who are you?

this post was published exactly eight months ago today, on the now-defunct fookthepeople.blogspot.com. german's still writing, just on a new site and i was thinking about this post and kind of missed it. so here it is:

who indeed, says the raspberry. german issued me two challenges - be as explicit as possible, he said, then questioned my use of an alias in my blog.

i'm going to address the second point first, 'cause i'm just that kind of girl.

while raspberry sundae is not, i assure you, a name my parents blessed me with (far to conservative for that, they are (yoda say)), it is kind of who i am. raspberry is the part of my personality that is pink and girly and sensitive and passionate and fiery - all things which make for good reading, i figure. of course, i'm not entirely objective at this juncture. it's early goshfukkit, and i've only had half a cup of coffee (and half a cup of BLACK coffee, at that, 'cause i'm trying to go lower fat lower sugar. how dull is that?) (at this point german is rolling his eyes and shaking his head, wondering what he's gotten himself into. 'come on, girl', he's thinking. 'enough with the soft serve, on with the soft core!')

ANYhoo.... so i go by raspberry in my blog (and sometimes in the 'real world') because i do sort of want to remain at least partially anonymous. i want the raspberry side of me to be free to talk about what she wants, when she wants, with little fear of people she knows googling my real name and finding out all about me doing the dirty dirty on the hood of a car when i 'stepped out for a breath of fresh air' while out at a club. think of it this way - the reason that masquerades are so popular is because behind the mask you are free to construct, reconstruct, and deconstruct the boundaries which are created by you and for you. so i shall hold on to my mask, at least for a little while.

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last week on the radio they were doing one of those poll things where they ask the listeners questions about their sex lives as a way of boosting ratings. it never fails to amaze me what people will say when you give them an audience and a means of expressing themselves anonymously (*ahem*). the question was "what's the shortest amount of time you've gone between meeting someone and having sex with them?" i think the shortest reported was half an hour or somesuch - and the guy took a bit of a ribbing, i gotta say.

half an hour. lightweight.
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that night, the party was in an old community center on the outskirts of the city. the crowd was a mix of downtown party kids and bored local kids who'd heard the music and were looking for a way of passing a saturday night that didn't involve sitting around a bonfire, shotgunning beers on the tailgate of a truck. this was early early days in the party scene (in our world anyway) - there was only e, or acid, or mushrooms, and maybe a little coke, but no meth or k or g. innocent, you know? we were all still getting to know each other, and the rush of the drugs still came on with fingertips dancing across your skin and a goldrush brush of goosebumps.

the doors were flung open to the summer night. we'd been having rainstorms on and off for a couple of days - real rainstorms, too - none of this vancouver everpresent omnipotent wetness - sudden outbursts of water and wind and on the good days a little thunder to remind you that the gods weren't necessarily pleased with the way the world was ending. i was on the floor with den and matty, my own fingers tangled up in my hair at the base of my head, giving myself shivers of sensation in time with the music. i wandered over to the door to get a breath of air - the room was almost oppressive with sweet smoke and dancing - with bodies and hormones and beer. he was leaning on the doorframe, alternately watching the dancers and the rain, a slight smile on his lips. i looked at him as i walked past - made eye contact and got that little rush of chemistry you feel when two people zap connect pulse with mutual energy. the parking lot was mud and the moon was out despite the storm. i stepped outside and lifted my hands to the air, eyes closed, exultant in the sweet coolness of the night sky. he came up behind me, put his hands on my waist, squeezed a little and lifted me off my feet, so slightly. we're moving to the music, now, bass thumping off the cars, lights flashing through the open door. i spun away, dancing dancing in the rain. somebody (monte?) looked out - saw us there, pushed a speaker to the opening so the music came through. i turned and looked at him over my shoulder - he tilted his head to one side, assessing me, maybe wondering how far i was willing to go. i let him chase me around the corner, away from the door and the cars, away from the people but still close enough that i could hear the music, still close enough that it could be dancing. when he caught me this time i stayed caught - my fingers wrapped up in my hair again (still?), he pushed me against the building and trapped my hands behind my head. hot kisses on my neck, grabbing my lower lip in his teeth and biting just...enough...to..hurt. he wrapped one hand around my wrists, holding them firm behind me and grabbed my earlobe in his mouth. 'do you want it?' he breathed, more to himself than to me. i bit his chest through his shirt, didn't bother to answer. he pushed up against me – more forcefully, now. i could feel him through his shorts, through the thin fabric of my dress. he reached down with his free hand and traced the curve of my ass up from my leg to my back, under the skirt...gave a squeeze...his lips on my lips kissing kissing with a ferocity driven by need and haste...pulled my panties to the side undid his pants and was..in. i wrapped a leg around his waist, pushing myself against him, using my shoulderblades on the wall for leverage. his hand cupped my ass pulling me in close, moving with the beat of the records reverberating through the wall. i could hear people around the corner, people talking and laughing, dancing in the rain, but it was as if they were from a distance - as though i had stepped through a curtain of reality into this alternate place where nothing mattered but the taste of salt on his skin and the feel of his cock inside me.

when it was done, i went back inside and found den on the dancefloor. she reached up and touched my cheek, gave me a little kiss on the lips. "where'd you go? you're all wet." "just needed some air."