dressing up

i bet those jeans make your ass look great, she says.

i want you to look at me, the curve of my hips, my breasts, my ass, the slope of my shoulders, the angle of my hand on my hip as i pause, stop and turn to look back at you.
this is a signal i want you to fuck me, let me slowly lower myself down into your lap as you remove my sweater from my shoulders, slide your hands under my shirt and bra, if i happen to be wearing one, and kiss me.
at the same time this is not about you as i allow myself to move within the dark spaces of the night, warm with the petals of imagination and fantasy. you could be anyone, the man across the bar, the boy driving a pickup truck too large for him, a faceless man i have no desire for and cannot conceive developing any. what matters is that there is the possibility that you're watching me. that you cannot help it.
so i'll start moving.
because this is different than before, fresher than the first time i wanted your gaze on me, your lips on mine and was drowning in the fear of it. so i did the only thing i could think to express it. i made the shirt tighter, the neckline lower, the jeans curvier and wore no bra, just a shelf tank underneath in a means to offset the standard of beauty i was attempting to become. i wanted you to think i was beautiful, and if that didn't work i wanted you to think i was hot enough for you to mess around with. fuckable. even though i couldn't bring myself to say those words.
and when i showed up at college i couldn't find you. a quick search revealed that you were skipping class and the irony was so much i almost started laughing. that was the first and last time i dressed solely for you.
now when you look, it's not because i've done it for you. i've done it for me. and because i'm so fucking hot you just can't help but look.

giving up

there are the moments when i see you that i begin to hate myself again. usually when you smile at me, the pauses between the conversation when i stop awkwardly, unsure of how to continue. and you never seem to notice.
i should be over you. you have made it clear, in the one small conversation that we've had, that you do not want me, not like that. so i took the axe and the hammer, smashed whatever feelings i had felt for you, gutted the rest with a knife and when it was over i was left with the sensation of being hollow every time i am near you.
i cannot handle being near you.
not without feeling like i am 17 again, with the scent of fear and uncertainty imprinted along my skin, the face in the mirror expressionless and alien, my need for some one to touch me a shameful secret. you were the first time i was not afraid.
and i refuse to go back to that. and now that i have killed everything i felt about you in the past two years, i find myself wondering if there is anything left to salvage.
i don't believe there is, but i can't bring myself to tell you this. so we keep going in circles, me pretending that we are the same and you, ever oblivious to it all.

only girl in the world

there are the times when i am left with the memory of my feelings for you. the pale yellow sheen of the lights in the night, the red of passing vehicles on the way home in the dark, the faint echo of rihanna from the basement stereo as i dance, lay myself back along the guest bed in the middle of the rec room, feel the slide of my jeans against my hips, the press of my breasts against my bra as my stomach collapses in with each breath and the imagined sensation that you are with me.
i can hear the creak of the bed as you approach me, the rustle as i open my legs and the press of your weight as you pin me down, my legs around your hips, my arms wrapped around your back, my teeth in your neck as you begin to overpower everything i have in me.

take me for a ride. bite me, kiss me gently, slide your hands under my shirt, pin my wrists to either side of my head, force your crotch against mine without removing my jeans so i whimper when i feel your erection against my body and can do nothing about it.
i want you to fuck me, i want you to kiss me, i want you to smile, laugh, hold my hand in the daytime, hold my body in the night. i want you to want me and am willing to make compromises i had never considered before. i'll do anything to be your girl, your lover, your fuck buddy, your sweetheart. i'll give you a terrifying control over the whole situation.
and i had never considered that it would come to this. the silence wrapped around my heart as i smile when you talk, breathing shallow as i try to build my momentum for a move. any move at this point. i tell myself that you know, that this will work, should work, i want to make it work, for the first time ever i am not afraid of myself. i can make it work.
i want to be the only girl in the world. i want you to make me feel, bite my heart softly, gently pry my ribs open with a crack, kiss me slowly between smiles as you give me my false impression of your love.
for unfortunately, you never wanted me the way i wanted you, the way i thought you did before it was all over.