Lover,
The last time we saw each other I was wearing my brother’s Tranformers t-shirt because it was a shirt I knew I could remove without the risk of ruining my hair. I had decided that we were in love or something close enough and that I didn’t want to wait any longer. I stood by your front door while you lied to me and I tried to grasp the fact that we would never speak again.
I would never speak to you again, or so that was the plan.
Instead I found solace in the mouths of other men.
The first of these being a friend, he kissed me while a comedy played on the screen ahead. I knew we should have at least chosen PG-13. I felt bad for the little girl beside him, wondered if she could see him lamely clasping my breast.
I felt nothing.
We kissed in my kitchen once, remember? By the cainet door I gasped in your mouth and you stroked my breast. My mother entered and I laughed. I was not ashamed of you.
The second man was a year younger than I but had his fingers inside of the spandex shorts I wore under my little black dress, a place you had never ventured. I cursed into his mouth and I did not think of you.
We were right to choose PG-13 that time, though R would have been more fitting.
I read somewhere once that films where women receive pleasure are rated worse while those where it is the men who cum are only rated R or less. Would I have cum if the film had lasted longer? Would I have cum in less time if it had been you?
The third man thrusted against my ass – an ass you loved, I do recall – while I pulled on the legs of his dress pants. Afterward, through online flirtation, we decided a true hookup was in order.
He pulled me into his lap during a PG-13, and though he got a little R with his explicit moans, I felt nothing more than a subtle spark of PG.
What would I have felt sitting in your lap while you moaned explicit moans?
Once upon a time in this same theater we kissed between laughter as Russel Brand stroked the furry wall. You tasted like watermelon and I giggled in your mouth until we were forced to separate for need of air.
I never would have imagined the permanence of our separation.
I promise, I promise
I have no need for air.
