Why did you bring me here, to your house? Why do you have children? I hate you for lying. But the truth hurts more than the betrayal would have. I had to cry, because I was frustrated. I’m a bad person. But I don’t want to hurt anybody. Maybe at the back of my mind I’d known all along. But thinking and hearing are two different things, and why did you bring me here? I’ll have sex with you because I’m not sure what else to do. Its easy. It’s my get out of jail for free card. If I’m making you happy I can forget how unhappy I am right now.
A dumb, horrid, wretch gets on her knees. Because that's where its better to be. Eyes closed and choking. A black mass riddled with panic, but its too late to go back now, so I forget myself and enjoy it.
It works because you let me do what I want, you let me sit on your lap and rock away like a chair with a loose leg. You don’t demand me, you just enjoy me. All the sensation I give you, a plausible passing fantasy, who sits against your pelvis like a poor postured rider, indulging herself on the muscle and bone.
You are very sweet of course. A product of a poor past, but content in the way that age brings that kind of beaten down satisfaction with ones self. I like your ribs, your thighs, the tight tendons in your neck, your shivering skin. You don’t know what you like. Has no one ever asked? I lay on my back. Stretched and aching, the muscles tight in my thighs. You felt big between my legs and you came as a purred softly into the darkness that you were hurting me.
No comments:
Post a Comment