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Posts Tagged ‘fucking’

You are the only considerably older man who is legitimately attracted to me. In a pretty sure you’d take me in the back and fuck me kind of way.
At first I thought you had taken a sort of fatherly interest in me and my life and my potential future accomplishments.
Then I got a little older and you took a maybe exaggerated interest.
I have the feeling you were always the sort of man who got what you wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, flirting with you is fine, if you think that the friendly chatting and laughing we occasionally do is flirting.
And if I was a different person I just might take you in the back and fuck you.
But here is the thing. Even though he’s married, I would still much rather fuck your son. Even though he’s married, I’m pretty sure he would be absolutely heartbroken, disgusted, horrified, devastated if I did fuck you.
I don’t actually want to fuck you, so it’s not a problem. I don’t get off on the idea of doing an older man. I’m not particularly attracted to you. I’m not particularly unattracted to you either. Someone might argue this is one of those life experiences you are supposed to go for.
You did call me a vixen that one time.
Is that supposed to make me feel good? Or feel guilty that I somehow made you think I was being flirtatious with a man who is old enough to be my father. Who’s son I have a thing for.
Shudder.

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Dear Fucking Asshole,

You have successfully mentally and physically fucked me. Fuck you. Unfortunately, you’ve made me desire things I never thought I would. In a small way, my heart thanks you. Fuck you. Please keep in touch and I would love to do it all again, or whatever your sick mind comes up with. Also, I will probably need help with a project proposal this semester, if you’re available.

xoxo,
L.

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When I was tiny I watched movies that were somehow deemed “appropriate” but still often confused me with their adult subtexts.

One of my favorites was Footloose, of course. And when Sarah Jessica Parker tells Ariel “He’s from out of town and don’t tell me that doesn’t curl your toes because I know it does,” I really actually had no idea.

Maybe smarter kids knew what “curl your toes” meant – but I didn’t until I was old enough to engage in toe curling activities.

But even knowing, I feel like you redefine it. You actually literally make my toes curl. I can’t quite handle all of the things you make me feel.

I know the circumstances heighten the feelings, but my whole body goes to another place when you touch me.

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I hated you.

Like, really hated you. Had strong feelings of detesting you and everything you were about.

We lived together. We worked together. Your hair bothered me. Your voice bothered me. Your approach to the job bothered me. The food you ate bothered me. We drunkenly had sex on the couch. I hated myself for it and hated you for it. I lied to everyone and told them it didn’t happen. I wish that was the truth. But when I really think about it, I don’t feel that remorseful. It’s kind of good because it gives me more justification for hating you even more.

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It might have been fucked up when you spent the night at my house. It was 3am and everyone at the party was pairing off or falling asleep on the couch or on too many drugs to realize the difference. So we left together without knowing if anyone else would care or be sad or think it was fucked up.

Our one friend looked at me with the knowing should I come home with you now or sleep on the floor at this fading party look. I somehow conveyed to him with another secret glance that I would in fact like to devour you and he should probably find a pillow on which to lay his drunk head.

I always felt comfortable with you and took you to my dark bedroom just a few blocks away. We stayed up far too late and in the morning I didn’t want to meet up with the group again. I wanted to ignore their texts and calls and ignore the pain and facts of the situation around us. I wanted to be swallowed in the joy and physical sensations of just being with you in that simple moment.

Because once we made a morning appearance, all the truths would come crashing down and the knowing would get known.

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You are pudgy in that cute way. And damn, you can dance. Having a crush on you was fun. You are completely filthy but a southern gentleman at the same time. It’s a funny combination that makes me feel the thrill and the comfort at the same time. You have an infectious smile. You know I would fuck you in a second. We’ve discussed it at length, even though we only knew each other for a minute.

That’s why I liked you though, you didn’t shy away from my blatant sexual fronts. I like to come on to you in the most indiscreet way possible. It’s very liberating to flirt with someone who can handle it.

It’s too bad we will never do it, even though it would be inappropriate on so many levels. I would booty call you right this second.

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I never expect anything from you because I know you are so unfocused. We were laying in my bed having a snack. Talking about sex no doubt, since that is my favorite topic. You suggested we watch some porn because I was really excited about this new feminist porn I had gotten. We put it in and chatted and snacked like we were watching a regular movie. You asked me some details about my ex and told me you wanted me to feel free to talk to you about him. That was the first time you had ever opened up to the idea of being even remotely supportive, even though we had been friends for a long time. We were so detached from the porn it might as well have been the news on in the background.

At one point in the film, you asked if I could come that way. I said yeah, and you said “should we try?” It makes my eyes wide even now to think of how excited I was to touch you everywhere. Your soft skin, your perfect muscles, and your smell is to die for. You are the most masculine boy I have been attracted to since high school. Usually I am attracted to slightly effeminate boys. But your pheromones must match mine perfectly, because I want to eat you for breakfast lunch and dinner.

You told me you weren’t really into that one porn star. You didn’t like her voice. Which translated into not liking the sound of her moaning.

We turned it off, but that didn’t stop you from making me come that way.

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