Hands, His

When you go through a breakup there are so many things that you go over in your mind that you may regret. Sometimes it’s the things we may say, sometimes it’s the things we may do and sometimes it’s the touches we miss. The touches that were not only sexual but also reassuring in the darkest of times. I’m not always able to say exactly how I feel but when he’d put his hands on my thigh or my waist, everything was always clear. I loved him, I loved him more than I thought I could love someone that wasn’t fully mine. Our relationship was never defined, nor was it in a box that could be picked off of a relationship shelf. When things got hard our excuse was that we are ‘us’ and that was the only explanation that was needed. I think as my love grew for him I began to see that ‘us’ wasn’t enough and I think I wanted to hear more things like we. We was moving forward, we wanted to plan a future, we wanted more kids, we wanted to have a plan for all the tomorrow’s. He blamed it on the fact that he grew up in the streets and was never able to learn how to just be with a woman, how to just be with me. So I went along with it, I went along with everything he said because he made it sound so good. He made us sound good even though it was far from. Even though I know that we shouldn’t be together I still sit here just missing him. Missing his touch. His hands would let me know how he feels and I miss the feelings, I miss knowing what was on his mind. Whether it was pinning me down while we would play fight or when he’d slip his hands up skirt to my sweet spot. The way he would wipe away my tears or the way he’d wrap his arms around me for reassurance. A break up can be a terrible thing but there is never an end for things that are meant to be. We needed to end, we needed to end because we wasn’t right but that doesn’t stop me from missing his touch, from missing his hands.

Why is it wrong?

Am I wrong for wanting a piece of him, him, her and her.

Society says it’s wrong.

My friends say I’m greedy.

Is it wrong for me to have many lovers?

Is it wrong that each of them have a special part that equates to my perfect being?

Why must I just have one mate?

Why does it have to be a man?

My auntie says “Cuz we nuh inna di batty gyal biznes”

She doesn’t understand that our culture doesn’t have to affect who I am.

He fucks me so good I lose control of my body, it surrenders to him and never puts up a fight.

She provides me with her sensual flair, making me believe in my sexiness and know that it’s ok to want the best that’s out there.

He makes me laugh and never wants to see me cry. When I’m around him I never know whether it’s day or if it’s night.

She is my provider, she makes me feel safe and warm. She never lets me have to deal with rainy days or them horrible storms.

Together they make the perfect one. The person I see myself falling and falling and falling over and over and over again in love.

Why must that be wrong?

Why is it socially acceptable for a man to gift his dick to what ever woman may blink but if a woman does the same she isn’t worth shit.

She is called a HOE, SLUT, WHORE and could never be a wife. Just because she’s living unapologetically in this crazy thing we call life.

A sexual being, yes. Also, looking for the right attributes to make the best.

Is it wrong?

Is it really wrong?

When you think about it are you truly with the one?

Or are you just with someone that was better than the rest but still missing something hun?

Live your best life and be who you want to be.

I’m only my best when I’m being me.

Not like this

I’ve felt it before

It was nothing like this

Each feeling is somehow new to me

Almost so good it should be forbidden 

Dangerous in an addictive sense 

I yearn for him when he’s gone

Yet when he’s here I say no

Not because I need him to stop

Simply because I can’t take anymore 

He makes me feel things I never knew I liked

He makes me love things I never liked before

My body is for him and only his touch satisfies

When I’m alone I lay there and fantasise

I touch myself and think of him hoping to feel what he makes me feel

It’s never the same 

I use to love playing my body like an instrument

A piano playing all the right keys

But as soon as he came along I never play the correct song 

My body is for him and only his touch satisfies

He kisses me all over with a new level of passion

Never misses an inch

Explores me to find exactly what drives me crazy

He aims to please and he pleases so well

He whispers in my ear if I like how it feels

I’m always confused as my body is shaking can’t he tell

His pleasure takes me over 

Tingling every nerve

Like the orgasmic version of pins and needles

I sometimes even feel like is this more then I deserve

My body is for him and only his touch satisfies 

Don’t get me wrong I wouldn’t say I’m promiscuous 

I wouldn’t say I know everything about sex at all

When it comes to it I’m very confident but he makes me feel entry level

My mind consumed by thoughts of regret wondering why I never let myself be felt by him before