He. Is. Lust.
My entire body was entangled in lust.
The butterflies at the pits of my stomach had awakened, by his touch.
I was weakened by his kisses.
I hated my body for paralysing itself, to every other movement, but that of passion.
Like a baby, that just learned how to walk, I was unable to control my own body,
He unwrapped my dignity and self control…
I was unable to stop him.
I had reciprocated every rhythm of his body.
Enraged with anger,
I bit his neck,
But he seemed to have liked it.
He keeps going…
I arched my back in mercy,
He couldn’t help but think that it was submission.
My knees wrestled with his feet.
I suffocated in the mist of darkness.
I wished that the same hands that were firmly controlling my rhythm, had actually choked me,
Instead of drowning in bodily fluids, I drowned in a bed where the another woman had layed.
I got consumed by the moment, because a part of me really wanted it.
I consoled my loneliness with the thought of not jumping from one bed to another.
Laying in bed with someone you do not really want to be with…
I finally see why prostitutes get high enough to swallow the stars.
But in the same breath,
Sex with the right person can be addicting as fuck.
In the mist of our passion, he groans “Ohh Baby” he knew very well that I hated being called that….
After everything had settled,
I lay on his chest while we were both going through our phones that morning.
I was at the verge of forgiving him.
I glanced my eyes passed his screen.
I mistakenly see a text that popped up “baby, what are you doing?”
I swear I almost chocked.
For many years, I never knew why I hated being called baby, until that very moment.
He didn’t even flinch.
Later on, when he drops me off at my place.
I cannot help but find my voice below my swallowed pride. “Who is she?”.
He finally has the balls to answer me, because he’s no longer in his territory about to get some ass…
I raise my eyebrow, he unashamedly continues
“we have been having sex for 3 years”
The same fractions of truth I had to force out of him,
happen to be the same dna prints left on his unmade bed, sheets and body for the past three years,
No! Respect me.
You trapped me.
“So what? You took a shower before you came to see me like her aurora wont be lingering on parts of your that body you happened to miss?”
And at no point of our lengthy time together, did he feel the urge to tell me that, because they’re just fucking friends.
I fall apart and pick myself up at that very second. My mouth found my voice again. I am able to bravely ask him, “then what am I?”, And he effortlessly replies “You are just a hit and run”.