Pearl McCarthy
Bio
I found myself a healthy outlet to express myself. I hope you like what I write, but if not, that’s ok too.
Stories (4/0)
To Be Your Lover
I do not want to be your friend anymore. It's been over a year of pretending I do not want you. It's been over a year of hearing you talk about girls and watching you get hurt. I am so tired of letting you rest your head on my shoulder, letting you pick me up and wrestle me, letting you tickle me and give me piggy back rides. I do not want you to tickle me and then continue talking or watching the movie. I want you to tickle me and then pin me down, smiling in that half-smirk way that you only use past eleven at night. I don't want you to put your arm around me and not pay attention to it, because for me every nerve that you touch gets electrified and my body tingles and yearns for your touch. I do not want to be your friend. I want to be your lover.
By Pearl McCarthy6 years ago in Filthy
The Wooden Party Cat
I am a cat person at heart. I love dogs and animals in general but I always found myself drawn to cats. I have two of them and they are the only men in my life I can fully rely on. I love them so much and they're always able to make me feel more stable and loved. There is one other cat that can be found in room, although this one is not living. Perched on the thin ledge under my window you can find a small carving of a sleeping cat. This wooden cat was given to me in the strangest way, one I will never forget.
By Pearl McCarthy6 years ago in Humans
"Hey, It's Fine."
I was fourteen. I just started my first year of high school. I had left so much past trauma behind, but it seems trouble follows me. On the first day of school there was a fight. I saw him standing there being yelled at and pushed but not giving in to the temptation of fighting back. I saw him fall to the ground and be kicked over and over again. I saw his friends standing in shock and I noticed my feet walking over. I started yelling "stop" at the boy I once knew who was doing the kicking. He and I have a history, and that's a whole deal on its own. He noticed me and backed off laughing as a car pulled up and the driver yelled at the boy I was helping off the ground to get in. I let him lean on me and helped him to the car, and I ended up getting in. We went to his house and to his room and to his bed where he told me what had happened. He was stressed and I was overwhelmed. He kissed me, he grabbed my thigh as high as I would let him and breathed into my ear how I had saved him. I let him keep going because I wasn't thinking. It escalated and I didn't want it to but soon enough he was talking off my pants with one hand around my throat and telling me how thankful he was that I was there today. I didn't know him, he didn't know me. He didn't care. I grabbed his sheets and he grabbed me. Once it was over he told me I should leave. I left. During the next couple days I discovered more about him. The first thing I discovered was that he had a girlfriend at the time. He got into trouble and I knew he wasn't going to be good for me. Every once in a while for the next couple weeks he would walk me home and end up staying in my basement and telling me all about my body and my lips and my hips, things I didn't need or want to hear. If I would protest he would tell me, "hey, it's fine, don't worry," and that was that. He broke up with his girlfriend and soon enough she messaged me calling me a dirty whore and a slut and then the whole class of grade nine girls hated me. School was just dirty looks and homework, after school was him, but hey, it was fine.
By Pearl McCarthy7 years ago in Psyche