It’s not about love or chemistry; it’s not even really about like. Sometimes it’s about attraction, but that’s as serious as it gets. In all honesty it’s more about a memory and my ache to feel something, anything at all. I need to be touched for one reason, and that is solely to forget he ever had the hold on me that he did. When all is said and done the sex is the one thing that brought he and I back together every time we tried to end it—well, except this time I suppose. He meant it when he said he was moving on.
It doesn’t matter if we meet at the bar, Tinder, or even mutual friends. It doesn’t matter if you take me to the movies, dinner, or straight to your place. The end point will always be the same. I will beg you to fuck me and tell you you’re the best I’ve ever had. I’ll blow you and let you talk dirty to me. I’ll let you bust a load on my face and even snap a few pictures if you’d like. The dirtier the better because all this is really just a way for me to forget the way he loved me every night. I won’t look you in the eye, I won’t cuddle with you afterwards, and unless you give me a mind-blowing orgasm I won’t give you my number. When you ask how many guys I’ve slept with I’ll lie and if you ask if I’m fucking anyone else I’ll tell you no. I won’t ask if you have a girlfriend and I won’t ask you to tell me what makes you who you are. I won’t spare your feelings and I won’t hesitate to tell you what gets me off. I want fast and I want hard. I want you to get me high with the way you feel inside me. I want you to fuck me so well that I forget, at least for a minute, why I’m even fucking you in the first place.
I fuck you the first time I meet you for the same reason I fucked him the last time I saw him. It’s my need to hold onto the few things I’m still capable of controlling and my need to prove something. It didn’t matter that he was only doing it because he felt bad for me and it doesn’t matter if you’re just taking me home because you feel bad for the drunken girl alone at the bar. I needed to prove to his new girlfriend that he would always choose me, and tonight I need to prove to you that I’m the best piece of ass in this goddamned city.
When I leave your place, your car, or wherever we’ve chosen to do the deed I’ll take the long way home. Long back roads and the music turned as loud as I can handle will help drown out the thoughts that bring to me to the darkness that brought me to you in the first place. Old familiar questions will sneak up on me and I’ll begin to wonder if I still love him or if I ever did at all. I ponder whether it was the comfort and safety that he provided or the way he kept my secrets as if they were his personal demons that really drew me in. When I look back he wasn’t all that special but he had something about him, some kind of magnetic force that always kept me coming back for more and never allowed me to fully let go. I’ll make a loop around my neighborhood so I can finish off the song that’s playing and when I finally crawl into bed I’ll wish I was back in his arms once again. I’ll remind myself that next weekend isn’t too far away and it won’t be long before I’m tangled up in another stranger’s sheets fucking the pain away.