You text me at 8:21 PM Last Night
Tell me what your mood is over the phone or show me in person.

The man that I am so sure that I love asked me if I wanted any company last night and I didn’t but then you asked me if I did and somehow, things changed.
Maybe I was dreaming or maybe all of this shit happened.
Actually, you didn’t ask, you said I’m coming over unless you tell me to fuck off.
And you know I can’t tell you that.
You text me at 8:23 PM Last Night
Tell me so I stop myself from driving to your house.

I’ve tried but it doesn’t work. After a few days, a few hours, a few minutes, I feel foolish for not fucking with you when in a way I am extremely lucky to get to do so, so early in your life. I’m becoming a memory that all other women have to base themselves off of. It’s extremely difficult to let you go.
You text me at 8:24 PM Last Night.
Tell me.

I just tell you things like we aren’t going to do anything when you threaten to show up at my place, or I ask you why would you want to come over here and remind you that you’re so beautiful physically that the world is your oyster so how could you even be lonely or bored? And maybe we both know that all it is, is that I just want to talk to you, I just make excuses to text you, I never think that you are going to show up and yet, you always do and secretly no matter what I say outwardly, I always want you to.
I always want to see you.
You text me at 8:35 PM Last Night.
You say I’m insane… yet you think you saying this wouldn’t tempt me?

It’s nearly midnight during this exchange in my living room and I promised the whole world that I was sleeping hours ago and now I’m rushing you to hurry up to get here to me to do nothing but sit and stare at the tv together.
This is not what you want.
You are coming because you think I am going to cage you.
This is not what is going to happen. And probably never will.
You text me at 8:50 PM Last Night.
Tell me what would happen if I sat next to you on the couch two minutes from now.

What will happen is I am going to tease you until you can’t take it anymore and then I am going to send you home. Or at least I am going to attempt to send you home.
This is the game that we play.
This is the game that I live for.
So I make your visit which I could have easily resisted but didn’t. I turn it into an errand that you have to complete and ask you to get me a cigar so that you could break up some weed that the man that I am so sure that I love gave me and to roll me a blunt. I like watching you roll.
Don’t think I didn’t hear you ask me who am I smoking this blunt with.
I heard you. You were sitting right next to me, and I had given you a dollar for the paper and you threw the dollar back at me like money was an insult for buying the cigar. Not sure why you were concerned about who I was smoking with.
Maybe I was dreaming or maybe all of this shit happened.
You sat with me and I was drinking so I offered you a beer and I had already poured one in the fridge because I put a melatonin pill in the glass and a NyQuil pill hoping they would dissolve into the beer and put your ass to sleep which it did not… You said, you and your diet beer as you drank it and I said, Its working believe it or not and I know that you don’t see me often enough to know that and then you said that you notice everything and for a second what I felt… felt a little bit like love.
You text me at 8:55 PM Last Night.
Who says that you shouldn’t have an outlet?

We watched a little Kung Fu and like always it’s so difficult to keep my hands off of you.
I just started at your jawline for a while and the light made a perfect spotlight. The tv’s reflection was showing the new grown fair colored stubble that wants to flow out of your young chin.  You look a little manly to me.
You need me to touch you. We both need this. So you tell me that you have wanted your back cracked all day and would I do it. I go whatever, like it’s a hassle and you go never mind. I tell you to lie face down on the floor. I told you that it would be unfair to the rest of the world for you to have a beard, you’re already so fine as it is, having that too would be too much. You’re laying there and I think about Vegas and cracking my ex’s back and I am scared that you might fall in love. I love that you smile when I compliment you like you don’t hear the shit all of the time from everyone that you meet.
You lay there on the floor face down for a minute and it takes all of my strength to not stay on top of you, with all of my weight.
You text me at 8:58 PM Last Night.
Tell me to fuck off & I will.

Per normal your age and temperament start to show when you rant to me for twenty minutes about God and Godliness and God’s existence. You’re nervous and frustrated with me.
You think that I don’t listen to you because I don’t give a fuck about what you’re saying to me but I hear every word.
I heard you say that if mistranslated text exist in religions how could they not exist as well in history books and governments?
We’ve had this conversation more than once because it’s your go to and somewhere deep in you there is a good boy…but it’s nice just to get to talk to you face to face from time to time, even if every word out of my mouth makes you stutter and shake your head and tell me how stupid I am.
Maybe I was dreaming or maybe all of this shit happened.
It’s always fun to see you so passionate until you get to the point that you are fed up with me not agreeing with you and check your phone.
I hate your phone.
It’s a dismissal and I don’t like to be dismissed. I try to play it cool but I can’t …I giggle too much and too loud and pretend that I am still trying to irritate you when really all I want to do is hug you.
What I really want is for you to shut the fuck up and rip my shirt off.
So I lean in close and start to lick your ear a little bit. I suck air into my mouth so that I don’t leave it wet.
I heard you say that god cannot be denied because you know so many people who have a close connection to him.
I never noticed that your cartilage in your ear was pierced but it instantly makes me miss your nose ring.
You text me at 9:00 PM Last Night.
Tell me to come over & I’ll come endure your frustration.

You scoot your body closer to me and lean back into my face so that I can kiss your mouth. It’s so beautiful because if anyone saw it, it would look like I was leaning you after a dance. It’s one of my favorite things in the world to do. Kissing you.
I back away from you because I don’t want things to get too heavy, I certainly don’t want to fuck you tonight, (I do, every night but I hate doing it because I know you’d rather I hog tie you than sleep with you…) I just want you to be here with me, in my presence, sharing air, living, like we know and care about each other, when I clearly know that’s an illusion.
I heard you say that there is no way for the created to ever truly understand and experience the creator.
I’m poking you and touching your chest and pinching you in a very childish unsure way just to keep your attention and you always do these over the top dramatic interpretations with your body , flowing backward into me like a wave, and I know it’s fake but I can’t help but revel in it- you have perfected a snake like move as if you can barely stand your clothes against your own warm skin…
This is the game that we play.
This is the game that I live for.
Every time I see you I notice these scars on your chest and every time I get really angry about them because I can’t ever remember if I put them there or not.
We hit the bowl and stare at the tv and sit way too close and I rub the scars on you. No you cannot smoke the blunt that you rolled for me. I may never smoke it. I am trying to memorize the scars with my fingertips.
You text me at 10:44 PM Last Night.
How much longer are you gonna be up?

I don’t think I have ever asked you how you got them and this time I did and you didn’t want to tell me but your throat was already in my hand and I had no other choice but to grip it tightly- grip it so hard that I could feel your voice box moving up and down in between my fingers as you try and catch your breath to speak and it is only for this reason that I even let go.  But I don’t think you wanted me to. You could overpower me at any time, you could have grabbed my arm and broke my wrist but you didn’t.
You choke a little and cough a little and whisper that they have always been there and I don’t believe you but your head is already in my lap and my nipples are already rock hard so I pull you backward by your hair so hard that I’m surprised clumps don’t come out in my hand and I have to hold you backward like that until the fake little this is fun face, that sexy little I’m still safe face goes away and you move into mortal danger face and this bitch is crazy face, when you look like Im actually hurting you and I love that look on you because it really does hurt and you won’t make me stop.
I let go and I look sad, I don’t know why, maybe because in these moments I wish that you really loved me and I know that you don’t. Maybe because I want to know who scarred you.
You struggle to say out loud that the scars have literally been there ever since I’ve known you and somehow I remember this but I am still pissed. More at me than your scars.
You shouldn’t even be here. The man that I am sure that I love thinks I am asleep now.
My son thinks that I am asleep now.
You text me at 10:45 PM Last Night.
I’m bored.

I no longer trust my judgement because you exist.
I say fine, whatever, okay, leave. But I do not want this.
You get up and put your shoes on as if you are going to go and I really should let you, I need to sleep I have to work but I have to touch you again, and you know, as you move slowly to put on your shoes on which should take a total of 2 seconds, that I’m not letting you make it to the door.
I stand up and put my hands on your hips and push you backward around the couch. I love how you trust me so much that you don’t balk, you just walk backward where I am leading you. We end up in my bedroom and I push you up against the wall and run my fingers under your shirt back to your scars and hover my lips over your lips and tell you how beautiful you are and you moan a little, the best feeling is hearing that based off the best sound in the world… you. I love when we stand together face to face and all you are doing is breathing on me.
I remember that I have a bag in my closet of toys specifically for you that the man that I am sure that I love helped me pick out for you and you and I have not used in months.
You text me at 10:48 PM Last Night.
I’m on the way.

I want you to die in my arms from electrocution.
We kiss and it’s so perfect it’s almost completely fraudulent and this angers me slightly so I push you away from the wall and down onto the bed.  I almost wanted you to fall on the floor and hurt yourself. I would have fucked you if I had seen any blood coming from you.
I straddle you on my bed and pull your arms up above your head and hold them tightly atop one another behind you stretched far and uncomfortably long and bite your lip like a savage just enough to not draw the blood that I really want.
You bite me back. Every time you do, I replay it in my mind, even while it is happening.
This is the game that we play.
This is the game that I live for.
I run my other hand down your pants into your underwear and right onto your meat that is so warm against your leg.
It’s getting hard and it’s so tight and I grip it and squeeze it as hard as I can. I’m choking it like I choke your throat. You buckle your knees.
It feels good to you but it hurts you and you squirm. I whisper into your neck as I bite you that no one else can scar you on your chest or otherwise, NO ONE else except for me, not even you.
I love hearing myself say this to you out loud.
You moan but you don’t agree with what I said yet so I squeeze you harder, let go and scratch your chest with my other hand while holding  your wrists above your head as tightly as I can and then you say okay which you know is my favorite thing to hear you say, besides I love you in my mind.
Okay.
Okay.
I wish that I was carrying your dead baby right now so that we would have something between us to mourn forever.
You text me at 11:17 PM Last Night.
Here.

I feel like I won something, I feel victorious and thin and I jump off you and smack your leg and say go buddy.. time to go… let’s go..  trying to indicate in the most asshole way possible that this session is over and you need to go do whatever 23 year olds do at 1 AM.
I leave the room and my heart is racing and I expect you to follow as I plop on the couch but you have not moved from the bed. You have not followed me.
This is a trap and I know it. You are controlling me now and I don’t like it so I can sit here alone in the living room and waste moments that I could be spending with you being so prideful that you did not follow my instructions or I could come back into the room and punish you for not doing as you were told which is really what you want anyway and when you’re manipulating me in an obvious way I  hate you.
I don’t like when you force my hand but I don’t want to punish you really I just want to be with you. Sad but true.
I come back into the room, very nervous and you are lying on the bed on your back with your eyes closed feigning sleep and I ask you what you are doing and you say going to bed which we both know you are not doing because you are fully dressed and with your shoes on my sheets so I curl up in the bed next you, so happy you’re even in my life and put my hands down the back of your pants and grab a handful of your sweaty ass which I love and you turn your back to me like you want me to take it but as soon as I get close to having my hands inside of you, you move your leg forward like you are going to try and get up but I put my leg over yours and pull you back down into the bed in a knot and grab your throat as hard as possible to choke you and pull you close into me.
Don’t leave me.
I don’t even remember how long I held you like this but not long, because soon I crawled on top of you, holding you down and then scooted back like my head was going to go into your pants but when it got close, you pulled away like you wanted me to stop but I hadn’t planned on sucking you off.
Instead I grabbed your arms which you let dangle limp and pulled you up into  seated position and then onto your feet like a boy whose shirt needed changed but he was sleepy.
I hugged you and said let’s go and then you dropped to your knees, clasped your hands in front of me as if in prayer to god or supplication or a request for freedom and I gasped.
Maybe I was dreaming or maybe all of this shit happened.
I’m standing over you, your face in front of my pussy, you staring up at me, pleading.
I worship you when you are like this.
Seeing you on your knees in front of me reminded me of the first night we met and how you were in that same position before the end of the night begging me to restrain you. It was all a set up I know, you had come over that night with your own duffle bag full of ropes and paddles and a strap on and lube. You just want to someone to do this with and no one could keep up with you. This you eventually told me.
I couldn’t just let you plead for capture today, I was too weak to not try to lock your beautiful ass away from all of the other girls that you tease….
I took the skull scarf on my hair down and wrapped it tightly around your wrists, and pulled your arms backward like they were going to come out of the sockets and you didn’t complain- you wanted to be back on the bed. You wanted mistreatment.
I grabbed a handful of your dick and pushed it down, trying to make it small, crushing it, trying to make it not hard anymore, explaining to you what it would look like and feel like if your cock was trapped in my cage unable to grow.
It looked as if I was hurting you and your response only made me want to do it a little bit harder. You resisted and I knew that I needed to get off of you just in case you decided to get upset.
I said I needed to go to bed and you said fine, in a huff, went into the living room, got your coat and everything that you brought with you and I walked you to the door- I have a love hate relationship with you leaving… I always want it to be on such a high note that all I can think about for the next several hours is you and your kisses are painful priceless magic and I needed one more…it was already nearly 2 AM.  As I opened the door I leaned in to get your lips on mine one more time and you grabbed me frantically like a crazy man, like you were in charge all along and pinned me to the wall and grabbed my ass and pushed me backward and I felt like a girl, like I was the most crucial and important thing you had touched the whole day and for a second it was a relief. Then you bit my neck and you pinned me back into the wall and said take off your pants.
I wanted to.
I knew I wasn’t going to because you made it a point to text me once that everyone else always lets you come.
This is the game that we play.
And you hate that they always let you.
I heard you when you said that the reason that you weren’t a devout servant of the high and mighty was because of your youth. I heard you say that you only started having sex and doing a drugs a couple of years ago.
This is the game that I live for.
I refuse to be everyone else to you. So I whimpered no…. my kid was asleep in the other room and we were right outside the door and I certainly wasn’t going to take my pants off where anyone might see. You pulled and tugged at my pants, and even put your knee in between my legs so that I was straddling you and pulled my hair and kissed me hard like I was never going to see you again, still standing in the doorway.
We’re creeps you and me.
It’s so magic when you handle me like this because I can tell by the way that you move you are new at it, and would rather be the one being grabbed. I can tell you are not sure where your hands should go so you grab everything and I love the things that you do that show me that you are still a beginner and I am still one of your firsts in your life.
We’re narcissistic deviants you and me.
You fondle me like a freshman virgin going off to war and all that you needed was to be inside me one time to survive it.
It was extremely difficult not to give in but I was bleeding and I don’t think you love me so fucking you through blood was not an option although if I thought for a second that you did, I would have let you and then you said, forcefully, take your pants off now, I want to cum.
My chest is heaving, I want you to cum so badly, typing it now.. I still want you to cum, rethinking about it all and I want you to cum wherever you are this instant, with me as the catalyst.
We’re selfish assholes, you and me.
You’re still pushing me back into the wall and you say in my bad ear, the rock and roll ear where I can’t make things out all the way, you say something like, you don’t want to fuck me?
I say of course I do but I already said no to you sir…. and then you say maybe what you want is to make love to me.
Make love to me.
Make love to me…..
Any other motherfucking day, I would have been naked so fast, like a fool, I would have jumped at the chance to do you after you saying the words I  have wanted to hear you say so desperately for five months.
Take your pants off you say again or something similar to it so that I can make love to you.
I grip you and hold you tight to my chest. And I say that was so good, that was so perfect.
Because it was.
But I’m letting your ass know that I know it’s not real. I’m giving you your academy award boy, by acknowledging how wonderful you sounded saying it.
It was all I ever wanted to hear you say and it didn’t matter at that moment one bit that it was completely and utterly an untrue statement about an unrealistic possibility.
I knew that I needed to change my pad because it was full of my cum after hearing you say that which just made more blood rush out.
You say to me, “But you say I’m a good actor all of the time…” Yes I do say that because I know someone that looks like you would never really truly ever want to be around someone who looks like me and I know that it is all for pretend and I’m just glad that you are good at it and make it feel authentic for me and I’m so appreciative but when you say shit like, “you say I’m a good actor all of the time” I think that it insults you a little that I think you are pretending.
You get mad, not angry, but feel slighted when I want to go out with other men or if you roll me a blunt you have to say who are you smoking with but over the course of the night you let me know you had plenty of girlfriends.
You confuse me and I love it.
All these girlfriends who weren’t with you right then though.
Girlfriends that you couldn’t call when you were bored in the middle of the night.
Girlfriends who never heard that beautiful moan that you make when you are struggling to breathe.
Maybe I was dreaming or maybe all of this shit happened.
But who the fuck am I kidding?
Instantly at that second I had no idea why you were in my apartment, no idea why I knew you, no idea why I keep torturing myself with you.
On some level we both want you to belong to me and on another level, we both know that you cannot. On some level we are both desperate fools and on another level we know that nothing matters more than getting to feel like yourself- the dominate person or submissive person that you are constantly hiding from the world out of fear.
You’re feeling me up on the wall while I am thinking all of these thoughts at once and I whisper to you, you win.
My head is going to explode.
You used me Last Night.

You win.
I wish that you would leave so that I could shower and reminisce. I’ve lied to the man that I think that I am sure that I love just to have this time with you.
He can’t be mad though, I didn’t fuck you but I can never truly explain to him how good just being with you for a little while makes me feel. How good and how miserable and how desperate. How alive. I feel alive whenever I am with you even if we don’t do anything sexual at all.
You stop and compose yourself temporarily and I nearly slide down the wall sob laughing tickled and lost and unsure about what just happened, and unsure about who I was or why I was doing any of this and you went out of the door and came back, just to push me up against the wall one more time and ask, what did you say?
I go you win.
I almost wish that you would slap me for talking back but only because that would make it okay for me to stab you and get the blood from you that I am so desperately craving. But you’re a smart manipulator for a young man.
You tell me, say it one more time, say it louder.
I lean in and go, you win… taking snapshots of you in my head with my blinks in case I never get to see you again, which would be a good thing and a terrible mistake.
You let me go and walk out.
This is the game that we play.
This is the game that I live for.
I wait three hours to lock the door, just in case you wanted to come back but I am glad that you didn’t.
We’re pathetic losers afraid of real love, you and me.
All of that took place in two hours, exactly. For whatever I know of love, you make me want some. You make me hate myself at the same time.
The only length of time that we can tolerate each other without us starting to feel stupid about knowing one another at all is two hours.
Maybe I was dreaming or maybe all of this shit happened.
And it’s been haunting me for 12 hours already how much I love you. I love you so much that I had to sit here and write out everything that I remember before it faded away or before I lose you for good… and who knows how many years into the future  it will be since  nothing ever satisfy me as much as breathing in just a little bit of you and digging my nails into your skin.
Thank you, pretty boy for being the reason that I am exhausted today.
Thank you for helping me uptake serotonin.
This is the game that we play.
Thank you for letting an old bird feel wanted by a beautiful young raving lunatic monster.
After you left did you get the text that I sent? The one where I said I never let you cum, so did you really win though?
This is the game that I live for.
I used you Last Night.

Thank you for never staying too long…