With you it has to be rough.
You don’t like sentimentalism and you don’t like beauty. Sex has to hurt to feel real, the same is true for love.
I am your slave but there should be limits. I don’t like you to laugh at me. I don’t like you to sell my body and my soul, to other ghosts. I don’t like you to have sex with him while I am watching.
Marcus is a nice guy, but he thinks he owns you, and you let him think that, just because you like the way he looks down at me. He’s noting more than a bottom to you, just like me.
But I have something he’s never going to have. I’ve got your tears.
Can you still remember the night we met? You had just been dumped from the one and only man who ever had your respect. You were down at the “Paradise” and Carl was filling one glass after the other for you. You were as smashed as you could be. When I entered the pub I tried to ignore you but you came next to me and you told me your first cheesy line “I think you have a very nice ass can I check?”
“Asshole” that was the only thing I could reply and when you tried to kiss me I gave you a punch on your face, hurting myself more than I hurt you. I ran out of the pub, you came after me.
“What do you want? get the hell away from me…” you grabbed my hands and pushed me to the wall. Your eyes where wet. For a second I thought you looked cute. But than you kissed me and the smell of beer made me sick.
“I am pathetic. I know. But I think you could heal my heart. I need your body tonight”
what the hell…I thought.
I stopped fighting. You kissed me and I kissed you back. You immediately showed me who was going to rule.
We ended up in my bed. You hurt me, until pain and pleasure became one. You didn’t even know my name. So you called me honey, the only sweet touch in our story.
When you came with a sore noise coming out of your throat I was crying and you made me come with your big hands, crying his name on my shoulder,then you dressed, and you threw a visit card on my night table:
“Call me. I liked it”
When you stepped out the door I felt I had become your slave, I felt our tears had set a link between us forever.
This is something I am never going to tell Marcus: the pain you give me makes our love stronger, the pleasure you give him is just the prelude to a farewell.
People can be deceived.
I’ll call you anyway, because I like it too, every single time.
You don’t like sentimentalism and you don’t like beauty. Sex has to hurt to feel real, the same is true for love.
I am your slave but there should be limits. I don’t like you to laugh at me. I don’t like you to sell my body and my soul, to other ghosts. I don’t like you to have sex with him while I am watching.
Marcus is a nice guy, but he thinks he owns you, and you let him think that, just because you like the way he looks down at me. He’s noting more than a bottom to you, just like me.
But I have something he’s never going to have. I’ve got your tears.
Can you still remember the night we met? You had just been dumped from the one and only man who ever had your respect. You were down at the “Paradise” and Carl was filling one glass after the other for you. You were as smashed as you could be. When I entered the pub I tried to ignore you but you came next to me and you told me your first cheesy line “I think you have a very nice ass can I check?”
“Asshole” that was the only thing I could reply and when you tried to kiss me I gave you a punch on your face, hurting myself more than I hurt you. I ran out of the pub, you came after me.
“What do you want? get the hell away from me…” you grabbed my hands and pushed me to the wall. Your eyes where wet. For a second I thought you looked cute. But than you kissed me and the smell of beer made me sick.
“I am pathetic. I know. But I think you could heal my heart. I need your body tonight”
what the hell…I thought.
I stopped fighting. You kissed me and I kissed you back. You immediately showed me who was going to rule.
We ended up in my bed. You hurt me, until pain and pleasure became one. You didn’t even know my name. So you called me honey, the only sweet touch in our story.
When you came with a sore noise coming out of your throat I was crying and you made me come with your big hands, crying his name on my shoulder,then you dressed, and you threw a visit card on my night table:
“Call me. I liked it”
When you stepped out the door I felt I had become your slave, I felt our tears had set a link between us forever.
This is something I am never going to tell Marcus: the pain you give me makes our love stronger, the pleasure you give him is just the prelude to a farewell.
People can be deceived.
I’ll call you anyway, because I like it too, every single time.
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