by Kennedy True
It's hard to spend six years coming in and out of someone's life without knowing some of the same people, so eventually we both end up at the same place. I didn't know you were going to be here, didn't have time to prepare mentally, to remind myself how wrong it all was. I just walked into this house and here you are with your eyes. I always thought the body was supposed to do it automatically, but I no longer remember how to breathe.
What I do remember is that I hate you, but when I smell your sweat from across the room the way I did that one day when the air conditioner was broken, that day when you pulled up my skirt, pushed my underwear to the side, and fucked me in my office for an hour and a half until we were so wet with sweat from fucking in the heat that we had to hide from everybody at work for an hour after we were done, my body doesn't care. I might have forgotten how to breathe, but I remember how to get wet.
Uncomfortable and not sure how to act, I pretend to drink more than I should. I wander into a bedroom to lie down. I hope that you'll follow me.
We haven't spoken in years.
Even though you pretend you're not paying attention to me, you, of course, are. How could you not? How could you be in the same place as me, in the same house as me, in and out of the same room as me, and not? How could you look at me and not think about the way my throat used to feel when my mouth was full of you? Maybe I'm waiting for you, you think, and even though you know you shouldn't, that we're over and supposed to stay over, you start to get excited, and since you're more than a little drunk, when I don't come out of the bedroom after about ten minutes, you decide to follow me in.
You close the door behind you after you see that I'm lying on the bed. My eyes are closed. The skirt of my mini-dress is askew, angled in a way that lets you see a sliver of my underwear. You remember the fantasy I always used to tell you about, the one that made me come. The one when you fuck me while I'm asleep or passed out. You get hard.
You're not going to fuck me, you tell yourself. You just want to touch.
You walk over to the side of the bed, reach down, and unbutton the top of my dress. You remember biting my nipples, hard, the time you told me you like to hurt me, the way that I squirmed and squealed. You pull my bra down. You lean in, licking, sucking, biting like you once did.
You're not going to fuck me, you tell yourself again. You just want to take it out. You just want to touch.
You remember my tongue and my lips and the way I used to work you with my hand at the same time I worked you with my mouth. You lean in, holding onto your cock and tracing the line of my lips with the head.
You're not going to fuck me, you still tell yourself. You just want to look. You just want to remember.
You pull my skirt up. You push my underwear down. You spread my legs apart. You remember what it felt like to be inside of me. You remember my warm and my wet. You remember my taste and the way I liked to suck it off your tongue and lick it off your face. You lean in, French kissing me between my legs.
You're not going to fuck me, you tell yourself over and over again. You just want to feel my warm and my wet, just for a minute, just with the head. You pull me to the end of the bed, and you take your cock, and you trace my lips, and I'm so wet, and I'm so warm, and you can't not do it, you can't not fuck me, and you lift my hips up off the bed, and you slide into me, and finally, you feel my warm and my wet, all over your cock, and you fuck me and fuck me and fuck me, my hips in the air, my eyes closed, my body still, and then you feel it. I'm supposed to be asleep or passed out, but you feel me quiver and grab a hold of your cock, and you remember how I feel when I come, and you know that I'm coming, that I'm coming and coming and coming while you thrust in and thrust out, and you can't stand it anymore, I'm too warm and too wet, and you come like you used to, like you don't come with anyone but me, and when you finish and look down at me, my eyes are still closed, but you know I'm awake, and you're thankful thaat I'm pretending because you remember, and I keep on pretending. I keep on pretending all the way until you close the door behind you, not because of any fantasy, but because I remember too.