I had been crushing on you for a while now. Well, maybe not. I’m too old to have a “crush”. We’ll just say I watched you from a distance. Something about you screamed asshole, but something else conveyed intelligence. Intelligence is the trump card of life. And then…
I caught you looking.
I was introducing you to the city. We dined with friends. You made new friends. Comfortable you could venture on your own, I left your side. At the other end of the bar, an unfamiliar co-worker was keeping my attention. But he was not the one. Jealousy was in your eyes. You smirked. I winked.
You really couldn’t handle this.
I was sure. The smile fools them every time.
I confess, I wondered what you were like.
Wondered if you were worth one time.
Yet and still, I paid you no mind.
That is. Until that night. I was 2am and I don’t know what I must have been thinking. I know, you were a good kisser. You boasted that you kiss all lips well. All lips? “I could kiss your lips—” Ha, I’ll pass. And I did pass. Until 2am that night. I woke you from your sleep. You must have thought it was your lucky night. Yeah, baby, call yourself lucky.
It took me five seconds too long. One too many pitstops. Three too many second thoughts. Nevertheless I found myself exposed in your bed at 3am. And kissing my lips is exactly what you did.
I waited for the fireworks. I had to admire your work ethic. Glancing down, I could tell you were really really insistant upon doing a good job. A for effort, I guess. I tried to take in the music as my mind drifted. Time passed. Well, I think it did. I just remember being bored. In fact, bored shitless.
OMG, he’s going to want to fuck me now.
Your odd choice of music said “to the moon” and that’s exactly where I expected to go. Instead gravity had trapped me. And here I was on Earth trying to fake my way through this and hoping you’d hurry up so that I may hurry out.
The stroke of death and I’d died, twice! Actually, I was still dying. Dying to fucking LEAVE. I thought of taking control so that I could rush this along and maybe enjoy the ending. “Let me take care of you, baby. Relax.” Oh great, a confident control freak. I squirmed, not participating… more like continued faking. Just leave mid-stroke? I was contemplating. Yawn. I was so expecting more from you. “Ohhh Ahhhh. Unnnnhh.” Blah. Un-fucking-believable.
I rolled over, hopping out of the bed. “Do you have juice?” I was really wishing for vodka. I really hope he knows his pipe game is horrible: a mixture of the chokey and a pogo stick. So bad. I shuttered remembering the last hour or whatever it took for me to finally escape. Yes, he has to know. Afterall, any female fully on her feet following sex is surely a sign that it was terrible. And me, I was twirling on my toes texting a friend, “SOS… 911”.
My phone then rang.
“Sorry baby gotta run.”
And ran, is exactly what I did.
And I didn’t look back.
All of that talking and “kissing” and his shit was wack!