Touch me.

I never knew what to do after stepping into their houses. They tell me, “Sit, make yourself at home.” But how can I? A stranger intruding on the intimate parts of a life. I can’t sit. I don’t know which spot I should leave my bag. Every inch doesnt belong to me. How can I stain the bits of their everyday? They’re letting me walk into their lives when really, I’ve walked into many. I’ve seen many pictures on walls where I don’t belong.

I let them have their ways with me.

I leave. Their neighbours know. I see it as they watch me leave from their own gates.

I come home smelling of someone else’s soap; their sex still on the tip of my nose where I had pushed my face between someone else’s thighs. I shower twice. Before the clothes come on, I get to look at my body and it is no longer mine. It’s Sara’s, Ann’s, Jo’s, Minn’s, Mel’s, Joan’s. And I haven’t done it for awhile but I think I’ve lost a lot of me whilst finding who I was.

Then you come along and you gave me something I didnt know I needed. You, disguised amongst one of the names. Your husband gave it away to a waiter for our reservations. You took your time. It was not about what we had planned to do. Miss Psychologist, no. It was about the moment.

You drove me to your place. I didn’t know where to sit or leave my bag but you took it from me and placed it on the table. You gave me a house tour; you were letting me walk into your life. But you were walking into mine as well.

I don’t remember the entire night’s sexual activity. But you kissed me different. It was just right. Your fingers were slowly leaving trails on my body. You had me laid down, cradling my head in your lap, caressing the face where I was only familiar with the scars. You kissed my forehead and this tiny spot next to my lips. You told me things I needed to hear. Things I needed to feel. You took your time with me. It was not sex. I had never felt so safe.

Yes, I remember how you felt on top of me. You knew what I liked, you had me tied. You watched intently as I shuddered against your touch. But at no point did you use me. You untied me and started kissing my wrists. You were giving back parts of me that I didnt think I’d have returned. The ropes had eaten into my skin and you rubbed and kissed them slowly. You held me together. You didnt tell me how beautiful I was like the rest of them. You told me I was soft. And brave. And you were afraid you’d hurt me. Your husband had suggested something. You told him you wouldnt. You told him I was yours.

You drove me home and there wasnt a scent of sex on the tip of my nose. I showered once. I had told you to drive safe. I looked in the mirror and trailed the places you’ve touched. You were so tender. How is it that someone can ┬áleave such tenderness on places underserving?

You didn’t drive safe. You walked in and out. You gave back parts of me. And took everything.


I was stuck between submitting about my past or my present. So here is my past. It’s a little different in writing style because it was a difficult memory to go through again. But yes. I needed to get this out of my system

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