There are beautiful men in my life. Swimming around me. In the soup of my lust and unrequited desire. I’m the untouched mermaid swimming in the center whirlwind of that soup.
These beautiful, almost touchable men want to talk with me. Laugh. Look at those dimples. All those teeth showing and the eyes crinkled up happy. Send me text messages. Tell me about their lives. Fears. Tiredness. Brag to me. Tell me secrets. Whisper to me. See me now and then.
I love to hear their voices on the phone pressed close to my ear while I lie in the dark in my bed. In person – watch their eyes turn towards me or away. Cheekbones, zits, big lips. Smell their smells. Watch them eat. Put food in their mouths and their lips on glasses to drink. I watch them and my own breathing gets heavier, deeper. Down in my belly and lower. Heat spreads across my torso. My throat catches when I think of them.
I want to own them. See them 5 times a week. Cover them in my hot spit. Sweat on their sheets. More. They want to be friends. I may go mad.