sawr mhilk: sex and writing rules men have inspired, like kinda
No. 3: Cut
If it feels wrong, stop and get rid of it.
If you’ve invited this person into your home for the second time, or the first time, or the millionth time, and they give you extra, an uncomfortable excess of the same thing, delete, shut it off, walk away.
How do you delete a person who is standing in your home, expecting to fuck you?
One way: You can yell “I DELETE YOU. DELETE DELETE DELETE DELETE—” until they leave.
Second way: “I’m not sure I can do this tonight with you, maybe you should get going and I’ll text you later.”
Third way: Fart a lot, make it more awkward, blurt out, “I’m not into you! lol bye”.
Error message: Sometimes these people don’t leave.
My first real crush, beautiful fascination with a man: I’m finally in my apartment with him after years of crushing. I am crushed.
I am a virgin.
He’s on top of me and I ask him to leave.
“I think you should go now.”
He refuses to leave.
If I could go back in time, I would yell CUT. I would yell CUT, CUT THIS SHIT, CUT YOU, CUT.
Instead he slept in my home.
Now it is eleven years later, roughly.
Is there something wrong with me wishing I was still with him?
I’m happily committed to my significant other but.
When Jack wouldn’t leave my home, that’s his name, “Jack”, he overcame me.
If you’re writing a story and you’re uncomfortable, call it. Cut.
Never succumb to the insistence of your first impulse.
If it’s wrong, it’s wrong.
This is you, this story is you, this apartment is you, this life: You.
I still think about Jack because he overcame. In my mind, in my dreams, he is a tidal wave, a murder weapon, a fucking snowplow and I’m nothing. This fantasy of “what if Jack” it comes about whenever I doubt that I am standing.
The right story is the one that describes my stance. Not the one that presumes one day I might be upright, maybe.
Cut the Jack.