Soft and White

You had told me
No girl had ever made you cum from a blow job.
But I did, somehow.
I have to remind myself it means nothing.
I remember being a very young girl.
I'd watch the way the other girls acted.
I tried to gauge their thought processes.
Were their minds helplessly centered on
The boys like mine was?
It didn't appear to be so.
I just remember... I just remember.
Always the flash of soft stubble.
An arm with a scattering of brown hair.
The instantaneous visceral longing.
My blood pumping.
The icons of my father that haunted me,
Shaving razor. Old Spice. His guitar
Propped against the wall and the leather
Seats in the old Corvette that smelled like...
Like...
Something painfully, deliciously male.
And I still think of you, though I knew I had
To let you go. I think of what I'd let you do to me,
Which is everything.
I know I've never been pretty enough.
Maybe when I was young,
But even then there was something toxic about me,
I think guys could sense the need...
I could never act coy and uninterested
Like my mom told me to in order to land a guy's heart.
I still look at your pictures though I'm trying
To cure myself of your throbbing in me.
I still like to savor the rush of feeling
Just your eyes make ripple over my skin.
A fever... A soft white rustling.
But it doesn't remain soft for long.
Everything liquifies in me the more my eyes
Travel over you.
I remember the one who was 19
And I was 41.
Blond and blue eyed.
The one who made me beg for his cum.
He too said he wouldn't get off by just a blow.
The delicious surprise in him,
When he wrote me at four in the morning,
Telling me no one could take it like me.
He never knew, he never knew.
Thinking he'd come back,
That it would be enough.
No. No.
No.
_________
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zD8KvL1aFNQ