<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d6561645\x26blogName\x3dLe+chateau+de+vent\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dLIGHT\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://madamefinistere.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3dfr_FR\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://madamefinistere.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-5418246487415471938', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
| | jeudi, mai 24, 2007

Break up sex is one of the hardest ways to say goodbye.
You hurt most in the softness of the arms of the one who just dumped you.
But when she started the obligatory “We can’t continue like this” - routine, the only thing I thought was “Please let her get into bed with me just one more time.”
She did bring me home after she had told me it was over. Guilt. I felt so miserable she had no choice. So she stayed. Not on the couch, but in my bed.
“We can sleep together, but I don’t want to make love. That wouldn’t be fair to you.” She said. That made me feel even more miserable. I put out the light and turned to my side, away from the body that rejected me. Hurt.
All night when I had tried to kiss her deeper and with tongue she had avoided me. But now in the bed, we were on dangerous grounds. The mind can be strong but the flesh is weak. Familiar flesh is even weaker.
I felt I was caught in a pantomime of breaking up, not able to change anything about what was going to happen, but I knew sex was unavoidable.
We were wide awake, lying very still and listening to each other breathing. After a while she turned to me. I felt her body heat against my back. She softly stroked my shoulders and then spooned me. I could feel her hard nipples through her t-shirt.
It’s strange how feeling in women can get so complicated and twisted that in the end they always get hard nipples.
I pushed my buttocks into her. Closer.
I remembered the nights I had had her pinned down here on the bed, whriting, moaning sighing, softly uttering oh’s of wonder and calling my name. Coming.
And suddenly I hurt so much. Starting to cry is the one thing you should not do if you want to avoid break up sex. But the tears were already streaming down my face and of course she noticed. Of course she pressed her body closer to mine and started to kiss my neck.
I could feel her tears too.
She was dumping me because she was in love with someone else. “I don’t know where it’s going to go, whether we will start a relationship.” She had said. I hated that “we”. I hated the cunt that had caught her eye.
And what was worse: I hated the fact that I couldn’t master her. All this time I had thought I had her. When she was sitting on my face, when she made me bite a pillow so I would be quiet. When she told me I was wild.
I thought she was at ease with me.
But suddenly I realized why she was leaving me. I never had her because I had never given her anything. Orgasm, yes, but nothing more. There was nothing she could love.

When I turned around and kissed her, she didn’t pull away. Her hips pushed into mine and she kissed me back, deep. Our tears mingled. Now if there’s anything leading most certainly to break up sex, then that’s mingling tears. So you can imagine, it didn’t take long before our hands were trailing over each other’s bodies, firing up the mix of lust, anger, rejection and frustration that was already lurking underneath the surface so impatiently.

I wanted to fuck her, feel her, merge into her one last time, I wanted to remember every part of her. The noises she made, her scent, the crook of her arms, the weight of her breasts. We made love slowly. She kept saying she was sorry, even when she was coming.
And after a while, I started to feel numb. A numbness so typical of loss. I was already letting go. I was preparing for the morning, when she would take her bag and leave for good.

Technorati Profile