If I sing out the emptiness and you sing out the silence, could this in-out sort of mechanic we have between chats and sheets fill the mutual void?
This is what you usually do when a girl like me is new to you. Smoothly soothe the awkwardness and the nervousness, gently joking around as you say something like “I don’t usually do this…”
And I know you are lying, but I don’t need truth: we are not lovers, we are just strangers.
You would call drunk at 3 am, to say something cheap and cheesy like: “I am thinking I want to get you really excited and the thought of me running my hands down your back and around to hold your breasts pushing up myself against you, letting you feel how excited I am for you. “
Like I haven’t heard that before, and I would lie about how wet and excited I am, laid down in bed while I wash my teeth and put on eye cream before bed. And I hear you moan at the sound of my sexy phone voice (I do that) and then, you ask if I came too… But I would quickly say something like “I can’t come on my own“. And you would buy it, as I buy this whole exchange; as I buy this whole bullshit meaningless relationship only because I don’t like feeling lonely, but talking to a drunk stranger I met online about his cock while I brush my teeth and he cums and moans… Just makes it sadder.
But when I wake up all alone and I think about your skin, I remember I said before: “We are not lovers, we are just strangers”.
I remember I said before: “We are not lovers, we are just strangers”.
I don’t really know where I’m going with this e-mail but, I guess if I can impose my sad and weird existentialist expectations and fantasies upon you thru this letter makes them slightly more real.
Maybe I love you, stranger. Maybe I love the whole idea of falling for someone who can break me in a slap, murder all I hold dear, sold me for a penny and think me a fool; for the challenge of proving myself worthy is the challenge I seek for. I need excuses to call myself worthy of love cause I no longer hold love for myself. And for that, I could probably never love you. Or maybe I could, but you would never know. For I rather lie in bed clothless but never naked. I rather lie and pretend I listen and hold your dick in my mouth so I can keep ‘quiet’. And you would love it until you leave me too.
To sum this mail up,
yeah, let’s go on a double date with our shitty expectations and illusions of each other.