For almost the entirety of our time together, I never came. It was okay, I reasoned, as long as it was pleasurable. As long as I had your pleasure as a guide. So stereotypically female, and yet.
Our time in Baltimore comes back to me. You came and I was so happy and I cried.
Happy because it's the most easiest of instincts, to be happy when someone you love is happy. And crying, because all I ever wanted was for him to be happy, really. And you could, at least in those moments.
To derive pleasure from the physical, when nothing emotional can be as straightforward. So stereotypically male, and yet.
For me the emotions were straightforward, dualistic happy-sad as it were, because I had you and you were happy and I loved you so I was happy.
Now though, now, I think about how it seems such a stretch, to have such a straightforward love, where I am being loved like this. When I am being watched and brought to pleasure, and someone is glad just to witness.
What does it take, for this to happen? What and when and where and how will this happen, if at all? How many (more) heartbreaks, the ups and downs of perhaps never even having been loved at all?