This Way and That When work lulled she’d idly check the wrong kind of websites, where peop

This Way and That When work lulled she’d idly check the wrong kind of websites, where people made profiles that had nothing to do with what school they went to, or how many of their work friends they deemed close enough to post on one another’s walls.  Instead they were littered with lists, lousy with them. Proclivities, kinks, tendencies. Summations arranged by quirk, detailing all the things that they did and did not want done to them, what they had done, what they wanted to do.  Those lists fascinated her. They read like shopping lists, or at best some sort of kinky bucket list, the things that people wanted to do, like they could be ticked off once they were completed for the first time. That wasn’t how it worked at all, not for her. It wasn’t about a journey, or a destination. To be so transient seemed to miss the point.  For her it was a place you lived in, not passed through. The feel of rope on the skin was one she craved all the time, not just for that first kiss and then nothing after. It wasn’t about trying everything, or trying anything. It was about living it, letting it sink into your skin like ink, until the topography of your body was changed.  Maybe that’s why she spent so much time spying on everyone else. She didn’t understand their perspective, and purely because of that she was fascinated by it. She barely understood her own perspective, could hardly see the nuances and reasons behind her desires and inclinations, and maybe through figuring out one she might understand the other. Now she just had to decide which was more likely to surrender its secrets. -- source link

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