I look down and see your teeth showing, your tongue lightly waiting, turned to the side slightly. You wait and peer at me. It's just that feeling. The one. The one that aches deep down, the anticipation vibrating inside me with pleasure. I hear your groan come forth, subtle. That feeling bounces between us. I can't help but want more. Need more. I feel the skin on the back of your hand in passing and close my eyes, admiring how soft it is. I want to feel more. I need more of your skin. You talk to me under your breath, deeply, it makes my heart jump. My blood rushes through my body, swelling organs willingly. I want you to take me.
Do you want a story? I don't know why I do it sometimes. I don't know what I'm thinking. I just say things before I realize what it means. What it could mean. I can't help myself. I just want you to take me and it pains me. You disappear and I wonder, is this what you will be like? Will I always need you and be waiting? It's a familiar feeling, one I would like to forget entirely. I should always remember. Know exactly what that was like. What it was like to want and need and get nothing. Not until he wanted me to have it. That kind of control. It felt like a silk rope, constantly constricting, pushing my heart until it wanted to burst. But, I let him do it. The waiting can be stupid. It can be fun, if you are there, inches away. But, not if I don't know you. Not if I don't know when you'll be back again. Or if you will.
You say my name so definitively and my eyes close with pleasure in the dim light. I wonder how well you can see in the dark, but I also don't care. I can't help but feel comfortable. I can't help but enjoy your company. Sometimes the things you say alarm me, just in the way that sometimes people speak out one word out loud, the rest of the thoughts hidden. I ask for clarification, I get more confusion. I wonder sometimes if you have a mind that flows freely like mine. One that cannot be tamed or established until you find that vice. Until you can let them out and organize them by hand. You don't want to clarify. You would if you wanted me to know. You'd rather just swipe the thoughts in front of me, smearing the image between us so you can survive behind the fog. I frustrate you because I am indifferent. I don't need to know, if you don't want to say. You want me to be intrigued by your mystery. Instead, you get hard and you want to stare into my eyes and prove it to me.
I didn't finish my story. The first one. You didn't like that one as much. I could tell. You said it was too good and therefore, not good. So I told you another one. The first one was felt. So was it as good as your story? I don't know. Probably better. I didn't finish the first one. I only got so far as sliding my fingers along your jeans on that skin around your hip, your skin is so good. Like cotton, soft and warm. I want to put my lips on it. I just wanted to feel you. To experience what you felt like in my hand. About the same. Soft. Smooth, your skin feels like heaven. I can feel that you are swollen. That you are getting longer, the more I touch you. I kiss your neck and you grab me, hard. Harder than I expected. Normally, I might have stopped someone feeling me like that. I am a gentle person. I bet your not. I am. But you aren't wrong, either. I bet your naughty. I let out a noise and laugh. Are you laughing at me? No. You are just right and we both know it. Do you trust me? No. But you are going to do it anyway.
You have a wall. He doesn't like it. He says it like its a slight infraction. It's an interference to the game he wants to play. I am thankful for it in times like this. I feel as though I don't need to defend myself. The wall does it for me. It's been here for so long it looks strong, but it's old and the stones need replaced in places. Flowers are growing up the sides, swaying in the breeze. If you take a step, you'll find that you can just walk around to the other side. I can't predict what you will see. Or feel. Or want. Around the other side is a scary place, but it is also full of magic and wonder. I remind you I am private. You don't like that answer either. I don't care. Its just how I am. I am okay with your fog, be okay with my wall.
I think about my wall. About the life I established for myself. I got lippy. You said something about sending flowers to my work and it being romantic. I snapped, slightly. Don't fuck with my job. I would need to be in a serious spot to be okay with that. I am private. Did you not understand what that means? That means, I don't let other people see you. That means that my life remains otherwise untouched. That means, that between my sheets you can live, but I don't want anymore outside of that right now. It makes me wonder about how many other times I have looked at relationships this way. The bubble. Oh, fuck. I say it out loud to myself. I am me when I am here. I am me when I am there. I am different versions of me. You don't get to see them all until I am okay with it. I dress more preppy when I'm at work. You don't understand and I don't know how to tell you. I am the same, just slightly different. Me at work is more professional. I swear less. I work harder. I stand up taller. I'm bubbly and sincere. When I'm with you, I am more relaxed. My voice flows free like honey. I am cool, like a breeze. Sex rolls off my tongue and into your ears. When I am with my kids, my voice gets higher, softer. I smile and calmly direct. I am fair, but not always as honest as I am with adults. They don't understand that kind of honesty. I alter my ego slightly depending on my role. I pass between them like a new shirt. Just switching back and forth like it's nothing. I realize all this. I realize that you fit into only one pocket of my life. I think you feel it, too. If I want to be with you, then I would have to change who I am. Be you. I will be me.
You don't want me to go. It's a statement, but I answer anyway. I can't let that feeling go. It's not a common feeling. It's a rare one. And when I am in that feeling without you, it is different. But, you happen to be around, there will be something cosmic happening. I cannot explain it to you. Just like the feelings bouncing back and forth. The energy that gets felt. The way that it can happen will cause a storm. Are you going to say my name like in your story? It hits me in my gut, I want you so bad, it's a pain. A pleasurable pain. I hear you tell me a secret and it's mine, too. I feel your thick hair between my fingers and I only pull slightly. You want me to grip you, but I don't. Not yet. I say your name and I can feel your whole body light up. You are so happy and I get the feeling that this is your pleasure. The control. Do you realize it's mine also?
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