birthday boy

C turned off the light and put on some music. classic rock on the radio. the street light was strong enough for me to see the contour of his body, face, lips, wonderfully full lips and the shadow of his eyes. He was a faun.
His nineteenth birthday party has ended with us in a beautiful bedroom where he told me he hated his father. the same father who paid $20000 for this lavish birthday party. New York kid, C thought he owned the world. I liked his cocky manners, his lies about how strong and interesting he was and his ideals. I touched his hairless skin. We kissed. We snaked around in that huge bed. I got naked and he wanted to show me how rough he liked it, but he didn't quiet know where to start.
I told him he was beautiful. He said I was the only one complimenting him on his birthday. He said he plays with girls and teases them. He said he doesn't care. He was testing my muscles, my strength in a fight that had very little to do with violence and a lot to do with love. He wanted to pin me down and win the game. He wanted to do a line of coke in front of me just to see my reaction. I said I was a good girl.
He said he didn't like to please a woman. He thought I was there to please him. C is the same boy who shared my interests in exotic places and books that no one reads. He said he was a business man and that I should be his whore. We dressed up and played Pretty Woman for a little while. When we couldn't hold a straight face anymore, we exploded into laughter, kissed and told each other I love you, like in a perfect romance story.
he told me to stay the night: "You don't have shit to do tomorrow. Stay" I said I was tired and didn't want to sleep with him because it was hot and sticky and because I don't like to be held while I'm asleep. He called me a monster. I put my clothes on and walked to the door. He blocked me and took my skirt off, got on his knees and with his tongue and lips sucked and kissed and teased my pussy. I let him do. He put one finger inside me and started to move it up and down. i told him that if he wouldn't stop, I'd come. he made his big eyes and continued. I came. Standing up against the door, my skirt to my ankles, lit by the street light and through the notes of a mars volta song.
he stood up, wiped his mouth, went to the coke tray and did one more line. "there's nothing to do in this shitty town, the night's still young", he said. I pulled my skirt up and walked out of the apartment.
he sent me a text message: " Never leave me alone on my birthday. Bitch!"

touch me

J came over to watch Sin City. When it was over, we got out of the house and met a friend of his at the movie theater. we watched Grindhouse, the double feature Rodriguez/Tarantino...nice horror spoof. Rodriguez had the winning hand.
We came back home late. I'm nervous around him. I can never be myself, sometimes I can't breathe. However, this time I thought we had a good time. we managed to avoid talking about our past relationship. But little did I know...
J and I ended up together when neither of us wanted to be together with anyone. that was about 3 years ago. since then, many things have happened: he loved and hated another woman, I loved and hated him.
last night he held me tight to him. familiar picture, familiar thoughts. he said there's sexual tension between us. I was suffocating and went to open the window. He continues to apologize for those times he hurt me. He says he cares and yet I don't feel the truth in his words. His arms are thick. His hands are large over my hands and body. I love large hands. They give me a sense of safety. he sleeps. why am I still laying next to him, on the couch?
I move to my bed. take all my clothes off and lay there naked for a while. I can't sleep because of the adrenaline rush. wrote a couple of notes on my diary, although many times before I had promissed I would never write about J again.
fell asleep among dreams of pirates and burning houses where a phantom lord grins at me in pain. woke up and J was next to me. Holding me. I was naked. he was dressed. nothing wrong with this picture, you may say. A pain in my stomach brought back memories of my desire for him. I hated him. I hated his arrogant ways. I was digging through this hate when it hit me: I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to touch me like the first time we made love. I felt his hard on rubbing against me. I stretched, felt every muscle in my body while I was still in his arms. I could feel him, I could smell him and my senses became painfully aware of his presence around me. I wanted no responsibility of that sexual desire. I wanted to accuse him of taking advantage of my vulnerability, when I knew I wasn't vulnerable.
Touch me! Feel me! Don't fuck me! Tie me up in knots! cover my eyes, so that I can't see. make me want you. cover my mouth and tell me to speak up my desire. I don't want to make love to you. in fact, I still resent you. I still hate you for breaking my heart. I'm ready to hurt you, so hurt me and stop me from my destructive path. Make me bleed. make me love you again. don't give up on me. Touch me again and let the hurt set in. trust me, J. trust me this once!