#051111 Recycling

I wanted to know.

I needed to know.

There is something to be said about someone who knows exactly when and how to touch you. Then again, when you've had over a decade's worth of touches, is it a testament to someone's skill or their ability to adapt to routine?

Was it availability or desire that kept us boomeranging towards each other?

It was easy to get lost in him. 

There was so little offered, I could imagine or make up the rest.

I invented a world between us and he did not protest.

He always knew just where to put his hands.

Much to my dismay,

he ALWAYS knew just where to put his hands and my well formed protest would evaporate, becoming extraterrestrial to my mind.

I tried to have all serious conversations at a distance.  Even the phone would become one of his tools of manipulation and control.

Inevitably, I'd find myself touching myself simply from feeling the gravel in his voice and remembering what it felt like with breath pouring across my neck 

as he'd beckon me

as he'd implore me

as he'd command me to do his bidding.  

Thing is, 

he never even had to say anything.

Just look at me and I would know exactly what and how we were about to do things.

In person, 

I couldn't resist him.

On the phone,

he tortured my imagination with unwilling reminisces about the countless times shared between us.

I had to find a way to talk to him without talking.

Text or email would be the only way I could fortify myself when I had something of import to say to him.

Whether he'd memorized the map of pleasure he'd inked in kisses along my body over time

or 

if he was still discovering new ways to make me pant did not matter.

This time,

I would hold strong and speak to him in a font that conveyed my seriousness.

I would stray from the flowery language he'd make me spout.

My tongue would be leaden and expository instead of made from cotton candy and metaphor.

I would not exhale poetry during this conversation.

I would not sweat verse.

If he answered correctly,

if he took the silly girl seriously, 

then we'd resume our irregular existence in the never never land we created amidst the soft fabric of high thread counts.

I wanted to know

I needed to know.