You should not have invaded my thoughts last night. Really. I did LOTS of things to keep you out. First I wore the new dress I bought the day before. It’s one of those great early spring dresses—knee length, breezy fabric, three-quarter sleeves and a skinny belt—the kind that makes me swing my hips a tad more than usual when I walk.
Then I went to my lovers house, armed with a bottle of chardonnay. When you left I didn’t think I’d go see him anymore. It seemed cheap, wrong and dirty after what we had together. But cheap, wrong and dirty is a damn fine band-aid when one has been left raw and exposed after falling completely and totally in love and then left behind with no hope of ever seeing said object of love ever again.
When I walked in Lover announced that he was cooking for us. Knife in hand he diced onions, mushrooms, squash, zucchini and broccoli, preparing them for sautéing. He seasoned fresh shrimp and tuna steaks and then popped them in the oven to bake. I stood at the counter watching him and remembered the meal you prepared for me in your hotel room—the grapes, cheese, baguettes and wine. I wanted to slap myself. I wanted you out of my head.
So then I kissed Lover. His arms wrapped around me and his mouth came down on mine. Hard. Shutting you out. He felt my need, saw the lust in my eyes and turned me around. What happened next is best described in the one sentence text I sent my BFF: Just got fucked from behind standing up in his kitchen while he cooks for me. I’d like to pause for a moment and let that sink in. Really, any one of the actions in that sentence are hot on their own… and I had them TOGETHER. Yeah. I probably don’t deserve any sympathy.
Also, anyone looking to reenact the above should keep the following in mind:
- Breezy early spring dresses allow for easy access.
- Leaning over and gripping the kitchen counter gives you more leverage.
- Don’t get against anything hot. You don’t feel it at first when 99% of your nerves are focused on the pleasure between your legs.
I managed to keep you out for a little while, but after we had eaten you started creeping back in again. So, when he asked if I wanted to get high (which isn’t something I normally do) I said yes. Maybe a hit would contain you to the farthest recesses of my consciousness. I exhaled and waited. The fog of faux-clarity came and I had several thoughts, one of which was, “Is writing while high a good idea.” Then my brain pictured words flowing together in combinations such as Beautiful Blue Bitterness and Merciful Misery, which led to me thinking about how much I love alliteration. And then I remembered us talking about alliteration in names. And you asking me to say the word over and over because you said you loved how it sounded in my funny American accent.
No matter what I do, you invade me. Ruthlessly.