When water streams down my body I can feel every part of myself, every curve being touched by something other than my own hands and I become aware of who I am, what I look like under my clothing no matter how I try to hide it. And I may have small breasts, but I have curvy hips and my thighs are always soft. I can stand in the shower now and touch myself, feel my long hair wet against my back and it feels like silk, like everything about my body...I am soft, and you can hug me, and I do like that.

I liked to be touched. I'm not one of those people who will freeze up when you reach for a hug, and then give you a quick pat on the back in an entirely awkward moment. I am not rigid, I am warm, and I like to be hugged by my friends, and kissed, and I like when people play with my hair. I loved laying on the couch on my back with him, he lifted my shirt slowly and ran his hands across my stomach, sometimes up a little further, sometimes down across the elastic of my panties, letting his fingers run over every curve of my body, in circles around my belly button. It was a pure fascination with my vanilla scented skin, with my female features that he didn't have. Where he was all muscle, hard and strong, I was plush and soft, as if waiting for his arms to wrap themselves around me, for his hands to squeeze me and caress me. I hated my inner thighs and I still do, where they touch, but he loved that part of me and would grab the fat as we sat in the car at a red light. He'd touch me between my legs and moan softly, I love this part of you, it's so...girly.

I have a tendancy to pout and whine like a spoiled brat on occasion, but he'd laugh when I got mad at him. I'd ask him why he was laughing at me and he'd just say, you're being cute. Then he would take me in his arms in a rather dominating way, while I pouted more and demanded, No, I'm not being cute I'm just mad - and he'd laugh more and say, No, you're just silly. He knew how to work me like that, he could always get me into his arms, kissing his neck and begging him to touch me even in the midst of a big fight, after I'd just burst into tears, or told him I hated him. Half way through we'd just end up upstairs again, tangled in the sheets of his bed, a mess of crying and moaning and me asking him over and over, Cody, do you still love me? and him continuously saying, I love you baby...I love you. And so things were okay after, we didn't talk about anything real, only reassurances to each other that yes, we were in love. And there are those two words that will always haunt me, the ones near the end of it all. Just before he came it was always my sudden feverish panic, my whisper, Cody, we're gonna be together forever, right?...and between soft moans he'd manage to murmur breathlessly, Yeah baby...we're gonna be together forever.

Together...forever.

What I think about now is how I say I don't really miss him, and I'm definitely not in love with him anymore, but I know that if he were to come into my room right at this instant, press me down on my bed and touch me, kiss me, I would never push him off of me. I couldn't, because he can do that with me. His very presence warms me, it makes me feel weak all over, I can't take my eyes off of his body, I crave his hands, and his tongue on mine, and I want everything male about him.

It makes me feel incredibly ashamed to know this about myself, and it isn't something I've told many people. How sometimes I wake up in the night in a hot sweat, tangled in my blankets, my heart racing and between my thighs I'm dripping wet, my body wanting him so badly that I don't know what to do with myself. I have to make myself sleep, stop thinking about the ex who wants nothing to do with me, and so I switch my fantasy to some unknown guy that will never turn me on quite like the fantasy of him does. I keep it inside, like a dirty secret I know I'll be chastised for. I should feel sick knowing that if he told me right now that he loved me, I'd let him fuck me if that was what he wanted. If he ran his fingers through my hair, took me by the waist into his arms and murmured those lies to me right now, four and a half years after the first time he did, and two and a half years since the last, I'd still think to myself... Baby, I always knew you meant it.

<< || >>