I miss you a little. I liked that you let me look at the porn on your hard drive. I liked when you didn’t judge me when I told you I haven’t watched porn for pleasure in years. I have multiple draft emails addressed to you. I have written lines in them that are obscene. I miss your cock and the thought comes to me a lot. I liked our fucking. I liked our fucking when you weren’t trying to fucking date me. I’m worried that I would have had the best sex of my life at the age of twenty-two with someone I don’t sleep with any more. I’m jealous of every woman you’ve slept with. Sometimes I wish I could morph into every woman you’ve slept with but I like myself too much for that. I don’t know where I’ll find another person who will ring me during business hours and tell me they want to go down on me until I scream. I don’t know if I want that, but if I do want it I want it to come from you. I miss how you told me what to do when I sucked you off. I miss the way you sighed sweetly after you came; I don’t mean to sound cloying but it’s true. I know if I told you what I do for a living you’d understand. I hope you’re over me but I want you to still want me. I miss the way you pulled my hair and pinned me down with such certainty. I miss the way you pawed at my face like a concerned dog. I hardly tell my friends about you. I am always this close to sending you an email about how much I miss the sex we had. I am always this close to stopping by your house and not knowing what to do if you weren’t there. I sometimes hated the way you always wanted to talk about sex with me but now I miss it. I liked how you were always so vocal about the ways in which you wanted me. I liked that you let me watch you touch yourself once. I don’t know what would happen if I tried to make contact with you again or if you tried to connect. I want it to be as uncomplicated as it once was.
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