As well as I’ve come to learn the smoothness of your skin and the places of your body that makes you become the most weak, like clay in my hands, I mold you to your most pleasure-filled demise. That soft grunt you make as you’ve reached your peak has become my favorite sound, first to the hiss you make when my nails find refuge in your flesh, to which I arch against you whenever your teeth find that tender place on my neck. As well as I’ve come to learn your body, I find myself wanting to know more. Sometimes.

I want to feel at ease whenever I’m in the vicinity of your sister, let go and tell her how much I love her hair, how I wish to be friends and trade stories of you over coffee or pedicures, although I’m uncertain if she likes either of those things. Your friends, who like you, are as chill, ready to say hello, and reveal your stories – but I shield myself from surrendering to such warm thoughts of you, because they are reminders that you are warm. That your body is warm, maybe even your heart. Even though you’ve said your heart is not a possible feat.

The thing about benefits is even if they begin physically, they manifest and make a home in my emotions. I fear becoming too attached, within the expanse of your embrace, I already feel that home. I like the taste of weed, cigarettes, and me on the tip of your tongue. The way you mirror me in the way your passion ignites you. Those 3 AM grilled cheese sandwiches you make me as I dance for you in a T-shirt that belongs to you and those knee-high socks you like me to wear.

It’s not necessarily that the feelings are unique but that they’re familiar and perhaps it’s that friendly reconnection with intimacy that makes me forget how strange you are, how strange we are, how we don’t know each other, how our “I’m not looking for a relationship right now” should stop us from meeting bodies and sharing skin – how confused that last truth obviously makes us. Confused. We don’t know what we want. I don’t know what I want. I’m not ready.

And that’s something I don’t think I’m supposed to admit, especially as exposed as I’ve allowed myself to be with you. As a woman, we aren’t supposed to give our bodies, our queendoms to men who are not our kings. Have I built him in an image that he can’t live up to? For the sake of preserving my “purity” and keeping pieces of me intact? Should that be the reason behind me wishing to learn you as well as I know your body? I don’t know if I wish to know you. Honestly.

But then again…I might.

I don’t know what I want… Or maybe I do. Perhaps that’s what scares me.

[part two – here]

Sheriden