fanfiction for the sexually oppressed

“It’s 2:29 AM. In the morning,” says the clock. “GO TO SLEEP.” My brain tells the clock I’ll cut out its non-existent tongue if it doesn’t shut up, because I’m thinking about high school and isn’t that just so interesting? No, no it’s not. My high school experience was not . Interesting. All my vomiting was purely flu-induced, I never tasted weed and I never fucked (or was fucked by) anyone.

But what did you…how did you…?

Well, obviously, I did what any human might. (The obvious answer.) But I have this other theory: I read hel-piles of fanfiction. Somehow those stories became a secondary universe for me to exist in–and the first one I went to for my romantic fix. I mean it: before college, I went on a date–no, wait. Two dates. In a grocery store. So I’m not sure that even counts.

But anyway. That feeling you got when your love-interest curled his/her/their hand against the back of your neck? That crazed coiling of temperature-confusion just beneath your skin? Yeah, I got that as I watched my drummer infatuation give the finger to a rival school during a solo–but more often than not, I got it reading really angsty fanfic.

I never, once, acted on my feelings. (Not even when we were on that dock, dusk sky, dusk skin, and he drilled me on my romantic inclinations–I lied, of course.) I told myself I was satisfied with the words on my computer screen, the thousands and thousands of slashy words. And you know what? I was satisfied. I like stories. They fill all the holes in me. I couldn’t tell you where my fanfiction obsession first started–ohwaityesIcan*–but it doesn’t matter, because hole-filling is not hole-healing. There’s a difference between satisfaction and balance. And balance I certainly did not have. Still don’t. Showing off my emotive innards has always put me on edge, but I’m trying to get comfortable with gut-gallerys (thus this blog posts, thus my overuse of the word ‘gut’). As a writer, I need to be comfortable with putting my truths down honestly–however raw and stinking of bile they might be.

So now? Now, there’s this…wildness in me. I can’t fill it with fanfiction. But sometimes I still try: early in the morning this past Yule I read sappy x-mas-themed Remus Lupin/Sirius Black fanfic while waiting for Cavan to wake up. And I won’t lie: it made me REALLY happy.


*Can most people remember the first fanfic they read? Because I kind of hope this isn’t just me being quirkier than usual.


3 thoughts on “fanfiction for the sexually oppressed

  1. Pingback: roaring galaxies and broken spines «

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