Note: This post is intended for mature readers regardless of age.
You kissed me like you couldn’t get enough. In that moment, you wanted me more than you could say, so you showed me instead. You pressed your body against mine, so that I could feel how much you wanted me.
In these moments, I try my hardest to remember that it is just a moment of physical pleasure for you – that the longing looks, the tender kisses, the ownership in how you grab me…has no emotional connection for you. It’s hard to believe, but I’m trying to remember that you mean what you say. And that’s the last thing you said: “it means something different for you than it does to me.”
So with this in mind, I try to stuff down my feelings, to give them as little life as possible. I try to care for you less than I do, so that I can just focus on the physical pleasure of the moment…like you.
I think about the hunger and about how to satisfy it.
And in the moments when you’re atop of me, looking down at the pleasure in my face, I do my best to remember that it wouldn’t matter whose face you saw. It’s not special to you that it is mine.
It makes me sad, but there’s nothing I can do to change your mind. I’ve already done everything possible within my power and you remain steadfastly uninterested in defining this connection as anything more than “just friends.”
So, you fuck your friends, huh?
Good to know. It helps me remember that I’m not special at all. It helps me define what I really do want when the time comes for a long term, committed relationship. It reminds me that I do long for love-sex and hope one day to feel that kind of connection again.