Her nipples hardened as the fan took its turn to blow in her direction. Sweat glistened in the dim light, always so milky and cool even in the hottest of nights. The whirl of our neighbor’s air conditioner reminded me that this time we might have been too loud. ‘Damn windows, would replace them if it weren’t a rental.’
Clit still humming, I role over closer now, trying not to lose her smell. I listen to her breath as I wait for the soft blow of the fan.
Always so sleepy afterwards, I closed my eyes and dreamt of the past.
I dreamed of a time when fucking meant feeling breathless, clumsy and insecure all at once.
It was the back seat of cars while getting to third base.
It was tight shirts with my mini skirts.
It was ditched classes in his parent’s room.
It was long kisses and phony orgasms.
Fucking meant the occasional condom and the promises of the pill.
It was tearful wishes and naive acts of superstitions.
It was feeling in control when I didn’t know I wasn't.
I dreamed of a time when fucking lead to secret confessions and the
predictable scares of youth.
Cold air brushed against our skin as the compressor jolted me.
Fucking has meant faithful kisses and fulfilled embraces,
It is trusting hands and wet places
It has meant finding home, never fearful of conceptions only wishes for one.