So I find myself here in bed, my face pressed to his shoulder blades, my eyes darting nervously from the freckles of his shoulders to the dark blonde roots of the short hair of his upper neck. My left arm pressed fimly against the head board under his pillow and head, my right arm draped over his chest, his hand in mine pulled tightly to his heaving chest, I am sleepless. I slept four hours. I was a whore, last night, and it would seem most of my life.
How many men have been in this bed? I've fucked many men. I've slept with very few. I slept with him. I've slept with four other men. I can list them. My first serious boyfriend. The second guy was a hook up, the first man I fucked after I broke up with that serious boyfriend. The third individual is a man I love. The fourth individual is off limits.
I'm tired. Sleepless. Lonely. Happy. Discontent. I'm not horny. I wasn't horny. I'm in love with an unavailable man. I'm attracted to a man who is off limits. I'm intrigued by a man who wants nothing more than what I just gave him last night. I want more from all of them. I want none of them. I want all of them. I want Matthew Perry. Who doesn't love that dorky Friends personae? I know, lots.
So he slept with me last night. It was 4:30, and we were both tired. Lots of foreplay. No finish. I pulled him close to me, and assumed this current position, kissing his shoulder blades, his neck, his arms, his spine. Within minutes, I could feel his body relax against mine, his chest heave, his head drape, and the gentle sounds of his sleep fill the room. The heat of his body warming me, his legs entangled in mine.
I think I'm going out of my head.
I want to be loved. I want to be in love.
I think I'm going out of my head.
So we hooked up two weeks ago and I invited him to a dinner. Could this be something more than a fuck? His bronze skin, his bleached blond hair, his dark blue eyes. He emailed me, "call me". I called, no response. We cruise each other online, and 2:00 in the morning, we meet outside my house, and its him again. Surprise. "I'm not looking for a relationship. Just out to have fun."
So its 10 A.M., and he is waking up in my arms, and we had fun. And I'm empty.
He is a great kisser. Its to be expected, his smile is radiant. I'm infatuated.
But all I can have is fun. This is my intrigue. Or is it a curse?
I hate sentimental romantic comedies. We watched one together as we began our fun. Its playing repeat on the television downstairs. I can hear Matthew Perry's voice. I hate romantic comedies. I hate sentimentalities. They torture with their perfect romances, glamourous obstacles which are always overcome by tricks of fate and forgiven stupidity. Where is the movie which tells me how to go from here, this moment, with him? I kiss him. Thats where I go from here.
We fuck. He cums. Quickly. We cuddle for another half hour, talking. He dresses, we kiss some more. Very passionate, confusing kisses. He is gone.
I'm alone. Lonely. Sleepless. Discontent. And even less horny.
Maybe I will hook up. Maybe I will go rent another romantic comedy. I soak in the hot bath, then chase the relaxation with a hot shower. Shave, brush my teeth. Its 3 PM. I will work. I will write. I will sleep.
I cry.