My 16th Shame

“I used to call you “my air” since you were literally the best kind of oxygen, I have ever inhaled…”

I wrote this in my diary, slightly trembling from the thoughts of you. Dating you lasted for two weeks with the passion of a one-year relationship. I could start thinking about you and a quick glance at my watch would shake me by realizing that my imagination has detached me from this world for two damn hours.

Mike wasn’t tall, not that I cared about it anyway… His brown hazel eyes did it all. He was a very talkative man, but his eyes said completely different words to me. I remember our first date. I never told him that way before I met him, I was with the guy who served us at that bar.

After two weeks of opening up to one another (to a certain extent of course), Mike rhetorically asked me: “15 men, Belle, what if we see one of them when we hang out? How am I supposed to feel if it happens? Especially knowing that this guy also got to see your naked body... ” When I recall his words, I struggle to recall his countenance but rather his body language, I can remember too clearly. It was a weird scenario of us. I was sitting on his lap as a young girl who made foolish mistakes and was now lectured by her father. He seemed disappointed, I remember, but at the same time so assuring. Assuring that we can get past my past.

I have never seen Mike since then. Do I regret breaking up with him? I`d regret dating him if he saw one of my exes and was embarrassed by me.

Mike, if only god had sent you to me 15 men ago, we wouldn’t have had to break up. But he didn’t, therefore you are number 16.

My Air

It was their third fight when she decided to break it. She couldn’t’ handle it anymore. 

“Oh, the frustration is unbearable”, she said. 

They dated for 4 months and only after breaking up she has realized how emotionally and sexually numb she was. 

She always says, “love me as if I will not be here tomorrow. This is how love should be, it should never cease, it should never become routine”. 

There wasn’t love apparently, only tears, lots of them.

When you are with someone and your bodies speak more than your vocal cords do, doesn’t it feel like you are in the middle of a burning fire? The energy, his eyes, the warmth of his body sets you inside a flame. You just want to be touched, felt, passionately kissed. You wish you were raped by him right now. You want to be ravished by this man in front of you. That is how she felt towards that guy. That guy revived her. He was her home, full of decorations and sweetness which was her saving breath, a second from death. His smell, his tongue and the way he moved it all the way up her neck, close to her ear so she could consume his breathing sound so strongly, she felt his soul in her.

“Kiss me, don’t stop” she buried her nails in his back.

 He didn’t feel any pain but her throbbing heart.

She couldn’t sleep that night, she was laughing to herself, smiling nonstop. His eyes won’t get off her mind. This light brown melted her. All she did that night was recalling his touch. His hands in her hair, stroking it while her head is on his chest, praying this moment will never end. When she was on top of him, he felt so helpless asking her to stop so they don’t get too far, crossing boundaries. But she wanted him to touch every piece of her body.

“I am begging you, just a little,” she said, and he kissed her even harder.

The palm of his hands holding her face, making her his. There wasn’t enough oxygen in that room for the both of them, so they inhaled each other.

A Repairman Requested

A Repairman Requested

One of the moments that a young adult may never forget is the moment of the “talk”.

“Make sure Angelica, that he does not touch you in your private places, ok? Not even your arms” my mother said to me, gently patting my arms, barely looking into my eyes- wishing this moment has never arrived.

“Okay mom, of course not” 10 year old Angelica replied, barely understanding what her mother meant exactly but she was too ecstatic about her first boyfriend anyway.

There is something in me that will never forget that evening. I was a sexual kid since the age of 10, nothing really caused it, this is who I was. I always wanted to have a boyfriend. Those days back then when I used to lose my breathe over those four times, I was asked to be Dan’s, Rick’s, Jason’s and Austin’s girlfriend. I can still hear the Messenger’s default ringtone in my head, the butterflies I had in my belly- made me so so sick out of excitement.

I lost my virginity at the age of 17, my mom knew and since then I am the “obscene” in the family. If I ask myself whether I loved that guy or not, I can’t tell. Maybe I did when I was with him but now, after counting all the men I slept with by the age of 23 it is hard to determine who I loved and who I never did. Being so open shuts you down, being so careless makes you worried, giving yourself effortlessly causes trust issues.

Can one fix this? I couldn’t.

Another Dimension

My stories are like the heat of a fire. You look at it and you wonder, what is this orange, goldish and red power in front of your eyes. It attracts you as it attracts oxygen, though it dries you out of it as well. You want to know it, you want to explore but, alas, the pain it may cause.

It is a reflection; the colors are memories. Feelings. You open it and you enter a whole new dimension of the unknown person you have known for so long.

US of A

“What’s the problem with just blue and white, Sarah?” my psychiatrist asked me, trying to understand the madness behind my words. It was just an obsession, I knew it long ago.

“Are you asking this seriously?” I asked him, arching my eyebrows, surprised how he couldn’t understand, “who wouldn’t want some red in their lives? Just a great addition to the lonely white and blue who are so sick of one another already.

The red, sir, the red is everything about this. The temptation, lust, eagerness. It is the red that the blue and white need”

He nodded, laying his mouth on his thumb “so you are saying, the red makes you feel….”

“It makes me feel good. Empowered, independent, invincible” I interrupted his words so he couldn’t be wrong about what the powerful red does to my life. “You see, the blue and white know everything about each other. They are incompatible, like oil and water. So, the white goes to seek something mergeable, till it encounters red. It is all about red, their culture, manners. Red is so different than blue and white sir, it accepts you. “

“What is so…different for you, Sarah?”

“Once you stare, once you observe you notice things you have never thought of before. Their attire, accessories, speech, language, even their skin sir, their body's hairs. It is the differences that attract the eye, the passion.”

I never wanted something different from myself, but lust got me. How could I ever resist this red fantasy?

“The red is the stain that connected two great nations” I was trying to explain it to my psychiatrist, why I was into something so foreign and unshared with my surrounding. 

My Detested Frost

You chased, you gave, you wanted, you cared, you prayed, breathed, wished, hugged, kissed…

You cried, you broke, you ached, you bit your lip out of the pain you went through, you screamed, you asked- “what is wrong with me?”

“Why do I deserve this?”

“What am I doing wrong?”

From the dark, cold winter to the beginning of the flourishing spring. You changed as the leaves. Vulnerability to stability, paleness to colorful, wrinkle to softness.

You stood there, whirlwind moving your hair, clothes, values. You did not blink. Your hands spread to the sides, welcoming. The cold wind penetrates everything. Your skin pores, your ears, mind, soul. You are cold, paralyzed inside. You hated to feel this way, but you were helpless.

And when it is over, you hear birds’ songs, the air is filled with blossoming roses’ scent. Sun touches your skin and you are breathing again. Sun gives you hope, melting the icebergs that were left in you from the passing winter. Cheeks turning reddish and so does your heart. From the embracing new breeze.

Although it is spring now, cold air comes and goes, cutting you like a knife. Reminding you it is always there.

Who let you in Frost? Your time has passed.

Lucy

You have a real fine girlfriend. She is everything you have ever wished for. She has long black hair, soft skin, long legs. Her beautiful tits are what make you lucky in life and her ass is all you ever needed. She is completely loyal to you, she would kiss you and tell you how much she needs you all the time. She dedicates her time, energy, efforts, and neediness all for you. She is a walking piece of heaven, you have been blessed. But when the two of you walk together and pass by other males, she would lower her tight shirt’s zipper to expose more of her solid, jutting tits. She would look at the floor, not making eye contact with the other men but she makes sure you see them drool. She would stick out her ass when you two standing and other men pass by. She would move her hair from one side to the other, over and over again. She would send you a screenshot of other men's comments on her sexy photos on Instagram just to show you that her "battery is about to die". She would make a good impression on your homies just so they “like her so much, maybe you should share”, your homie winks.

But you just stand there and wonder, why does she try so hard.