yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


jeremy complains. i make sweet, sticky bread. the kind that melts on your tongue and leaves a funny taste, the type you whined about when youre grandparents made you a sandwich out of it. he wants thick bread, the type that hurts your teeth to rip apart. there is flour on my elbows and neck when i look in the floorlength mirror i keep in the kitchen. when people ask why thats there he says its my idea of a diet plan and shrugs. its not working well. he leaves a buttery knife on the couter and i complain, i dont know why, its not my house. i make casserole for dinner, his friends show up and eat it all while watching 'final fantasy'. i sit on his lap and arch my neck while he kisses me. we are so together when people are around, ordinarily we'd be sitting on seperate couches and watching the golden girls. his friends sort of watch in this 'i havent seen a 17 year old in years' kindof way and i can tell jeremy is happy about this and his hands are cold up my shirt. its odd and frightening to be spread over him in front of a crowd and i feel like the bets are on me. i know they're not watching final fantasy and i'm getting off on the whole thing, absolutely dripping wet. he smells so good and he feels like home in every way, i risk sounding cheesy in describing him that way. and i know that he likes his friends to be jealous, to wonder what its like to feel 17 again, worrying about high school and grades, not computer problems and paychecks and we kiss and he tastes like potatoes and bad cassarole.
d-land