perspective

He called. I answered, although I promissed to myself I wouldn't. He invited me over for coffee. I said yes. While getting dressed I was constantly repeating in my mind that I'd play cool, I wouldn't let him know that I missed him, I wouldn't bring back memories, I wouldn't talk about the past.
I put on a white shirt, nothing sexy or provocative, and jeans. didn't put any make up on cause I didn't want him thinking I got ready for him in any way. I stared at myself in the mirror for a while. Although I took my time getting dressed, I arrived at his house 15 minutes early. I sat in the car, listening to some lounge music and trying to avoid looking at passing byers. 15 minutes later I jumped out of the car and walked to his door. gave him a buzz to let him know I was arriving.
He welcomed me without a hug. He politely asked me how I was doing. I politely answered. we went inside his house. as soon as he locked the door he got that guilty face on that I very well knew. He invited me to sit down and blocked me half way brushing his lips against mine in the process. I pretended I didn't notice and sat down anyway. He started talking about film and filmmaking, our favorite subject. OUR favorite subject, even though there was no WE or US anymore. He took my hand and rubbed it for a while. I didn't listen to that part of the conversation cause all I could think of was: "Oh my God! He's touching my hand". While I was trying to say something, he pulled me to him and kissed me and all my thoughts dissapeared and I forgot what I was gonna say. Next thing I know we were having sex on his couch completely naked. When did we get naked? He was kissing me with lips and teeth and fingers and he was moving on top of me in a well known rythm. I was home. I knew this lovestory. His cock was coming in and out of me and I felt him painfully mine. He breathes hard over me but never really stops moving. He possesses me and I can't really do anything about it. I'm helpless in his hands and yet I don't feel the danger.
We didn't talk about the past, we didn't bring back memories, we just quietly lived this story from where we left it, as if no time has ever separated us.
Where did the hate go? Where did the finger pointing and the hurt go? We talk about the future and it just feels right. I guess it's just a matter of perspective.

missing chemistry

when bad sex happens to good people, one can only wonder: is it me? am I being punished for all the good times I had?
went out with a charming boy. had a great dinner at a trendy eatery where I obviously had to run into friends I didn't really wanna see that night. I had to explain to them my reason of being there and the reason of the boy being with me.
during dinner, the boy caressed my legs under the table, held my hand and told me I'm gorgeous, which is a cheap shot, cause I'm vain. after dinner he just pulled me to him and kissed me with lots of hands everywhere, in the middle of the street. by the time we got to the parking lot, my skirt was twisted around my waist, my make-up was off beat and he had a pretty visible hard on. the valet was happy, cause the boy gave him a $20 tip.
we got to his place and he threw me on the bed, he spread my legs, moved my underwear out of the way and went on with his tongue. not very convincing, it was like he was afraid to touch it. He also asked if I like it and that's when all the magic dissapeared. A man should never ask, he should just do. From then on, I started noticing the room was neat, the color of the walls of an off white, he had a pair of skiis in the corner and a College degree hanging on the wall. could also hear the neighbors through the open window, the sheets smelled like clean and there were candles on his nightstand. good times.
penetration is usually a surprise and a bit of a mock fight for me. It is tensed and pleasant and arched backed and I'm-looking-you-in-the-eyes moment. not this time it wasn't. It was more like: may I come in, please? when did sex become polite? when did sex stop being dirty and sweaty and smelly? After that he just told me: "you should let me know what you like". I was thinking: "what I like involves whips and chains and you hanging off a cross with a leather mask over your face"; what I said was: "this is good. keep going". I was being shy. I couldn't stop the man, tell him straight up: look, this ain't working, let's just be friends.
I'm definately being punished for all the good times I had.