I had turned my music all the way up, partially to block out thoughts of you. It’s an estranged existence learning to cope with a world rid of him. I think that maybe it’s just that I thought this time it was really going somewhere.
Our first date wasn’t as bad as the others. You walked me home with your left arm wrapped around my body. And you paid. We spoke about your ex and all the ways you lied to her. She never made you cum. The sex wasn’t great. Something about her, her body wasn’t enough.
It was your sacrifice. Every time you didn’t cum because of her. You said it was because you loved her that you didn’t say anything. You asked me if I could live like that; without climax. She came every time. That’s what you told me.
I don’t think you recognized it as a betrayal, the way you spoke about her. You were trying to ask me a question. Could this body bring you pleasure? Your ex, I think about her a lot. I wonder if she wonders about you and the potential of me. And I wonder if she knows now what you couldn’t tell her and if she knows that you tell me and other girls like me on your first date. Does she know she has become the example of every good woman’s fear? To be unsexy and greedy. Is she suffering without him or at the thought of him? Did she really cum every time?
The picketed vagina.
I asked if you came after our first time. It was one of the only times we had sex. I wanted to know the truth, to hear it from your lips, and void you from plausible deniability.
But it didn’t bring me much pleasure. Such a strange word isn’t it? Pleasure. It can’t mean much to a woman otherwise life would be too enraging.
You said you did, cum.
I asked again and told you not to lie, I said I didn’t want to be your ex. And it was true. I hated the part of her that couldn’t make you orgasm and made me feel like my body now owed you fulfillment. I wonder how much resentment she bares from the minds of other women who’ve heard the same story and slept with the same guy. None of us got to cum, I’m sure. But for some reason, it’s still her fault.
The nameless, headless ex. I feel close to her.