Faceless. Nameless. I can’t bring myself to talk about him.
He is my new secret. A part of me just wants to go on endlessly. A part of me just want to giggle like a school girl and relish in the details– the minor things only girls care about. I want them to understand why I giggle between text messages. “LOL” when on the phone. Friends want to know details. They’ve never been so interested. I’ve never been so evasive. Why, though? Selfish. I think I want him all to myself.
I stare up at him and smile. He makes a funny face down at me. I just… just smile.
“Oh, but you WILL give details…!!”
“Oh, but I won’t…”
“Well do you even like him? You know how you are with men—”
“…And? I think he likes me too.”
In the morning, I roll over knowing he’s still sleep. Yes, always still sleep. I stare at his skin- eyes roaming over his tattoos… over his eyes… his facial hair… his- no him. My eyes roam and I smile. I stroke his—
—low cut hair. With my index finger, I poke his shoulder.Then I lay on him, my face on his neck, whispering…
“Baby… are you up?”
He moves a little closer to me. He’s never up. I’m always up. Touching his skin. His soft skin. I kiss his face. All over his face. He sleeps. I poke him again.
“Wake upppppppp… I’m up.”
He rolls over. Rude. I lay across his body and continue to kiss his face. Then I bite his lip. He wakes? No, he sleeps. I shake my head and smile. Stubborn. From his small lips to his little nose and funny eyebrows. For about two minutes, I watch him in silence.
Then I kiss him and tuck him in before I leave the room to do my morning ritual. And still he sleeps… in silence. He’ll be up in about 15 minutes, though.
In my own silence, I smile…
…because I know.
And when they ask, again, I smile…
…because they don’t.
.TO BE CONTINUED.