|Wanda Maximoff (daddysredwitch) wrote in oh_marvelousnet,|
@ 2009-11-13 00:15:00
|Entry tags:||character: wanda maximoff, internet: blog|
music: Kiss With a Fist- Florence and the Machine
but honestly, journals aren't that secure.
We talked about sex today. She thinks I'm a whore. I can see it in the way she looks at me, the way she phrases her questions. She disgusts me and I'm only still talking to her because N makes me. But I'm not a whore. I suppose. Not the way she thinks I am. For one, most of this is an act. I mean, I've never lied but I do think I tend to give off a false impression. I don't think I've slept with as many people as people tend to think I have. Still, I've probably slept around more than the average person. So what? It means I have a healthy libido, not that I'm "emotionally stunted" and "incapable of commitment" (her words, obvs).
She asked if I've ever been in love. I lied: no. Have I been? Maybe. I might have loved J but in retrospect I think that was just youth and lust and stupidity. I was infatuated enough with B to accept his proposal (until the perspective of P, of course). P, there's always going to be him. My one constant. The only person who I think has ever loved me. Of course I love him. She asked if I think my father loves me, I told the truth: no. Apparently, I project my desire for acceptance and love into sex and those that I do claim to love I become obsessed with. I don't think that's necessarily true, I think I just like sex. But the other part, the obsessed part, that scares me. It could be true. Maybe that's what it is with P. He's all I've really got and the only good I've ever known so maybe I'm projecting and maybe what I think I feel isn't real. A part of me is terrified of that. Just like a part of me knows it isn't right. I can love him but I'm not supposed to love him. Whatever, I don't act on it and I wouldn't. The whole sordid thing delves into concepts I don't even want to think about. Because whenever she tries to analyze P and I she brings up father in the same capacity. I can't handle that.
She asked me then when the last time I had sex was. I told the truth: three months (three months yesterday, actually). She thought I was lying, that was clear. It made me want to laugh at her. She asked why it had been so long (skeptically) and I just shrugged and said I hadn't gotten around to it. Not that I haven't had ample opportunity. I wasn't going to tell her it's because of T. She'd accuse me of a new obsession. It's not obsession, it's something much more childish. I'm stubborn and spoiled. That's what it boils down to. I have never been deprived of anything in my life and here he is, always tantalizingly out of reach, that infuriating beautiful man. It's ridiculously frustrating but at the same time the anticipation is agonizing and wonderful. I've never had to wait for anything, not like this. So now I'm absolutely determined that he's going to be my first human (yes, yes, mutant supremacist, I know, but making him my 'first' something sort of romanticizes it a bit and makes me feel less petulant for stubbornly waiting). God, I can't believe I'm waiting for someone. He'd better be worth it. Oh, who am I kidding, of course he is. Look at who he is. And anyway, he makes me shiver. Which I just don't get, at all. I don't mind it, but I don't get it. And he's good at kissing (as I unfortunately know all too well since that's really the extent of it so far). I'm sure I sound ridiculous.
I would rather discuss murder than have to touch on this subject with her again.
At least I haven't told her about my "sons" yet. That'd be something.