I end things with you often.
Eventually the disconnect between my physical and my intellectual erodes, and I find myself lying next to you late into the night though I'm exhausted to the bone from our lovemaking. I'm awake, and hyper-conscious of your every movement and change of breath - not in the way that it used to once, the way that made me grin at the patterns of your dreams while they led me into the warm depths of my own; no, this is the consciousness of run-on sentences and wondering how you could so quickly fall asleep. I listen to you snore lightly and to the staccato leaps you take from midair, and with my back turned to you I force myself still because when you shift, I don't want to wake you with my restlessness.
Intellect and reason is seeping back in. I wish I lived closer, so that I could sneak into my own bed in times like this. But no, I must walk through corners crowded with leering men wearing low-slung caps and analyzing eyes, or past dark doorways with lone huddled figures whose heads follow my walk like a goddamned scent. And I am a 2 hour train ride or a 50 dollar cab ride away. By the time we are finished it is always three in the morning and I wish I wasn't poor, or a girl by herself rendered scared of the dark by footsteps that slow down when I slow down.
So I lie in your bed, which has never been comfortable, and listen to your presence until I exhale into your hallway the next morning. It feels like closing the door on a bad day. There is also an odd sense of detachment... Clean breaks are so abrupt, that it almost feels like loneliness.
I "break up" with you this weekend (how can we break up? When we never broke down/ and committed to each other, we was fuckin around) and my intellect gathers into a sigh of relief. You tell me that you don't understand, you thought we were friends, and I tell you that my definition of friendship has changed. The realization that I would never stand for this sad excuse for a lovership if we were new, if we had not been stuck in this sexual, bipolar rut for damn near a decade, allowed me to finally make it clear and wish you the best. I guess I'll see you next lifetime, I think and I put down my phone for good.
Except I wake up Monday morning and the memory of you presses against me like a thick, juicy tongue. I travel to the city with my legs crossed, blood pulsing like thunder between my thighs as my mind starts to cum from the tension of its thoughts. I daydream all day: About threesomes, about onesomes, about other people, about strangers. I daydream about men, about new friends I've made, about what their hipbones would look like when they strain against themselves before letting go. I daydream about getting pounded into on balconies during all sorts of weather or getting head while listening to roommates cumming. I daydream about women, about shy women I sit next to every week that have never done this before, about women who have glanced away curiously when we spoke, about women whose lives I could ruin with one hungry hello of my tongue. I daydream about you, about the way you completely empty me of all thought with that first, shocking push into my wet; I daydream about the sounds we make with our throats and our bodies and the dull frantic rhythms when you start to lose control. My thoughts always return to you.
I fantasize about you often. And I don't know how else to explain it. It is the same muscle of thought that sends me to burger houses the day before I plan to start a health diet. It's the thought of what I can no longer have that suddenly makes me hungry, painfully hungry to indulge before I must firmly abandon. This baffling emptiness that calls out to you, the emptiness in my ...vagina (LOL -- there is no other, more romantic word right now) -- is a physical pocket of loneliness that is nothing short of hunger. I crave you. I crave you so hard. There is nothing my tongue, my pussy, and the bottom of my esophagus that deep moans rip out of want more than to have you crush my arms while you steady, steady dig into my core.
I wonder how long my intellect will hold reign, before my physical becomes crippled and dripping with need. In the past, it was never too long before I found myself sitting on a 2 hour train ride, or gazing out the window of a 50 dollar cab ride, to walk past dark doorways and crowded corners into an uncomfortable bed to lie still without sleeping. I have really had enough, and my soul is too tired to desire you any more.
But my pussy, well she is absolutely furious.
