Pathetic Little Lover

I am a bad person. By bad person, I don't mean morally bad but emotionally bad. I hurt people impulsively, almost involuntarily, and then I cry. The very fact that I am aware of my nature is what scares me. This fear makes it hard for me to fall in love. And even harder to break free from them. You see, I want to make them realize how nasty of a person they are to lose a precious being like me. I make them go back to their faults that I "fixed" and make them see how damaged of a person they would be if it weren't for my intervention in their lives. Is this what they call being spiteful? Is this what I am "full of spite"?

Anyway, I also dream of loving someone dreamily. The one who would melt my heart away. The one who won't budge from their morals, no matter how hard I try to "fix" them. Someone who would sway me away and make me forget the horrible being I am.

Sadly, I have had people love me dearly, no matter how harsh I sound to them. They think (I make them think) I am caring for them when I say, they can't chew or cough a certain way. Pathetic, am I not?

He was one of those lost souls who used to love me. Or, after our recent accidental meeting, he who still loves me.

Coincidentally, it was our breakup anniversary. It wasn't I who remembered it, but he. We stumbled across each other in a bookstore. You would find me in a bookstore or my house, I don't thrive anywhere else. But his presence in that bookstore was because of me, I could feel. You see, it's cause I dragged him into the sport of reading; back when we were together. And the aisle- Japanese (translated) Literature.

That eye contact lead us to the studio apartment which I was sharing my books. The walking path was guided by books and my bed, you guessed it, was blanketed by some more books.

I would navigate my way through books, but he chose to jump over some stacks to reach the bed. He sat still, possibly dreading his situation, while I went to my kitchenette to prepare us some instant coffee.

"Weren't you going to build a library?" his crisp words struck me like lightning.

"You don't have to remind me of that," I said, emptying one scoop of coffee powder into each mug.

The boiling water was more interesting than his face. It was I who was dreading the invitation.

"You want some help?"

Could he not sit still and shut up?

"No, thanks."

I poured the boiling water into the mugs and took one for him. He held the hot mug with a child-like pain in his eyes.

"Oh, you still can't handle hot drinks," I chuckled as I sipped my steaming cup of coffee. "Go ahead and put it on that stack over there," I said.

He turned 30 degrees to his right, where he found a stack of old books, on which already existed some old mug stains. He placed his mug and watched me curiously.

"So, you have read all of it?"

"That's what I do,"

A clap of thunder roared through the sky and shook my glass windows.

"Shit, it's gonna rain,"

"Oh, I see, you still don't like rain," he smirked.

I could only look at him, considering he wasn't wrong. He finally picked up his cup and started drinking. We remained in silence, asking or talking particularly nothing, waiting for the rain.

I was done with my drink and asked him if he wanted more, he shook his head and handed his mug to me. I took the mug from his hand and headed back into my kitchenette. I am not the "do the dishes right away" sort of person, but something told me to scrub his mug clean, right then and there. So I picked up the semi-damp sponge and began cleaning his mug. I rubbed the rim thoroughly and the handle too firmly.

"You were supposed to be living your happiest life, weren't you?" he was leaning against the wall, adjacent to the sink.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I said shoving the mug back into the sink.

He said nothing. I scrubbed our mugs clean and washed my hands with hand soap. He still stood watching me.

"You were supposed to be happy?" he asked, making another assumption. His snide remarks? "Why are you sad?" he added.

I turned to face him, expecting more taunts, but instead, he rushed towards me, grabbed my face, and kissed me.

I know I am pathetic but I don't feel like it most of the time. But there standing under him, taking in his tongue, I was feeling pathetic.

I tried pushing him but not with everything I have got. My resistance only had him pressing my face closer to his and kissing my lips. My grunts and protests were swallowed up by his mouth. He pushed me against the sink and pressed his body against mine. What I felt first was his hard-on and then his chest. I became aware of his fingers on my cheeks as I searched for a ring around them. I felt nothing. I groped at his body in the pretense of protest to feel the pockets on his coat. There I felt it, a band. A ring.

I moved my hands away from his pocket and placed them on his chest. My protest turned into surrender and I started turning my neck however he wanted. Pathetic. Am I not? And I stopped feeling pathetic.

We took our time in the kitchen corner and then literally stumbled on my bed. I removed as many books as possible to avoid bruising ourselves.

He tore from his coat and shirt and then tore off my top and bra. In his hunger, I felt he could devour me then and there. My torso appeared so small and edible before his mouth. My boobs got happily squished under his spread palm as his mouth licked and sucked on my tits. His well-built chest had little to no hair, and my focus was drawn to his crotch, which was rubbing against mine. He'd be neatly groomed there as well.

Just when I thought, I could see him undo his zipper, he flipped me over. He placed his one hand on my back and with the other, he slipped my pants along with my panties. While he was undoing himself, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse at his neatly trimmed pubes.

I caught my breath while he fished out a condom from his wallet and slipped it on. Then in no time, he was in me. He went right in and I felt my walls molding to his girth.

"You were supposed to be having the best sex life. Weren't you?" he said as he leaned on my body, crushing me.

"Tight pussies are desirable," I bit my tongue.

"I see," he placed his hand on my neck and kept shoving his length in and out of me. "You are desirable,"

He spanked my ass a few times, and the sting only made my walls squeeze him even tighter. He moaned as he smacked me. To avoid giving in to his pleasure, I kept my mouth shut. Pathetic. Am I not?

He flipped me over and kissed my face. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Wouldn't your wife find all of these a little offensive?" I said, and he shoved his length so hard inside me that I felt the slam.

"Wasn't I supposed to be your little sex slave? Fucking you at your command even if I had a wife?" he laughed and pressed his forehead against mine.

I held his face and found his lips, asking for a kiss. We kissed. The pathetic rain kept beating against my window. And the thunder kept increasing my heartbeat. As if on cue, a bolt of lightning crashed somewhere just when I came. He moved a couple more times after when he too came. He collapsed on top of me.

I pulled a throw blanket from near my pillow and draped it over us.

He gave me a hickey on my neck in the same way a snake's severed head tries to bite you one last time before dying. He wasn't dying, of course, but he was certainly slumbering off.