Dear Lover,
Don’t take the condom off. My eyebrows are raised, brow wrinkled as I kiss you. I know my mind distrusts you though I try to have faith in your groans as you take me saying, “Whose pussy is this?” This is your pussy, Daddy. You tell me you love me again, and my heart receives the blow. Can I trust you? I don’t know…just, don’t take the condom off.
You want to feel me naked, wet, wet walls welcoming you again and again. Last defense—a touch…down, soft and vulnerable and unprotected so I can’t shut you out.
You want me to choose between now and forever. What future could I have with you? You bring nothing solid to this bed but your body and an erection every now and then. You say it again. “I love you, Lori. Let me feel you naked.” My eyebrows are raised, brow wrinkled as I kiss you. There is sadness there, on my lips. I choose me this time. You accuse me of being heartless.
Apparently, this makes me heartless.
Somehow this makes me heartless.
I guess I might be heartless.
So what if I am heartless?
I accept that I am heartless.
I must be heartless.