If you don’t have the pleasure of knowing me personally there are a few things about me you should know - I mean besides the naked girl thing. I have other interests thank you very much. Some of them being: pushing boundaries, pissing off my conservative family to the point where it’s been two years since I’ve heard from them, receiving flowers, love letters, long walk’s in the park, romantic concerts, fucking (ask any of my ex’s- I really do love fucking), history, period movies (I’m pretty much a really big nerd) working on this video where I’m getting deep throated by a giant cock, deciding if I should put out into the world said video of me getting deep throated by a giant cock… what else? Oh yeah, well then there’s my temper.
I have PMDD, it’s like PMS but way worse, so imagine having this tall, decent looking thing wanting to fuck you, cuddle you, sing your praises three weeks out of the month, then BAM! Major monster bitch that’s worse than any Greek nightmare they made you read about back in high school. Sounds like a nightmare I know. It is, but I’m actually going to go ahead and blame the men in my life for making it even worse. It’s like they have an internal timer that says, ok Danielle is in a bitch mood and I am going to do something to turn her into Athena...
I live in upstate NY, in a town called Kingston. Uptown. To be exact. Two Saturdays ago I made plans to do a few things some nights before. One being; see my ex who also happens to be a photographer for Jacques so he can teach me light room. The other; take copies from his apartment and go to newsstands to make sure Jacques is in the windows.
I began my journey at 9a.m. that Saturday on the Trailways bus down to the city, where I usually read some erotic book so I can turn myself on in public, a fetish I have, which makes me so wet because I get so unbelievably frustrated because I can’t do anything about it. You want to see me beg, squirm, try to seduce and become desperate? Deny me pleasure. (I love it and I can never get enough of it, so I do it.) 11a.m. rolls around and we were pulling into the station, I text the ex “ I will be there in an hour.”
To be honest, it’s a funny situation between he and I. He broke up with me because of my horrible situation with my still legal husband. He couldn’t bear to see me so upset and broke all the time - so in turn it upset him and he was tired of being upset. Well not to mention his father Google me after learning my name and wrote an email to the family trying to create an intervention demanding he break up with me immediately. So I feel that weighed on him too. Oh! There was also the time I bitched him out in front of his friend because he insulted the magazine and you never insult the magazine. You do that and you will walk the dead man’s route to the electric chair and I will make you beg for death the entire way there... So in my defense- he deserved every word.
Anyway, but it’s been long enough where I don’t want to date him and he doesn’t want to date me. But seeing him does give me this cozy protected feeling. You know, the one you get when you return home to your family’s house and nothing can harm you. He is part of my family as much as he hates me saying that… I sit on his couch, work, bitch about not being able to find a job, watch his cable and eat the food he sometimes has in his fridge.
I was leaving Port Authority, going to Williamsburg, Brooklyn - ACE train downtown to L train to Bedford. I walked up the stairs among the hundreds of hipsters where I actually feel in place because at one point, Williamsburg was my home for many years. We spewed onto the street and merged with the others. I stopped at Bagel Smith and ordered the usual: a plan bagel toasted with sausage and a Tropicana juice. I got it to go, as I couldn’t wait to sit on his couch and talk Jacques and how I will take over the world with it…
One block East to Driggs, then four blocks south to North 4th Street. I found his buzzer and buzzzzzzzed. He answered, but not just with a buzz… “Shit, Danielle’s fucking here. Shit, SHIT” I heard as the door hissed open. I pushed through and walked towards the elevator. I hit the up button as I struggled with “do I go up or not”. He did buzz me in I kept saying to myself as my mind raced through different scenarios for why I heard panicking for my being where he and I planned for me to be.
The elevator door started to open and I held my breath hoping that whatever was up there was now exiting down here. It’s empty, no such lady luck that day. He did buzz me in; I remember being the final push for me to step in. I hit four and the elevator door closed, I moved up, door opened, I exited, a quick turn to the left and I was staring down the hall. Still nothing exiting… I walked down what seemed to be a longer than usual five doors down, ok, I was officially there. The door wasn’t open as it usually would have been. I had to knock. He answered obviously very nervous and still very fucked up from the night before. He invited me in, probably against his better judgment. His apartment not being very big I was able to tell something was off as the bedroom door was closed and that’s all it took for me – this was not our usual.
Our usual: front door is open, I walk in, he’s at his desk, grumpy, working, bed is made and living room is messy. I say “Hi” in my silly drawn out way I say it to everyone. He says his quick “hello”. I take off my shoes (which is my rule, not his) and I move to my place on the couch as we have done hundreds of times before.
But that day was different; that day I had to ask, “Is someone here? I heard you through the intercom and I’m guessing you had no idea…” “ No, NO (!) I was on the phone” as he scrambled around trying to remember what it was I was there for…
“I’m still drunk, but here sit down” as he grabbed a few issues of the magazine and half handily pulled out his work chair. But his motions were clear, he was trying to figure out what to do. “Is someone here?” I asked again as I motion with my eyes towards the bedroom door, “No, I said no already” He said with a hostile tone “you calling me a liar?” Wanting me to back down and play me off as overly suspicious and crazy he walked over to the bedroom door with his hand out as if he was going to actually open it. It worked; I backed down as I was afraid how I would react if that door actually opened and I found what I thought was in there. “No, it’s ok, I believe you”. His hand dropped and he walked over to me, got close and kind of whispered “Ok there is someone here and I’m still very drunk and I forgot” He’s telling me and backing away at the same time… as he should considering what’s coming out of his mouth.
So I threw my bagel in a bag at him… then my juice, which exploded on impact. “How could you throw this in my face? I said over and over again”. “You’re seeing someone” is all he could muster. At this point I think it’s safe to say I’m screaming at him… I don’t know what I was saying really at all. He had his hands on my shoulders and he was calming me down by staring directly at me and saying “I’m sorry” over and over again. “I have a girl in there and we haven’t been that serious, I am sorry, I fucked up and-”
“-And you have five minutes to get her the fuck out of here” I demanded. “Calm down, I have another human being in there and she knows very little about you and she’s probably freaked out” he was speaking louder then he realized and I felt bad for the girl in the room having to hear any of this, but it didn’t last long “Get her the fuck out of here” I demanded again “ Ok you leave and give me 15 minutes” is the compromise/demand I got. I’m sure more words were exchanged but I can’t remember them. I grabbed a towel out of the bathroom as he’s watched my every move with caution. I through it down on the juice puddle behind him as he’s carefully positioned himself between that bedroom door and me. I demanded he hand me my bagel that was on the floor also behind him and the half empty juice carton. He picked them up never taking his eyes off me handed them over and I left.
I found a bench across the street and I texted one of my writers and good friend “At Matthew’s, he had a girl in his bed and I threw my breakfast at him” She immediately responded, “come here, I’m only a 18 minute walk.”
Text from him “ My door is open if you are calm”
I looked up towards his fancy Williamsburg building and I decided to go to my writer’s house instead. I walked 18 blocks with tears down my face. Luckily I had my giant black coat on with a hood so I cloaked myself to I conceal how upset I was or was it because I was more afraid of whom I would run into? I’m already pegged as the neighborhood crazy.
After a long pow-wow with her about my love life while eating the very bagel I threw at him and a lot of chocolate… I felt better. She brought to my attention that only I could throw my breakfast at someone then demand they pick it up and give it back to me, which of course made me giggle. Cause yeah… I don’t know too many other women who can PMS all over the place as I did and be forgiven for it.
Do I have feelings for my ex? After a very long discussion, the answer is no (surprisingly enough). I have no interest in him in a romantic sense, but having to stumble upon him with a girl in his bed made me realize I don’t like having to share any of the men in my life even if we are just friends. I like the little utopias I build in each of their worlds (that they usually take care not to break down). I am sure this sounds like me being a spoiled little brat and you know what, it is… and yes, I sound like a nightmare. Believe me I know. But he did throw her out for me, which shows I am not completely out of line -he gets me. I hope that the girl who was in his bed gets it to. He understands me weather he realizes this or not. So yeah, that day - pretty sure each of my male friends think I’m insane but I also know that they think I’m talented, beautiful, tenacious, and passionate and they all admire me for it.
He and I don’t talk about that day, even though I find it funny to say, “I’m heading over and I am unarmed. I already ate my breakfast today”. He generally shoots back a text telling me to get over it.
It’s men like these I make Jacques for…