I liked smelling myself on my own fingers. More than on her breath-Something about the exchange left me feeling negative, and for so many times after that when I did taste myself I also tasted…her. Well, not her, not really, but her breath. With me on it.
When I was alone with myself I still felt her; still smelled myself on her mouth, still felt her hand against my ass. I remember thinking I had wanted it in the moment. Though maybe I only thought she wanted it. Sometimes I get those things confused; other people wants and my own. Sometimes I want something, but really it is somebody else who wants it and I want it for them. Where does that leave me?
I think I wanted her to want me and so sex seemed like a practical next step. I did make a mistake though, because when gambling with your body you cannot forget who it is attached to. I remember wondering when it would be over. Then I remember wondering if that was a normal thought? We’d just started and it wasn’t necessarily bad…but it wasn’t really good…
Come to think of it, I am not sure just ‘what’ it was (or if it was). It began, there was a middle, and an end.
I don’t remember any rising or falling action. Just start and cease. I remember her mouth, her stubble, her lips, my mouth, her breath, my throat, her hands, my breasts, and hers.
After that it all blurs. There were hips and kisses and insides and outsides; but what more than that?
Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between having something taken and giving it away. Sometimes I think I’m carrying her. Sometimes I think she’s carrying me. I never can tell which of us has the other