Wait For The Right Man

Wait for the right man. That’s what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to save myself for marriage, or at least for a man I loved and was in love with. I didn’t do either of those things. I traded the magical, romantic first time for a stoned and drunk fuck. Oddly enough, I’m not regretful. I don’t feel ashamed that I lost it to a known “player”, and I don’t feel embarrassed over the fact that I sneaked out of his house that morning. We both know what happened, but we’re not going to make a big deal out of it. If we did, we would both get murdered. Him more than me, but I’d get my fair share of an ass kicking. I saw him the very next night and everything was normal. We said our hellos, we hugged, and we flirted. Honestly, if I didn’t feel what I feel on the inside I wouldn’t think anything had happened. But trust me. My body is telling me that something happened. I get these little flashbacks, little clips of us.

Me whispering in his ear. His hand clutching my thigh. My tongue tracing his ear. His hands gripping my breast. Then our faces turned and mouths met. His teeth clashed against mine, and my tongue was trapped in his mouth. I pulled back and sucked his bottom lip with me. His hand slid up my back and grabbed my hair. I moaned. Loud. Then I attacked his mouth again. There was no shame. I didn’t think about the fact that he had a girlfriend back home. I didn’t think about the fact that we intended on hooking up with different people that night. I didn’t even think about how he played Samantha. All I could concentrate on was pushing him back onto the bed and getting closer to his body.

There was a second when I remembered that we were both drunk and stoned, but the moment passed and I was back at it. My hands couldn’t get enough of him, and his hands rested on my ass, grinding me against him. I pulled back and mumbled something about hating my long hair. I don’t remember if he responded, but it doesn’t matter now. Soon I lost my shorts, but still had on my stockings. His shirt was off, and so were his jeans. He got up and asked if I minded him taking off his pants. Of course I didn’t. The damn thing needed to come off. He got off the bed and his jeans were off. When he came back on the bed he was hovering over me. I probably should have felt intimidated, but I bit my lip and accepted his challenge. One of my hands brought his face down to me, while my other hand slid down his back and played with the waist band of his briefs.

Things start to blur from there. I do remember going down on him. I remember falling off the bed, trying to get the condom out of his pants. Then I remember him filling me. I woke up the next morning, makeup all over my face, and my hair looking a mess. I rolled over and saw that he was knocked out, with his arm around me. It took me a second to realize who I was lying with and what had happened that night. When I realized that I needed to get the fuck out of there, I grabbed my jacket, shoes, and socks. I stuffed them in my purse and called for my ride. Like I said, I don’t regret anything. I’m pretty damn happy with the way things happened. If that makes me a hoe, then I guess I’m a hoe. If that makes me a slut, then I’m a slut. If people want to judge that one action- create a whole lifestyle for me based off of one night- then let them. I don’t care. I’m not here to please anyone, no pun intended. If I can live with my decisions, then everyone else should be able to accept me too.



I came across a quote the other day that I can’t escape.

“I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.”

Before you ask, yes. Yes, I do believe in mermaids and their existence. You ask why, but I ask why not. Why not believe in a creature so mystical, powerful, and evasive?

By the way, the quote is from Anais Nin.

I Can’t and I Won’t.

I’m sorry

That’s what you want to hear from me

I’m sorry

Choking on apologies

My tears staining my face

My sobs cleaning our slate

A new beginning

A forgotten ending

I’m sorry

Is that all I have to say


I can’t

I won’t

Your dick fucked her

My heart hit the earth

Your tongue pushed its way in

I’m left coping with your sins

I can’t and I won’t apologize

One day you will sink beneath your lies

I try to believe

I try to trust

I try to love

But you make it tough

I’ll never be enough


‘Cause I give a fuck

I’m the one who loved

You left me behind

You left me in the dust

And I’m stuck here

Trying to find a way to cope

I’m stuck here


‘Cause you’ve stolen all my hope


Our hands are everywhere at once.  His full weight on top of my body yearning to be touching skin instead of clothing.  He is placing butterfly kisses down my neck, and I try to remember how to inhale and exhale.  Our ragged breaths are drowned out by our racing pulse.  I push my hands under his shirt trying to reach skin, but even as I feel how flawless he is, it is not enough.  I start to lift the shirt up but he nips at my neck, causing me to forget my attempt to remove his shirt.  I arch myself, molding my body to his.  He emits a sound between a moan and a growl, and I place my hands back onto his body.

As I lift my arms a final time, I slide them up to take the offensive material off of his torso.  My fingers feel like ice compared to his scorching body.  I scratch my nails down his back and feel him curve into me.  His shallow puffs of heat coast over my collar bone and drift into my ear.  He somehow gets my bra loosened and sits up to straddle my hips.  I groan from the lack of contact and reach up to bring him back to me.  He smirks and runs his fingers under my back and into the inside of my bra.  I hear three distinct clicks then feel a rush of air between my breasts.  The feel of his warm fingers against my back causes me to lean upwards.  His hands are not just resting against my skin anymore, but they are bringing my body up to meet his.

But we never collide.

“Why do you do this to me,” I whisper to him as he pulls his hands away, causing me to fall back towards the bed.

And that is it.

I lay awake in my bed, panting, with an ache between my legs.  I groan and turn over in my bed, checking to see how much sleep I got tonight.  Two thirty-seven is flashing back at me in red.

Awesome. I slept for a grand total of two hours and seven odd minutes. Lovely.

These dreams, nightmares almost, seem to get worse the longer I go without seeing him.

Trivial Trivia.

Trivial Trivia.

I know that I am about seven posts too late, but I have decided to write a little bit about myself.  If you find this text irrelevant, continue on your merry way.  Personally, I enjoy finding out the trivial trivia about people.  It keeps things fresh and interesting.

I go by Stella Thorn, but that is not my real name.  The character in my first short story was named Stella Thorn, and I have used it as a pseudonym ever since.  It is a strong, feminine name.

I have an abundance of passion when it comes to people, animals, and life.  While a lot of my posts have (and will) be about how people annoy me, I promise that I love mankind.  I believe that in order to love something (or someone), you must be able to appreciate their strengths and weaknesses.  It is much easier to write about how something irritates you, rather than describing the wonderful emotions something evokes from you.

I began writing creatively after my childhood best friend expressed how liberating writing made her feel.  The first creative writing I wrote was a song about the first time I got drunk (I was thirteen).  I like to look back on it from time to time- it reminds me to stay true to my writing style, while showing me how much I have grown in regards to my writing and my self.

My childhood was relatively normal- nothing overly traumatic or overwhelmingly glorious.  I was raised by both of my biological parents, who continued to have three more children after me.  Yeah, you guessed it. I am the oldest.  It is an all right gig.  As well, my maternal grandma and papa were (and still are) an everyday part of my life.

I went to public school from Kindergarten to eighth grade.  During the middle of my eighth grade year, my brother (who was in sixth grade) and I were pulled from public school to begin homeschooling.  Starting in sixth grade, I begged my parents to homeschool me.  A lot of the children I interacted with through church were homeschooled, and they were constantly talking about how awesome it was.  Of course it was awesome.  They created their own schedule.  They got to expand on any subject they desired.  Their mother was their teacher.  They could finish their schoolwork before noon, allowing them the rest of the day to do whatever they damn well pleased.  And the best of all… They got to do school in their pajamas! How freaking awesome is that?

While I am so happy that my parents began to homeschool, it was under unfortunate circumstances.  Basically, kids are assholes in the sixth grade, and they made my brother’s life a living hell.  When my brother finally retaliated (a.k.a. kick their ass), my parents decided that we did not need to be subjected to the public school system any longer.  THANK, JESUS.  So we began homeschooling, and I regret nothing.

I graduated from university May of 2014.  It blows my mind to think that I have been a college graduate for almost a year now.  Like, what the hell have I accomplished?  Thank God I have the rest of my life to answer that question.  My university stands on a mountain top, and the towns that surround it are barely populated.  Growing up in the city, it was quite a change to become formally educated in the middle of nowhere.  However, I loved it, and it created an even stronger foundation for me to dig my toes into.

After obtaining my B.A. in Creative Writing, I moved back to Southern California and looked for a job.  I would love to say that I have started my career, but I have not.  I currently hold a job that does nothing to advance my career other than allowing me time to write on this blog.  So… I guess I am able to further myself through my current job.  Damn these twists and turns thrown at me.

That is really all that there is to my life.  I have an amazing family, reliable best friends (despite my post from yesterday), and a growing faith.

Ah, yes. My faith.  I am Christian.  I believe that God created everything your eyes capture, and I believe that Jesus, the Son of God, was sent to Earth and died on the cross to save me from eternal damnation.  I am not sorry if that offends you or irritates you.  However, I am sorry that you are unable to accept another’s world view.  I will not shove my faith down anyone’s throat through this blog.  Yes, from time to time I will post about my faith; and I hope that you can accept that.  I embrace everyone, and I hope that you are able to do the same.

– Stella Thorn

Only When It’s Convenient.

Only When It’s Convenient.

Only when it is convenient do you ask to hang out with me.  But when you text me that you are free, there are stipulations.  You can only be my friend from this time to this time.  You are not allowed to go passed this point in the city.  You are not to go to these places during our catching up period.  You have to answer your phone any time it rings or buzzes.  Because, you know… Heaven forbid the apocalypse is happening and he is unable to get a hold of you to warn you that you need to hurry your ass up and save him.

“Did your phone die?”

Bro, I am pretty sure that if her phone did in fact die, she would not be able to answer you with, “Ah, yes. I’m so sorry, hun.  My phone died- that’s why I’m not returning your thirteen text messages of humor(less) gifs.”

Who is this new, fragile woman trying to greet me with a smile she saves for her dearest friends?  What occurred during the one year that I went away for university that twisted her grasp of independence?  Where did my confident, accept-me-the-way-I-am sister disappear to?  When did my once beautifully pro-active best friend become tethered down?  How did my strong and resilient confidant become the type of woman to submit and shrink under the cascading testosterone of a man?  Why do I no longer recognize you?

The sad thing is, that you have lost a lot of your friends from pre-caveman, and he’s introduced you to all of the people he has pre-approved for your life together.  I apologize, but I am not the type of person to sit around until you can squeeze me into your schedule.  I know what it is like to live a completely booked life, barely allowing yourself time to catch your breath and train of thought.  And that’s not the type of life you live.  You live moment to moment based off of his needs.

You are confined to your four walls until it is time to drop him off or pick him up.  You are kept to his side, because he is unable to entertain himself for a mere hour or two.  Oh, I understand.  You cannot come enjoy a G.N.O., because the caveman does not have any friends to keep him company?  Honestly?  What kind of a life is that?  You are stuck at home, sitting next to him and bored, because he is either “working” on his “career,” or he is engrossed in some idiotic video game that leaves no time for you.  BUT, because he is having a night in, you must have a night in.  Whenever he decides to venture outside into the real world, that is when you are allowed a few more feet of slack on your leash.

Whenever he decides to venture outside into the real world, does the giant golden circle in the sky sting because you have lost all of your sunshine?

I was so happy and excited for my best friend when she told me of her new relationship.  It was her first relationship, ever, and she seemed to glow with excitement.  From what I knew of the caveman, he was a gentleman.  He had a good reputation within the community, and he had a supportive family.  However, the first time that I met him, I knew it was all a facade.  Controlling, manipulative, insecure, and possessive were the words that were floating around his head as he spoke to me.  From his tone, to his body language, to his diction- my intuition was telling me to hightail it out of there.  However, I pushed that nagging voice the the back of my mind, and proceeded to give the guy a chance.

Yeah, wrong move.

Just as I had scoped him out from the get-go, he knew that my bullshit radar was fully functioning.  I can count of one hand the number of times that I have had a conversation with this guy.  Mind you, he has been in my best friend’s life for three to four years now.  THREE TO FOUR YEARS, AND I CANNOT SAY THAT I HAVE HAD ANY TYPE OF A INTELLIGENT OR A COMPLETE CONVERSATION WITH HIM.  AND HE’S NOW MARRIED TO MY BEST FRIEND.  Trust me, that’s not for a lack of trying.  I smile, wave, make conversation with him, but he gives me one word answers then looks away.  I can tell the difference between awkwardness and the cold shoulder- and this caveman was giving me the cold shoulder.  Just thinking about this is getting me even more riled up than I already am.  There are four young women that I would go to the ends of the earth for, and she is one of them.  So the fact that my best friend is being played by this caveman… It pisses me off and breaks my heart.  She is completely oblivious to it.

For a minute, I thought that I was just jealous that she had found someone.  Maybe I was envious of the life that she was about to start with a man that she claimed to love and whom claimed to love her.  But that thought was brought to an abrupt halt when I spoke with other women and men who were close with her- pre-caveman era.  More than a dozen men and women spoke to me about how there were unsure about caveman and his controlling nature.  My best friend went from kicking ass and taking names to submitting like a timid puppy.  Many told my best friend that they felt caveman was controlling and possessive, but she became angry at them.  She would throw up a defensive wall and speak of caveman’s honor and loving nature.  Again, I should have seen this type of behavior from her as another sign that something was wrong with him.

Do not get me wrong, I love men.  I love women who fall in love with men.  I love watching a relationship blossom into something a screenwriter uses as inspiration.  A relationship that brings a swelling heart and a misting eye to an onlooker is something I aspire to have.  I do not hate men, so I am sorry if that is where you were hoping this post would take you.  No. I am not one of those individuals who despises men and glorifies women.  I know that men have their flaws, but women have their faults, too.  It takes two to tangle, people.

At the end of the day, I pray that my best friend finds happiness and joy.  I also pray that she allows others (other than caveman) to relish in her happiness and joy.  Being married does not mean that you cut off contact with the people who loved and supported you prior to your relationship (with caveman).  Being married means that you spread the unconditional love you have for each other with the men and women surrounding your marriage.

I just… I just wish that I could speak with my best friend as freely as I type this post.  I hope that my words make sense to whoever chooses to read, but maybe I am just blabbing for my own sanity.