I was afraid.. 

I wasn’t gonna have anything to write about after this last rendezvous. There was a lack of passion, more so an unspeakable urgency deeply rooted in his sex. I don’t mind. For him, with him, I’m nothing more than what he needs me to be. I can be quiet. Can be his favorite. Become an outlet. For him, with him, I can be nothing at all. You know, most of the time it sparks something in me. It helps get juices flowing. Positions allowing more blood to the brain. Better stories. The deeper he goes, the more words I spill. The more lines I write. I read bodies. I can pick up on very small things. I’ve always said and believed you can tell a lot about a person from the way they communicate their bodies during intimate sessions. He doesn’t want anything. More so caught up in just the performance alone. It gives purpose. Some significance to his being. No certain expectations to meet. No requirements. Simplicity. It’s easier to just be a lover sometimes. And I don’t know what drives me crazier: his body or the way we speak… 
I would love to put my finger on both. 
I wish you were here. 
Some Sunday’s I actually wanna share with a lover, aside of myself. I’ll speak more after my shower.

Written April 3,2016

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