evil urges
Looking back, I wasn't dressed particularly seductively and no prior plans were made to take anything on, but I know that we both knew where our night was going to end before it had even began.
I sent him a message in hopes of salvation, some final straw and last attempt at catching his eyes. Regardless of how many times he used me as a punching bag with words, I never really thought about it. I still dont. Some may find my response regrettable but I've enjoyed the outcome-- every time. I offer my flesh as an act of apology. Im sorry that you think Im crazy. My place or yours?
We fumbled to my room in search of a light switch when we decided that synthetic sight wasn't our aim. We just wanted to be in a room filled with synchronized sound,breathing together, trusting our hormones to see, every single time. After his hands explored the walls of this place he had never before been, they made their way to my bed where I sat curiously as I asked knowingly, 'So what are you thinking about?'
And with that, the world came crumbling down, our clothing going with it.
'Sure I can accept that we're going nowhere, but one last time lets go there," is what comes to mind now, a day after my defeat. My hands were pinned to my sides as he recreated a circus act of poorly taught tricks,and yet again, what do I care? I love(d) having him there, at home in my heart and trying to prove some sexual existence through the ballet we were performing. The next morning will never feel as good as that night had, and the day prior wasn't nearly as enjoyable but with those few moments I had, huddled against his body warmly, I don't regret having met him half as much as everyone else seems to. I am living a masochists dream and I don't even have to close my eyes for it.
I sent him a message in hopes of salvation, some final straw and last attempt at catching his eyes. Regardless of how many times he used me as a punching bag with words, I never really thought about it. I still dont. Some may find my response regrettable but I've enjoyed the outcome-- every time. I offer my flesh as an act of apology. Im sorry that you think Im crazy. My place or yours?
We fumbled to my room in search of a light switch when we decided that synthetic sight wasn't our aim. We just wanted to be in a room filled with synchronized sound,breathing together, trusting our hormones to see, every single time. After his hands explored the walls of this place he had never before been, they made their way to my bed where I sat curiously as I asked knowingly, 'So what are you thinking about?'
And with that, the world came crumbling down, our clothing going with it.
'Sure I can accept that we're going nowhere, but one last time lets go there," is what comes to mind now, a day after my defeat. My hands were pinned to my sides as he recreated a circus act of poorly taught tricks,and yet again, what do I care? I love(d) having him there, at home in my heart and trying to prove some sexual existence through the ballet we were performing. The next morning will never feel as good as that night had, and the day prior wasn't nearly as enjoyable but with those few moments I had, huddled against his body warmly, I don't regret having met him half as much as everyone else seems to. I am living a masochists dream and I don't even have to close my eyes for it.