A random night in April and here I am - masturbating with my gorgeous and thick dildo, with a sad song playing in the background, and thinking of you. There are tears in my eyes because I miss you like crazy, I still love you like crazy, and, fuck, you had a beautiful cock. Fucking is so much better when you are in love. Goddamn.
You were the first man who treated me with kindness. You were the first man who respected me. You were the first man I honestly loved. You showed me how I deserve to be treated. You made me laugh when I thought I couldn't. You made me smile with thoughtful gestures. You filled my days with calm and you made me feel both excited and beautiful. You. You were there. You were something, M. My heart will never be the same because of you.
You were clumsy in bed. I don't even think you knew how to properly kiss a woman. I think back to our first kiss in the subway station and I still smile. I challenged you to kiss me and you awkwardly did, then ran off to catch the train. I laughed and shook my head, what was that. The next time we met up, we stood on the corner of the street and you excitedly asked in your beautiful accent when we would make out. Goddamn, you were so innocent and so charming. And 100% real. I took you home that night, thinking you would go back home soon and I'd never see you again. But you stayed. You came back for more.
Teasing you in that orange dress, tangled up in bed after that soul show. You watching me pleasure myself, standing at the other side of the room. The creaky bed. Falling to my knees to take you in my mouth in the middle of my birthday party and nobody knew. Your uncut cock that you wished was not. Huge, thick, gorgeous cock. I can still feel how hard it could get in my mouth. I can still hear you come. I mastered the art of giving head and hand jobs because of you. You liked to blind fold me. Tease me. Pour maple syrup on your cock so I could lick it off. You tied me up but always so gentle. New Years Eve, checking your phone so that you can slip your cock inside me at the stroke of midnight. I can still remember the texture of your curly hair between my fingers, your accent in my ear. The times you left for the road, you never fucked me in the bedroom. Always the living room floor.
Silly post-sex questions that I will never forget and never hear again from other lovers. You gave me little jars of maple butter on the subway as a surprise. Thoughtfulness. You held my hand. You made me fall in love with my city. You made my heart sing. You were, and still are, my muse. Even after we parted, you called me intelligent and talented and beautiful ... but, above all, what you loved me for was my kindness. You loved my kindness. You encouraged me when no one else did, in the middle of my personal hell and on regular days. You, the world traveler and the well educated and the writer who surrounds himself with well known figures and important people -- you admired my creativity, intelligence, kindness, beauty, and my heart. After all of these fucking assholes I dated or fell for, you made a difference and showed me that someone could love me how I have always wanted to be loved.
You're in my soul and in every stroke of my pen upon paper when I illustrate. You are in my heart.
I still see the damp spot from my tears on your blue parka when you were leaving. I still feel your arms around me when I sobbed uncontrollably when I found out she was dying. You poor thing, you whispered, you poor thing. You were the only one there when she died. You gave me strength.
I have always accepted you had to leave for your life and your career. But, I still think you made a mistake.
My love for you may change but it is always there. And you are missed. Fucking hell, how you are missed. I will always be in love with you, M, in some way or another. And I will always be grateful for all that you gave me, for all that you taught me, and for simply YOU.
19 May 2013
Years ago, you came over to visit my ex. We exchanged in small talk, the how are yous, the what's news. You told me about your new tattoo and I asked what you got done. My ex stood at the kitchen sink, doing the dishes with his back turned. You said a single word --- "this" --- as you took off your shirt to show me your ink. Your shirt thrown upon the back of the kitchen chair, your long hair upon your shoulders, your bare chest - I didn't notice your tattoo at all. I mumbled something about it being nice and left the room to say a single word --- "wow".
I haven't seen you since you helped my ex move out of the house. Two years. We hung out last weekend. We laughed and talked and ate amazing food until four in the morning. You never saw this side of me because you only knew me as the girlfriend of a friend and a miserable one at that. I know you think my fire engine red hair is sexy but I also know you only see me as the ex of a friend. Off limits and wrong ... but so incredibly challenging and enticing for me.
Goddamn it, K - I wanted you then just as I want you now. I want you in so many ways. I want to taste your flesh. I want to see how pale I look against your brown skin, my legs around you and my hands all over you. I want to see you take your hair out of your ponytail; long and curly and laced with strands of grey. I want you over me as I lay on my back, you spreading my legs open and you staring at me with your dark brown eyes. I want your tongue inside of me and I want to feel your beard against my thighs. I want to feel small and defenseless to your big, strong body. I want my fingers laced in your hair as your tease me with your cock. I want your cock. I want your hands around my throat as we fuck to metal. I want your cock in my mouth. I want to taste your come. I want to hear what you sound like when you reach orgasm. I want to look you in the eyes and tell you to keep fucking me. I want to striptease for you, I want to kiss you in the middle of the night on my balcony as your hands creep up my skirt, I want to drip in sweat pressed against you. I want to hear you say dirty things in my ear in German, in Hindi, in English, in French. I want you to feed me the food you cook so well, I want to put maple syrup on your full lips to lick. I want you in my bed, I want you on the kitchen counter, I want you in your truck, I want you in the forest on the mountain, I want you tangled tangled tangled with me. I want to smoke weed with you and fuck all night until we are sore.
When you dropped me off, I sleepily mentioned that I think you are very attractive. You said I wasn't so bad either. With my hand against your bearded cheek (much softer than I imagined), I kissed you. A sweet, sleepy, affectionate kiss. You, a man in his mid-40's, giggled and said that was nice. I wish I kissed you longer, deeper, with more hunger to leave you wanting more.
You keep your distance, understandably. But, you will be in my bed...I'll see that tattoo again and I'll make you come.
Posted by Me at 2:50 PM
25 August 2011
I act brave and I act strong
but I know, at the bottom of my shattered heart,
there is a drop of hope in a sea of sadness.
A hope that begs of you to come around
so we could talk together
like I needed to so long ago.
A hope that gently pushes you
to pick up the phone to give me a proper goodbye.
A hope that confirms you were not a fucking lie in my life.
You fucked me up like
Fuck your lies.
Fuck laziness and your protection.
You had so much time to right this wrong. To talk to me. And you failed me. You used me, you said you loved me, you fucked me, and you fucked off. That was easy for you. Saying a respectful goodbye was not. I still don't understand.
I wish you could help me understand and prove me wrong.
Posted by Me at 10:48 PM
28 July 2011
You are distant
and I want to understand.
You give me scraps of words
and I consider the games of silence
and the offering of a taste
of one's medicine but I refuse to play.
So, you do what you have to do
and I will wait until
your hands are in the air
and you surrender or
until you quietly disappear
into the night without a goodbye.
But understand, my love,
the past has wounded me too
and I refuse to take my heart
and run away from you.
I refuse to build walls of silence
without answers, without warnings.
My hands are reaching out for you.
Posted by Me at 9:53 PM
25 May 2011
Her brown eyes, sad and heavy.
Her skin, aching and curious
to crawl under crisp, white sheets
and find him there,
breathe him in,
taste and fall...
Turned away on her own side,
she is left with dreams
of the touch of his cold, foreign hand,
his breath hot on the back of her lonely neck,
and a whisper in her ear -
the terrified confessions
of two strangers in love
that they don't understand.
Middle of the night
and she knows he is waking up
to start his day, somewhere.
Her sleepy fingers, under wrinkled blankets,
crawl up her white thighs instead
in pleasure, in sorrow, in his honor.
Swallowing every word left unsaid,
she closes her troubled eyes
and her heart pounds,
Posted by Me at 10:24 PM
07 May 2011
Ah, it would be so easy to write a one sentence letter to you: Dear C, I miss you, your friend.
Sometimes, it helps me forget you and how much of a mess I am.
I ask myself why I should miss you and all I can say, despite everything, is that I simply just do. Truth be told, it bothers me more that I cannot say those words to you. Well, I could ... but you, like usual, would prefer to say nothing at all (not even a "fuck off"). I go home soon and I have not told anyone save for family. You would always be the first to know. You were always a part of home and I am still learning to understand that you are no longer a part of home.
I keep repeating one thing:
It is what it is ... and it is over.
How good would it feel to see your eyes one more time, to feel your arms around me, to make you smile. How happy I would be to hear you say that you miss me. I wish in circles, pointless circles, for something that will never be done or said ... and I have wished for such things when you still had affection for me.
I have learned that grieving for a loved one all alone is truly horrible and that every one deserves closure. You never gave me my closure.
I have learned to fantasize without your face ruining my desire but I still feel your finger running down my arm and I smile and I wince at the same time. So, instead, I fill my thoughts with pleasuring my colleague, office sex in supply rooms and stairwell, his long hair tangled in my fingers and his tongue explores between my thighs, consoling him during or after a hockey game. Swearing in French with his lips against mine as he aggressively pushes me against the wall.
Sometimes, it helps me forget you and how much of a mess I am.
Posted by Me at 3:38 PM
01 May 2011
my mistake is that i stuff the hole where you once were with too much work and other men who don't mind to share music, thoughts.
there are nights like these where i cannot stuff anymore in this wound even though i try my hardest. all of a sudden, i feel like i have been thrown and abandoned in a wide open field with no clothes on my body. exposed.
in a little voice and big tears, i say to myself, i miss you. i am selfish and i miss you. i am a stupid fool who tries too hard to fool everyone. i am dark and lonely and you were the only one who seemed to understand. in my mind and in email, i could think of you and know that this lonely fool is not so lonely because you are there in some way or another.
but you're no longer there, my friend.
this is not about love. this is not about lust. i miss you always having my back, always liking me as a person in your life. it would be so easy to say hello but i won't as i know you do not wish for me to be around any longer. i remind you of mistakes and pain.
i am your mistake and you are the one i miss so terribly tonight.
Posted by Me at 2:18 AM