• These scenes keep playing in my head over and over

    by  • October 4, 2016 • Lost Love • 0 Comments

    On my couch you hold out your hand and I don’t have time to react until you say “high five.” I hit your hand and squeeze it, using you as my stress ball. You later say you had a great move planned but it didn’t work out.

    We’re in your car and I warn you as I grab your hand. We sit there silently for seemingly forever as you stroke my hand with your thumb. You stroke my hair. I start to fall asleep and eventually you stop and kiss my forehead to wake me up.

    The first night you invite me over and we cuddle. “I can’t kiss a girl with a girlfriend,” you say. Is it fucked up I think that’s sweet? So I lean over and kiss you first. Later you thank me for doing it first. We sleep horribly because we’re both so nervous. You say in the morning, “that was both the best and worst night of sleep I’ve gotten in a while.” I feel bad for keeping you up worrying those nights before.

    We kiss and you try and roll me on top, but my head hits the windowsill. I cry out in pain and you feel so guilty. I think me cartilage will have a permanent dent but at least it’s a souvenir.

    You suck my breast for the first time and pause to remove a hair from your mouth. I laugh, a bit embarrassed, but it’s too funny not to.

    You place kisses carefully down my stomach and ask me if you can. I pause and think. “Hands only,” I say shyly. You pull me on top of you and our bodies are aligned. I’m as close as possible to you. I know I turn and kiss you at some point. You touch me everywhere possible and even choke me lovingly.

    You were snoring, so I tried to turn you on your side. You wake up and immediately kiss me. Then you move downward and pull the sheet over your head… “Did you finish?” you ask. “Yeah.” “You were so quiet, I didn’t know. Unless you wanted to go again.” “It was long and I was coming down.” “I don’t understand girls.”

    We watch a movie with the group and you sit next to me. You secretly hold my hand when both of us cross our arms. I squeeze your hand at the end when the tension is high and you just laugh because you’ve already seen the movie.

    You ask me what I want. “Anything.” “What does that mean?” I pause and think again. “Well we could have sex,” I say nervously. You smile and say “I’d love to have sex with you.” You ask if I’m sure because I’ve never done it before. I say yes. Eventually you ask if I want to change positions and be on top. I say ok, then can’t even put it in myself. I say I don’t know what I’m doing. You say just do what feels good. When we’re done, you go down on me. Then you kiss me. I laugh and say “you taste like vagina.” “Ewwww” you say, smiling. You tell me you were afraid you’d last like 30 seconds because you’ve been holding it in for so long.

    The next night, you ask me what position I want to do next, I say “I don’t know anything.” You silently and powerfully lift me and flip me over.

    I ask what your favorite position is, you say probably missionary. You ask what mine is, so far. I say probably missionary because I can just lay there and do nothing. You look like you’re going to be offended, then just say “fair” and shrug.

    At some point in those two nights: you whisper “I want you” in my ear. You pin my hands above my head. You choke me lightly. You say, “You feel really nice.” You spanked me once. You say, “You’re really pretty by the way” as we lay naked.

    I hold you around the waist as you make me an omelet. Your roommate walks in and I pretend I let go, a bit embarrassed.

    We’re out of condoms. You say, “Well, we could 69?” “I should probably get used to that alone first.” “You don’t have to.” “I want to, it’ll just be weird for a minute.”

    The last night: I rest my head on your shoulder while we share a chair and play Catan. I lean back into you at the bar. I hold your hand as we walk home. I say I should go home but I’m too tired to drive. I don’t go home. I kiss you in the morning a lot and hug you for a really long time before saying goodbye.

    The next time I see you, it’s 1.5 months later and I still love you.

    We have our talk in the car and I tell you I’m a mess. I ask how you’re doing. You say you’re pretty lonely.

    We sit across the table, drinking our beers. You’re fairly quiet and don’t make as many jokes as you used to. I can sense a lingering sadness between us both. “I’m free!” I want to yell at you. “Just kiss me now!!” But I know that’s not what you want for yourself. Then you’ll just be right back where you started.

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