I come to your house to fetch my things after you decided that you didn't want me. I will miss you, because I'm in love with you. I'll also miss the way you touch me. You know you are the best sex I've ever had. After two weeks of me ignoring your breakup message, I decide to face reality and go for my things. In your apartment I have my bicycle, helmet, a bunch of acrylic paint and a sketchbook, an assortment of teas, some books, and maybe a shirt or two.
I take a shower for the first time in a week. Yeah I know. But hey, whatever keeps you alive. I grab the green bag in which I put some of your stuff I have (a pair of jeans, a belt, a t-shirt) and get into the uber.
I remember I also have your keys. Fuck. I'll be returning those too.
When I arrive you offer me water. I go to the bathroom and wash my hands. You ask me how I've been doing during the past couple of weeks. Looking at your face hurts, but smelling you is worse. You've always had this characteristic smell. It's kind of sweet and bitter. I retain an impulse to hug you and smell your neck.
- Fine, thank you. -- I don't really feel like crying all over you again.
I try to focus on the task at hand. I hand you the green bag and start collecting my books from your bookshelf. I have about 5 books here, Isn't that silly? No it's not. I spent the last couple of months coming here constantly. And you said you wanted to be with me. I'll think about that later. I think I might be addicted to you. After all, infatuation is obsession. The way my body reacts from just smelling you is not casual. I finish collecting my books and try to asses the situation with the bicycle. It's doable.
- Do you want me to go with you?
- No, It's ok. -- I say in a low voice. I know you think I'm weak. But lately I've been fantasizing about getting hurt and you saving me. So stupid. I'm not weak, and you won't save me. I can bike a bit. I can also, if not, walk with my bike.
- Are you sure?
- Yeah, thanks.
- May I hug you?
Oh no. I don't know if I can stand this. But hey, one last smell of your neck, why not. We love pain, after all.
- Sure.
I thought I remembered the way you smelled, but it always surprises me. The way it envelops me; the warmth coming from your chest. You being taller than me and the perfect hug size. I can hear your heartbeat.
- I love you -- you say to my ear. I notice you are getting aroused. I decide to say nothing, I just stand there, my head on your chest. I close my eyes and pretend we are ok. No we are not. Things suck. I start crying silently. I pull apart a little bit.
- Sorry. Didn't mean to wet your shirt.
You grab my face and neck, with your huge hands. You look at me in the eyes and dry my tears with your thumb, lingering over my lips. You rest your thumb on top of my lip and press gently. There is no need to say anything. I open my mouth and start sucking, not losing eye contact. Your hand slides down my back to my ass. You squeeze one cheek and I moan slightly. You take your hand out of my mouth and slide it to my hair. You gently grab a chunk of hair and pull it firmly.
- Who do you belong to?
- I belong to you -- I gasp, I love your low voice. While still pulling my hair, you spank me.
- Who's my favorite slut?
