Isn't it irritating how life often blindsides you with the inconvenient truths you try to hide from yourself?
You tell yourself you're happy or content- or at least sated- until you meet someone who completely breaks the mould. Someone you want to take care of. Someone you want to make happy.
Someone you want to love.
I remember, perhaps a year or so ago, going to a house party. I remember the magnolia walls precedent to most student houses and I remember the soft drum and bass that played above us. I even remember how much drink I consumed- unrestrainedly so- and that it was very blue. I remember thinking that I would end up pinning her to the wall, and I did, which I have never regretted.
But being impulsive is overrated.
I had an epiphany the other night. She was sweating; releasing pheromones; exuding sex. I wanted her, even though I have someone. It was only a game, I know, but to me it was more. I felt her tongue sweep over my own and I wanted to have more- to have all of her. I wanted to feel her. Not under me, but wrapping herself around me and knowing that, if it ever went as far as that, I would climb into her and eat her passion until all was left was a shuddering body screaming my name.
I want to need her.
And I want her to need me.
My irresponsibility tells me to just go and have a night of wild abandon. To trace the pattern on her shoulders with my tongue and lick my way down the centre of her back, following the line with an inked paintbrush and branching off into an elaborate design of Yakuza art and tribal designs. My recklessness tells me to hold her lips to my neck and let my fingers lavish her skin with kisses as my head rolls back to give her greater access; and the Romantic in me wants to dance with her in the rain.
But my morals remind me I have someone. My sensibility says to me: "Stop being such a twat, it's just a crush" and my lover brushes my skin, telling me " I love you", even as I lay here thinking of someone else.
And that someone else has someone else now. Unexpectedly. I could see it coming, even as I introduced them, that they would become firm friends- perhaps lovers- and that I would become obsolete. I could sense the spark of lust even through the terminally fucked up lives of both of them, and their negative attitude toward themselves and their own ability to let go and love.
Still, I want her to want me.
And this time, it really isn't a game.