Chosen

Just so you know,
I didn’t masturbate last night.

Oh, I thought about it.
Couldn’t think of anything else for a long time, actually.
My mind was all over the memory
Of your kisses; all mouth and teeth – like you were eating me alive.
And of your wandering hands, pinching fingers, flat palms following
My curves down around and under.

I flashed back to earlier, too.
Your smile.
Your stare.
Your words.
My breath coming in ragged gulps as you laughed from depths of your soul.
Delighted, I think, to know that you already owned me,
At least for right now.

At one point
I thought I simply couldn’t take it.
I wanted to run
or to cry
or to scream
or to grab you
and make you see Me and
the torment running under the surface of my skin,
running into my core,
setting me on fire until I was grinding against you in spite of myself.
Until I was breathless and slick with need.

But after you dropped me at my car
and gave me the sweetest good-night kiss,
I drove home through the watery darkness of the city at night and
found a deeper peace than any I would achieve with my fingers
and the thoughts of your tongue on me:

You chose me.
I was yours, willing to follow you.
I know you knew it.
I am certain it gave you as much pleasure as it did me.

So, I will wait.
Wait until the magic of tonight has worn off.
Wait until you either come to me again or decide not to.

I will keep my hands
above my waist and
let my mind work on the memories,
fine tuning them and making them more real somehow
than your teeth pulling
at the tender flesh of my lower lip.

At least for right now.