To All The Men (And Sometimes Women) I’ve Loved Before

 

In case you were wondering, like I do during pivotal moments of utter
solitude and horniness loneliness, I get turned on remembering the intimate seconds we may never reenact.

I am not ashamed or afraid to confess I masturbate to reminiscence of our sexual encounters.

That time on the rooftop. Your hotel room. My hotel room. The bathroom of a club. The basement of our campus. The dark room you worked in. The lift of that building. The villa you rented. My car. Your car. Our friend’s bed. 

Yeah, there’s quite a few of you.

From the first touch on the silhouette of my figure, to my tongue tasting yours hungrily, and to your body moving rapidly in sync with my rhythm of pleasure – I was spent in the way only you could have satisfied me.

Each and every one of you, so different individually, yet cramped together in a single pocket of nostalgia, serving one purpose. And one purpose merely.

Sometimes as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I touch myself to these memories and I enjoy the slides of contentment.

When I’m done, somewhere between being awake, and that final drag of tiredness, I imagine your arms around my waist.

And I sleep.