You know! Boys will be boys!” 

“He’s just going through a phase!”

“He’s such a boy! He LOVES destroying things!”

“Oh my god! Girls and boys are SO different!”

“He. Just. Can’t. Help himself!”

I tried to teach my daughter how to stop this from happening. She asked him politely not to do it. We talked about some things she might do. She moved where she built. She stood in his way. She built a stronger foundation to the castle, so that, if he did get to it, she wouldn’t have to rebuild the whole thing. In the meantime, I imagine his parents thinking, “What red-blooded boy wouldn’t knock it down?”

She built a beautiful, glittery castle in a public space.

It was so tempting.

He just couldn’t control himself and, being a boy, had violent inclinations.

She had to keep her building safe.

Her consent didn’t matter. Besides, it’s not like she made a big fuss when he knocked it down. It wasn’t a “legitimate” knocking over if she didn’t throw a tantrum.

His desire — for power, destruction, control, whatever- - was understandable.

Maybe she “shouldn’t have gone to preschool” at all. OR, better if she just kept her building activities to home.

I know it’s a lurid metaphor, but I taught my daughter the preschool block precursor of don’t “get raped” and this child, Boy #1, did not learn the preschool equivalent of “don’t rape.”

Not once did his parents talk to him about invading another person’s space and claiming for his own purposes something that was not his to claim. Respect for her and her work and words was not something he was learning.  How much of the boy’s behavior in coming years would be excused in these ways, be calibrated to meet these expectations and enforce the “rules” his parents kept repeating?

There was another boy who, similarly, decided to knock down her castle one day. When he did it his mother took him in hand, explained to him that it was not his to destroy, asked him how he thought my daughter felt after working so hard on her building and walked over with him so he could apologize. That probably wasn’t much fun for him, but he did not do it again.

There was a third child. He was really smart. He asked if he could knock her building down. She, beneficent ruler of all pre-circle-time castle construction, said yes… but only after she was done building it and said it was OK. They worked out a plan together and eventually he started building things with her and they would both knock the thing down with unadulterated joy. You can’t make this stuff up.

Take each of these three boys and consider what he might do when he’s older, say, at college, drunk at a party, mad at an ex-girlfriend who rebuffs him and uses words that she expects will be meaningful and respecte, “No, I don’t want to. Stop. Leave.”

The “overarching attitudinal characteristic” of abusive men is entitlement

YES. This is why I’m so big on consent for kids and not doing things against their consent!

(via fitandcrunchymama)

Source: lastlifeinuniverse