I Will Not Love Him In The Morning

I roll over and look at him. My eyes are coming unglued after sleeping with my contacts in again. My makeup is smeared all over my face, a combination of being drunk and fucking. I’m naked and I hate sleeping naked, especially with someone. I don’t feel free when I sleep naked, I feel uncomfortable. I feel like every little flaw of mine is out in the open for everyone to critique and criticize, almost as I’m standing naked in front of the whole world, even if it’s just one person. The way he saw my body last night is not the way he will see it again this morning. This morning it won’t be sexy, if he even found it sexy in the first place. It was dark, we were drunk and he was probably just horny. And I knew that, after all this wasn’t the first time.

I went with him willingly, maybe even more than willingly, because as much as he wanted to get laid, I wanted to be desired, even if it was just for a night. I walked back to his house with him from the bar, fully aware of what I was doing. I wanted to be the only girl he had in front of him, the only girl he could talk to or touch. I wanted to feel like he wanted me, like nothing could go wrong. I wanted him to be thinking of me, even though I’ll never actually know for sure if he was.

I know we we’re just fucking, but my mind has a funny way to twist things in my head. I didn’t think it would lead to more, but at the same time I don’t think I wanted it to. I wasn’t hoping for the good morning texts to come out of it and the dinner dates. I wasn’t hoping for morning sex and days spent together lying in bed together watching Friends reruns. That’s not what I was after and that’s not what I got.

I don’t want Sunday morning snuggles, or Tuesday night date nights. I don’t want to share my bed. I don’t want to keep up with another person’s life. I’m too independent for that. I don’t want to worry about if someone is cheating on me when he’s out with the guys or wonder what he’s doing when he isn’t texting me back.

But for that night the feeling of his hands rubbing down my body over every little imperfect curve, and his lips on my neck and shoulders was irresistible. That was all I wanted, that was all I craved. I didn’t care about anything else, my mind didn’t wander and I didn’t want him to stop, what ever he was doing I didn’t want it to end. But I knew it would.

The only thing that keeps him hanging around in my mind is that I’ll see him again. I know I will. It’s like the more I see him, the more I talk about him and the more I feel him, the more I want him. But just for one night at a time. I don’t think I could handle more than one night at a time, I don’t think I want more than one night at a time.

As much as I want him, I always leave before he wakes up. I don’t want to be there, really. I want to be home, in my bed, by myself. I want to think about what happened last night and think about the words he said. I know he was drunk, his words probably don’t mean much.

I know I’ll see him again, soon. I’ll walk back to the house with him, again. I’ll take my clothes off for him, again. I might even pass out next to him naked, again. But I’ll always leave before he wakes up because I won’t love him in the morning.