I fell in love with a man. I fell in love with a man that I shouldn't have. I know his body better than I know my own. Not just memorized but absorbed, like extra ribs in my chest. As he walked out front door the following morning I stared at him with some stranger's lust. Surely this cannot be me, slipping into the bed with such forbidden fruit.
As I remenised about what had happened the night before, my tainted memory was unusually comforting. I expected to feel sick to my stomach about what I had done but the admonishment I dreaded never came. I thought about what I would say if I were someone else. I would have harsh words to say and no one to hear them.
His mouth was so inviting, his bottom lip like sugar cane, sticky and sweet. I longed for it. I longed for it like I longed for the days when I felt 80 degree weather in February. Or a day at the beach, lying in the sun where everything was perfect, or so it seemed. Just as perfect as I thought lying in bed with him was.
Not so perfectly, an overwhelming feeling of angst came over me when I thought of what a mess I had made. How easily I allowed myself to become submerged emotionally with what was supposed to be a purely sexual endeavor.
My body had approached a comfort level that I rarely felt or even sought after. My curiosity bested me and I dared to explore the possibility of this new development.
No comments:
Post a Comment