He’ll make me forget you.

I mean, this crush has been serious for some time and you? Well, I don’t even know what you are.  You’re just, I don’t know, driving me insane is what you’re doing.

But Crush Boy’s got it.  He’s getting it.  He’s kinda coy like you and it’s sweet, but he knows what he wants.  And he’s taking it.  All.

His mouth is smaller.  I remember yours clearly.  Wide.  Big.  You almost swallowed me whole, or at least that’s how it felt to me. You want to swallow me whole don’t you?  I don’t mind.

He’s built like you.  He’ll fit right in between my thighs.  I need to stop comparing though, because when he does it right, he’ll continue to do it right.  Over and over. Once a week at least.  Maybe twice on Sundays, while football is on.  And you’ll be a distant memory.  Hopefully.

He’s about your height.  Which is perfect, ’cause I can climb him the way I want to climb you.  Every day.  I’d climb that pole of yours every day if you’d let me.  I imagine it in my head….

…the way I have all this time.

But he’ll be different, because he knows when to call, he knows when to reach out, he seems to know when I’m thinking about you…

…and then thoughts of you are just slightly pushed aside.

And I’m fine for a short while.  He keeps my attention and energy off of you, especially when he talks about how much he wants this ass, and how he wants my lips all up and down his pipe and how he’s going to use that pipe to break my back.

But then somehow, you just creep back in.  Because he’s not you.  He’s not you.

Messages at two in the morning.  Do you do that because you’re hoping I’m asleep? That it’ll be too late to reply by morning when I awake?  Do you think you’ll miss me?  You do that on purpose, dontcha?

But I reply.  I always reply.  And you’re surprised.

Emotions and feelings and this frustration I’ll be taking out on Crush Boy tomorrow night eat away at my soul.  My heart.  My mind, baby, my mind.  Because you’re just constantly on my mind.

And as I lick Crush Boy’s lips tomorrow, his lips, goddammit, and when I bite into his shoulder, oh man, his shoulders, I’ll push you away, I’ll press him into me, I’ll move you closer, hug him tighter, scratch you deeper, suck him harder, when I make myself believe you are him and he is you and as I breathe deeper and sigh longer, it’s you and him and him and you and once he spills into me and I hold on tight and throw my head back, it’ll be him.  Him.  My Mister Crush Boy I’ve wanted for so long.


You’re not him.


…you’re what I want.

One thought on “Unrequited

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