Where Have You Gone?

 I am desperate to find you. Again. 

This has got to be some sort of a cruel joke- all this incessant and nauseating hyper-connectivity and yet I cannot reach you. You are nowhere to be found. I don’t know where to look for you. I do not know who you are, I no longer know who I am. 

A ghost. 

Fragments of a memory. I cling on, desperately.

In despair..

Despair.

Desperate.

Where are you? 

Would I be tongue tied if you appeared before me? Would I cry? Would I muster the courage and embolden myself to trace the contours of your face like I did so many moons ago?

Could I, would I dare?

And you, will you smell and touch and taste the familiarity? Will you hold me like you did? Will you crawl into my insides and stay…once again?

Rush through my veins, be the goosebumps on my skin.

My thumping heart, my moist loins. 

The fogginess in my brain. The ache in my bones. 

The yearning…oh the yearning.

In despair. 

Despair.

So desperate. 

“Come To Daddy”

He could be a serial killer. Or a good fuck. 

I take my chances. I don’t remember how we ended up in his apartment. 

It’s cosy, his bed is inviting. 

A water bed.

Oooooo.

He has toys.

He is more than enthusiastic about using them.

And oils. And lubricants.

And all the paraphernalia you can imagine.

He has every intention of fucking you till you beg for mercy.

Hitler’s wet dream, he is as Aryan as they come. Tall. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. The confidence, the seriousness only a German boy could have.

There is a date. Uneventful. You’re talking, normalising each other’s existence although you both know how this is going to end.

There’s a tube ride. There’s walking whilst holding hands. He’s sweet enough to drive you back to your hostel. 

You’re a little bit dizzy. The language is alien, the roads seem like a maze. So you don’t say no, you don’t even feign it. You take up on his offer right away. 

It’s gentlemanly. Dinner, drinks and whipping.

It’s exciting. 

The freedom, the newness.

Gig’s done. You’re on a high. But tomorrow you want to see him again possibly. And relive all the tension, the excitement.

There’s no longer a tingle down your ladyparts when you think of him. You’ve never once seen the pictures the two of you took upon his insistence. A memento. The memory of his toys and his piercing eyes are enough.

Everything’s off the bucket list then (?)

Sadness, Deeper Still

It’s painful to watch him let go and step away little by little. I don’t know what changed, I don’t know why things changed.

I cannot smother him. So I observe.

He takes a step back.

And another one.

Another one.

Another one.

Soon I won’t see him at all.

I let go.

Because you have.

I don’t feel your warmth.

Only as though I am baggage.

I wish I could tell you how beautiful he made me feel.

His kisses still linger,

his grace,

his charm,

his kindness.

I wish you did too.

But you’re so consumed in your melancholy

That my expectations feel like a chore.

You’re entitled to your wants

But I am not.

I am a burden.

I am a burden you do not want to carry.

You recoil like you’ve been wounded.

And I no longer have the strength to coax you otherwise.

Maybe this is for the best.

My skin.

My skin.

The taste of my skin.

But never my trauma. 

You’re too cynical to feel my warmth.

It’s okay.

I will be okay.

Break my heart,

You can never break my spirit. 

unicorn

You burden me with your unspoken expectations.

Your loneliness.

Your fears.

Your grief.

Your cynicism.

Your hunger for my skin.

And in exchange I ask for nothing.

This is not a transaction.

You owe me nothing, except maybe kindness.

“Tell me what you, how you feel” 

But you never did, you never will. 

So I take all the blame.

Everything is my fault.

It is.

But it is.

My youth.

My naïveté.

My baggage.

My emotional instability.

My brain. My stupid fucking brain.

My expectations. 

My hopes and dreams.

We haven’t hurt each other, 

Only I’ve hurt you.

So you build your walls again.

Leave me out.

I am no longer welcome.

I exit gracefully.

I’m tired.

I no longer have the strength 

And you’ve left me with no other choice. 

musings//monsoon

Easy.

Drain all the thoughts out.

But the sinking feeling won’t go away

I can no longer run

My legs are tired

My heart is tired

My soul is tired

The voices in my head get louder

Louder and louder still

SCREAMING,

They tell me in unison,

“You know the end.

Do it.

Easy.”

Wander About

I am easily susceptible to falling back into my own, old patterns. 

It’s so easy. Too easy.

I spent the entire day in bed, sort of hungover. What a waste of a Sunday. But it’s okay, I tell myself. I guess I need to cut myself some slack sometimes.

M and I have been doing loverly things the last few days. It’s uncomplicated so far, I hope it stays that way.

A part of me wants to go back to a period of celibacy once he leaves. But I’m certain L won’t handle it too well. Trouble is, his physical absence really puts things into perspective. I’m still anchored to him in ways I don’t want to be. I want to make it stop. I don’t know how. The situation feels like such a nightmare. In my zealous attempt to love, I have allowed myself to get attached. To the little things. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. This sinking feeling in my stomach won’t go away. I don’t know how to make it stop. 

Well L arrives next week as M departs. Maybe I want to spend the next few days talking, laughing, fucking, feeling beautiful and pleasuring him in ways  I am capable of.

It’s nice to have honest conversation. It’s nice to feel something, anything. I keep reminding myself that. 

postcards

Darling L,

I would have written to you every day. But you don’t care and slowly...neither do I.

It’s not the difference in our age, or our culture. You *don’t care* and I can’t make you change your mind.

You want someone to fit into your mould, the perfect version of a stranger you have in your head. Or better still, you want someone who is a repeat of your past. Where do I fit in? Does it matter to you at all? I’m starting to be quite certain it doesn’t...

I fall short. I try, but I fall short miserably. I do not have the wisdom, I do not have the finesse. I’m still so young and stupid but you, you know it all. You know exactly what you want. 

I am someone who makes you feel comfortable but never someone beautiful, never someone you’d cross oceans for. My ears long for a nice word, any nice thing. But you do not seem to have anything to say. I don’t blame you. Maybe I’m not good enough. You want so much more, so much better.

It’s okay, my darling L, you don’t want to love me. I guess I understand. I’m not someone who fits into your picture. I’m, me. So fragile, so vulnerable. You don’t want to work so hard. You want love to be easy, you want love to be magic. Maybe, only, if you wanted to see my beauty despite my brokenness you’d understand. 

My love is self-immolation.

My love is sacrifice.

And more than anything else in the world, I want you to find that “special someone” magically, without any effort. Because that’s *your* idea of love. Not mine.

Kisses

S

conflict

sometimes you can be so warm, that I forget raise my guard.

40 in a few weeks, I admire your body with great lust. I wonder what’ll become of me when I’m your age. Your tall frame, firm butt; your strong arms. You seem to be able to carry me around effortlessly, it’d put some of my former, much younger lovers to shame. But I like your eyes the most I think. Or maybe your dimpled chin. There’s a distinct character to them, distinctly, “L”. 

I like that you’ve been shedding your inhibitions with me over time. It’s hot that you suggest we do it in your kitchen and then the dinner table (despite my suspicion we may break it) and then the couch and so and so forth...we’ve only got two more spots left, three if we’re feeling particularly exhibitionist. 

Yet somehow it isn’t about the sex, it isn’t about the orgasm. 

With you there is a dangerous kind of intimacy, one that’ll end in great heartbreak for me. I know it. I do. I’ve allowed myself to become so vulnerable with you. I can’t control myself. I can’t control my feelings for you. You’ve been bringing out an instinct in me which I didn’t even know I had in me: affection, without expectation. 

Yes sure, I like it immensely that you always hold me post coitus, stay inside me for long after and we talk and talk and talk. I like it immensely when you fall asleep infront of the television with your head on my lap. I like waking up to your text first thing in the morning.

I’m getting so used to feeling this good. I’m getting so used to...you. 

Sometimes you can be so warm, that I forget to raise my guard. My walls dissipate every time we kiss, we touch. 

I request only one thing from my universe: be gentle when you break my heart in the future, please, be gentle. 

Told myself I’d keep it easy, light

But here I am, catching feelings.

Undo.

Undo.

Undo.

Although a big part of me really wishes you’d feel the same.

But my wishing is in vain,

You don’t.

Musings//Skin

I know not which is more frenzied,

my mind, or the rain outside.

So I let myself go.

Hours pass by,

so much left to explore.

But only as much as you’ll allow me to show.

*****

The sinking is inevitable.

Sometimes I burn too bright for my own good.

I wouldn’t, 

if only someone’d teach me how much I should.

My eyes will tell you so much more than my mouth,

dig deeper, deeper still

Retract gently, with infinite kindness

After you’ve had for your fill.

*****

I like when we frolick,

Without a care,

So vulnerable and bare,

Stuck in time, hoping to stay there.

I like that you trace the contours of my body,

As I feel the stubble on your chin.

Feel my skin,

Never the pain within. 

Nicotine

Your eyes blue in the light are often grey

Just like what we have going on.

I shouldn’t cross some lines.

I wouldn’t, if I knew what they were.

You want to hold me, stay inside me.

You open up to me

And yet you say I’m not someone 

You can love.

That’s alright I suppose

Just be gentle, be kind.

It hurts to get back up

On your own

And I’ve done it so many times

That it no longer scares me.

My fire in my cunt burns like summer

But my embrace is warm like the winter sun.

You say you know love

You don’t.

You mistake it for security, a comforting future.

 I will teach you everything all over again,

If nothing else,

L,

Not mine.

Just, L. 

waterfall

I feel many things today. ‘Pleasantly surprised’ doesn’t cut it. More like dazed. 

It had been a while and my mind needed a release. I figured it’d be just like any other day of us fooling around.

He spent an eternity stimulating me and as he entered me, things felt familiar and yet they weren’t quite. 

For a second every thing became a blur. I was no longer in my body. 

I orgasmed heavily, squirting all over his couch. I didn’t even know my body was capable of it. He came a few seconds later as I was still reeling, feeling the liquid in my fingers as it ran down my thighs. Like water. Like elixir. 

I stared at the wet patch on his couch, unapologetic. If anything he should feel pride in being able to get me there. 

L, the one who made me squirt for the first time.

That’s one incredibly large tick off the bucket list! 

toothbrush

He makes a deep, guttural sound when he ejaculates during an orgasm. We are in a different room this time. I like this bed. I don’t know if it’s ever used otherwise. It’s kindda sweet that he remembers everything I say. 

“We should christen the other rooms too...do it everywhere in your house” I had joked to him on a previous occasion. He was listening afterall. 

After the disaster that was our conversation some time ago, I think we have both been trying to make an effort to be kinder to each other,  be more open. I like when he tells me stories from his childhood. He seems happy, excited. 

All I want is for him to be happy. All I want is for him to be without pain. I guess I’m falling a little bit in love with him everytime we are together. I feel a wave of affection as I clutch him in my bosom and run my fingers through his hair. 

I notice the toothbrush is in his bathroom still. The one I’d used on a previous weekend when I was spending the night. 

“I want to bite you. I want to pleasure you”

His grip around my neck strengthens and his thrusts get deeper. But he holds back. “I am scared I might hurt you” 

Later I asked him where that came from. Very unlike him. “I read it somewhere”, he blushed. 

**********

It feels quite nice to have a system. We start with making mojitos. He’s in charge of the main things and I do the rest. Subtle domestication as we set the table, clear it afterwards. 

**********

It feels good to shower with him in the mornings and sometimes before going to bed at night. 

“Wait, what’s the plan?” He asks as I wriggle around. 

“Can you fetch my bag from the living room and meet me in the shower?”

I think it’s kind of hot that he wears the robe with a tiny stain on it. My stain on it. Tonight we have been naughty. And intimate. So intimate. So carnal. 

************

While fucking him last night, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I’m falling in love with him. Fuccccckkkkkk”

“Where are you?”

Only this time I was right there, with him. I didn’t run like a coward, I didn’t stop myself. 

My heart is going to get so, so broken eventually but I can’t help it. As I lie on him post coitus, I admit to him that my caution comes from a place of terrible abandonment issues. 

He tries to understand, like everything else. 

I feel like you're starting to take me for granted. I want you to be the one I talk to, the one I share my hopes and fears with.
But I see you slowly starting to take my company for granted.

Familiarity breeds nonchalance.


So I let my mind run to him.

How beautiful I felt to be with him.

I want to substitute you with him. I wish he was holding me and cradling me to sleep tonight. I wish I could kiss his mouth and feel him so deep inside of me.


I am greedy. And a little bit in love.


I don't want comfortable. I want insanely passionate.


I want to clutch his head in my hands and whimper, beg him to stop and enter me. I want to kiss him till dawn breaks. I want to feel him inside me. I am desperate. I want his touch, I want his affection.

I want  him.

(pre) toothbrush

I notice the picture of him, a very young L with his grandparents , on his bedside table. I see it as he’s penetrating me, his thrusts deep and hard. He lets out his deep, guttoral sigh. I collapse and he turns me around to face him.

Is this what I expect from him, to magically read my mind?

As I lie on top of him, he tells me things. I ask him to teach me phrases in his mother tongue. I repeat the words enthusiastically like a parrot. I will forget immediately but I want to try.

“So it’s very similar to French” I exclaim.

*****

We resume watching our movie after dinner. I nurse my glass of red as he chugs his and lays on my lap. He’s watched it before so he knows how it ends. I’m craving for a cigarette but I’m trying to quit. It helps that he doesn’t smoke. Or maybe I use my cigarette as a way to disconnect and go sit outside on his balcony. 

It can get a little bit overwhelming sometimes, the vulnerability. 

*****

I wear his t-shirt and severely regret my decision to not wear any underwear to his apartment. I didn’t think I’d be staying over tonight but I feel tired and it’s quite late.

He gives me a toothbrush. Will I find it the next time I go stay over again? I don’t know. 

I don’t know anything. 

******

He’s like a child in a candystore as he spots the motobike on display at the restaurant we’ve dragged ourselves into. I didn’t quite pick him for an enthusiast but he rattles off tech specs like an expert.

“I like the colour. It’s pretty. Maybe we can come back when the place is closed and steal it?” I suggest

“Yes and then go pick up that painting you liked so much the other day”  he adds.

Excitedly, he takes out his phone and shows me pictures of his bike back home. I love how animated he gets when describing his happy memories. He’s absolutely adorable. 

************

“I can’t tonight. I’m meeting L”

“You mean your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. But I do really like him”

la mia pelle

There are tears in my eyes. I feel vulnerable and yet liberated at the same time. I hold on to him so tightly. 

who am I at this point.

He holds me in his arms and showers me with gentle kisses everywhere. I am overwhelmed. He collapses but doesn’t let go. 

There is a kind of comfort in his arms. I’m drawn to the way he smells, the way he tastes. After we’ve fucked and we’ve showered, I ask him to hold me as I shiver. It feels warm, I feel protected. 

He runs his hands down my body, my back and tries to find knots. I tell him he won’t find any so instead he gently suckles on my breast for a while before I tell him I’m hungry and need to eat. 

I toss and turn a bit at night. He falls asleep almost immediately. I think at around 5am, his alarm goes off and he shuts it off almost immediately. He leaves so silently that I don’t even notice he’s gone. 

I wake up and make the bed, brush my teeth as he emerges in his underwear.

“you were so quiet in the morning”

“I didn’t want to wake you...”

I kiss his face. 

This turned out to be a lot better than the last couple of days. 

He brings back a tender coconut with him after his walk for me to drink. So adorable. I don’t want him to be late for work and I keep checking the time.

Also, I’m still sleepy. I want to go home and nap for a bit on my bed. 

I guess fights can be good sometimes. 

Domicile

I'd been putting it off for so long. For good reason. I guess.

I like that he neatly arranges all our clothes on the bed before we shower. I like that practically empties out his kitchen onto the table for me to pick something out for breakfast. He feels self-conscious to do his morning stretches together. Which is hilarious because I've seen him naked so many times. His balcony is different in the morning. There are people working outside, sneaking in a glance as we cosy up.
I don't understand the science behind his shorts fitting me. But they're comfortable. Like him I suppose.

Later we explore a new thing in the city, eat some lunch, some ice cream and then head back to his apartment again to watch a movie. He dozes off clutching me. I feel too comfortable to protest or wake him up.

****

The directions to his apartment are now cemented inside my head. Instinctive almost. I've lost count of the number of times I've been down the same road, anticipating his touch every single time. I'm late. Traffic. I'm not in the best mood. I tell him that my body feels broken today. He proceeds to rub my back, trying to get rid of the knots. He's significantly older. We're 12 years apart. And yet I don't feel much of a gap. I'm drawn to his calm, his emotional stability.


****


He's slightly tipsy after chugging a beer as we eat dinner. I'm taking my time as he drops more food onto my plate. He watches intently, looking for a reaction. I need to go outside for a cigarette. It's stormy outside. We sit overlooking the deserted street.


I like that he holds me and perches me on top of him instead of disconnecting immediately after. He stays inside me for long. We kiss. Run our hands down each other's body. I head to take a shower. Gently reminding him that he needs to clean up too. Tonight's been messy. I'm cold and he hands me a robe to wrap myself around. He looks so adorable when he's sleepy. His eyes are narrow and his cheeks are flushed.
His hair is soft. His dimpled chin feels slightly scruffy from a long day of work. I enjoy the sensation.


****

My hormones are making me sad. I want to push him away. But I tell him how I feel instead of bottling it up. I guess that's I have the (now ex) boyfriend to thank for the lessons emotional maturity. He handles it like the more adult-y adult between the two of us. He wants me to see him and talk about it. As we lay on his couch holding each other, I tell him what's plaguing me. His eyes look grey and they grey mixed in his light hair shine under the dim light. I can't resist running my hands through it. He looks handsome tonight. I want to eat him up.

As our tongues embrace and dance, there is a sense of comfort.

I don't know how long it'll last before my bubble bursts but somehow I don't feel cynical at all. Only a deep sense of comfort.

I'm starting to care about him. My L.