I Think You’re Gay

You are really in love with your own body – it’s weird. You’re a guy but you get on the scale and weigh yourself and check out your muscles every night I am with you. Your favorite thing to do in bed is fuck me in the ass. We had sex so many times but yet you only ever touched my vagina or licked it once or twice. You seem to hate women. You were cruel to me emotionally. And your other favorite thing to do in bed was hit me choke me pinch my nipples and cause pain. I wasn’t into this – I went along with it because it was hot to see you hot. I told you that too. But it didn’t change your behavior. You are a member of a chain of gyms and you could work out anywhere in the city. But you choose to go to the one in the Castro – the most gay neighborhood on Earth. If you’re not gay, it’s too bad. Women deserve better than you.

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Sleepy Sunday

My favorite memory of you is of us sitting on the front stoop with all of my crazy friends eating tacos on Easter morning. It was hot and sunny and you were adorable with your black-rimmed glasses and sleepy Sunday attitude. I kind of loved you right then, cause you fit in so well. It was so easy to love you. Just a little bit, but not enough to really matter.

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elevator.

I have sent the empty elevator to your floor innumerable times. It’s like I step in and something comes over me. My fingers graze the shiny number as if your floor is the only reason I would be in that elevator in the first place.

I’ve known you for a while now. Long enough that I should have been able to ascertain any level of crush that was going on. Instead, I was totally caught off guard that night you started making out with me. Maybe there was no crush; you just wanted to do it. That’s fine, too.

You are smart and witty and creative. I could very easily develop quite the crush on you. I supposed I haven’t already only because I thought I shouldn’t. But I could get used to flirting with you. Sometimes I think I might accidentally grab you and give you a big ole smooch in the hall outside your office.

It cracks me up that we have a combination of totally blatantly talking about things and not talking about them at all. It’s lame we won’t have time to make out before you go away, but I think we should when you come back.

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bled.

Remember when I smashed the back of my head and bled all over your $400 sheets? I forget about it until I run my fingers over the scar it left, a year later. Bad things always happened to me when I was with you. But they were always little bad things that ended up not mattering, and we always had so much fun. They could have mattered, I suppose. I could have died from my blunt trauma, but I didn’t, and we fucked all night instead. I could have had way more important things in my wallet when it was stolen, I could have gotten some sort of STD from you. I’m glad you found the love of your life – we could never have been anything to each other and that’s fine. We were just both filler. Fun placeholders. Which is why you didn’t need to block me on facebook. that was petty and i don’t understand it and it just irks me a little. I hope you just did it to make everything with your girl perfect. I can get behind that. Treat your girl right. I think you could be a really great husband, but I’m glad you’re not mine.

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Street Cats

You asked me last night if I had ever seen cats having sex. I said “yeah” and it doesn’t look too fun for the female. Which I am, female. You said you and I remind you of cats. Cats having sex. Not the fixed, de-sexed suburban spoiled fat housecats. Street cats.

Male cat catches the female and from behind sinks his teeth into the vulnerable part of her neck. She cannot move. If she tries the male bites down harder as a warning. He could kill her at that space in her vulnerable neck. So she is caught. He fucks her harshly and nastily. She makes god-awful noises. When he is done he slowly backs out of her. Then takes off running as fast as he can. She runs after him at the same fast speed. To catch him. And scratch and beat the shit out of him. Out of revenge and fury at what he just did. And her own vulnerability.

I laughed when you told me. Thought again how smart you are. Because you are right. I give in to my feelings for you. Lust. Adoration. Attachment. Talk with you. Sometimes cry. Have sex with you. Talk more. Laugh. Sleep and cuddle all night long. Afterwards you ignore me or say something flippant or cruel. Ignore my affection or invitations. I rage like an animal. Send you awful screeching insulting text messages. Call you a million times – obsessively, ragingly furious. At my own vulnerability.

You’re right. Cats.

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