Dry Chemical

April 12, 2009

WARNING: Contains adult content. Underage or squeamish people are advised not to continue reading.

***

I led you in to my apartment. You sat on the only stool while I settled down on the carpet. Nervous, I was slightly rocking my body to and fro until your knife of a tongue lashed out on how autistic I was behaving. Embarrassed, I stopped moving yet you continued your criticism until I was visibly chastened.

Imperiously, you summoned me to sit closer to you and asked for my hankie. You removed my eyeglasses and wiped my face, murmuring about how oily it was. Shamed, my eyes could not meet yours. You sat on my lap and brought your face closer to mine. I braced myself for the coming sharp comments.

But your knife of a tongue pierced through my mouth instead. It went as far inside as it could go. It went round and round in circles. Slowly, my tongue began to play with yours. And like me, my tongue learned quickly. What you did to me I did to you.

Half an hour passed before we decided to take a break, and I was surprised to find my arms encircled around your back. We talked a little, yes, but we spent way more time on kissing.

Your tongue traveled to my ears, to my neck, until your hands pulled my shirt up. You touched my chest and made a comment on how this depression would look nice once I gained more weight. And then you went down on my nips.

And then I had you against the wall, expecting to see those abs I saw on your picture. I can hardly show my disappointment so I went down to the business of peeling you off of your jeans instead.

And then you had me down on the floor, forcing your thing into my mouth with a suddenness that also made me widen my eyes. The circus went on for a while until I stopped. I had to stop.

I told you that it was all very well. It was very good. But I didn't want us to begin with this. I told you that I want to get to know you better first. You simply smiled and acquiesced as we picked up our clothes.

An hour after the clothes were back on the floor, and we were already having a shower.

I knew it was a bad performance from me, and I apologized. I reasoned that I was just not into casual sex. That I haven't charted the territory yet.

I can still savor your taste on my mouth when you left. It tasted foreign. And that wasn't unusual at all because for one thing we just met, and for another because it was the first time I kissed a guy.

A month later, you said "yes" to me. And we had more sex since then. As my skills increased with affection and practice, yours dwindled down into nothingness until it felt like I was making love to a corpse. After a while, I brought the issue up and we had an argument about it. You told me I was equating love with sexual favors. And there was a time you didn't want to make love to me at all. You didn't know the difference between sex and making love. Those days, I had to give way because you were most difficult as a boyfriend and I was so afraid of losing you.

Eventually, you understood my point and pumped things up a bit. But still, I was always the one with the more ardor.

It was almost as if that wild guy I first kissed was a totally different person.

Now, when we're alone, sometimes we don't kiss at all. Sometimes you don't move at all. Sometimes I have to bring my thing in front of your face just so you can get the hint of what I want. Sometimes you don't come at all. I can count with my fingers in one hand the number of times you kissed me without me doing it first. And often, you just tell me that you want to sleep.

And when you brought me to your house, I would've thought it was the perfect time to be wild but you even became colder than usual. It would've been so nice to wake up and finding you looking at me instead of watching that damned television. It would've been so nice just to feel a little bit more affection, to be woken in the middle of the night because you were cuddling closer to me. You can't even bear to kiss my fucking face.

And you still believe that you are the best boyfriend ever? Just because you are as mild as milk, it doesn't mean that you can never do anything wrong. You make mistakes by omission.

Is this the person I am going to spend my life with? Me, a person as alive as fire. My anger feared. My humor welcomed. My spirit unstoppable. Am I meant to settle down with someone like you?

I need that fire. I need that excitement. It's what makes me feel alive. Should I give it up for this relationship?