Dry lips. That is all I could think of when we kiss. Dry, chapped lips. Every time she pressed them against my own I would sneak a peak by opening one eye which would widen as I noticed that for some utterly unknown reason she appeared to enjoy kissing me, with those dry, chapped and cracked lips. In unison her hands would run against my scarred back and I could feel her chewed fingernails sprawl against my skin, the indents caused by her nervous appetite.
"You are SO sexy babe" she uttered through gasping breaths. Pause. Relative truths.
I felt a hand creeping down my waist line struggling with the jean button that found a way to considerately halt the moment as she pulled away and smiled, promising to do more things that were inevitably going to occur. I smiled? back with a mischievous? look in my eye. I watched as she struggled with the jeans I wore which both accentuated my thin legs and my robust waist; I am more a walker than I am an active person. As her blurred outline finally removed my pants I noticed that she pulled an article of clothing from herself, watching as dense fabric darkness broke the less dense darkness behind her silhouette, unveiling white broken by pink in the middle of the blurred image which knelt 5 feet in front of me.
The mammal sprung, covering the 5 feet faster than I would have thought likely, impossibilities are often unlikely impossibilities so one depends less on the one but on the size of the number below the loneliest number. This time her lips mercifully kept its focus upon my skin, scraping against the base of my neck and the centre fold of my upper chest, which heaved through the driving force of my hormonal bypass system, successfully installed in the summer of 2004, no updates of yet. I felt my hand instinctively grasp at comfort, taking pleasure at squeezing and rubbing without much thought, through with dire consequences.
Without warning I felt her hand darting to explore my anatomy, grasping with an equivocally inane and primal curiosity which I imagined paralleled my own emotionally apathetic romp through animalism. Her hand slowly transformed into a medium of slow and and fast patterns, moving away from mindless grasping. Echoing the transformation I myself decided on an idea, hoping it would create the desired intentions. Our biology reacted as intended.
"Please" she whispered in my ear. At first the plead meant nothing to me, I didn't understand what was being asked. At first I hoped her mind was in tune with my own but when she repeated the single word I heard the elongated middle "e" and the almost silent "e" at the end of the word prophesying that my hope was not to be. I knew I was easily capable of doing what was asked but I hesitated for a moment. In that moment she took it upon herself and before I knew what was happening I was like a puppet on a string, playing the role expected of me, at the very least connected to a human being.
Within moments I felt myself contort and I knew I had to pull away, knew that I had to remove myself from the current predicament and as I pulled away I felt myself unveil itself and watched as all my energy drained. I rolled over, making sure not to be in contact with the person next to me, and I felt shame and unworthiness wash upon myself. Inadequacies came to fruition and the very idea of my role in that moment came into pathetic focus. For a heart pounding moment I hated myself until I felt a sympathetic touch on my shoulder.
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