habit

Sometimes when I want to cum, I like to hear your voice. It is too early for a sometimes but it feels that long.

Sometimes I imagine I would give up the touch of flesh for this. Like I could bargain this, like there is some cost I must pay, a part of me to give up so that I could have this.

I’ve felt trapped now and then in the cold dread before a realization. It’s creeping and crawling on the skin of my arms still. My heart pounds suddenly at odd times, just when I know I’m about to realize it again. But it’s already too late. I realize what a slot-machine game I’d been playing this whole year. What a hook your gamble was. How the possibility of your call was contained in all other calls. I am caught in the moment before I realize there is nothing to anticipate that way. That I can no longer look to see if it’s you, that I will not feel that inner palpitating somersault again. I could think of our calls more, but sometimes it feels like too long-gone a thought. I wish again though that I had had more to say when you called, more to give. You don’t know how my many long silences will haunt me, how I feel they wrapped me, embalmed me, buried me away from you. And how tired I am of that whine inside me.

Sometimes when I want to cum, I want to hear your voice. I lie myself down on my bed and feel like an uncontained dye, bleeding and spreading into my bedsheets without a thought to hold me in. Other times I lie myself down on my bed and the icy dread is there again, has me frozen to my pillow. And I am a phantom whisper of containment this time, held in the moment before I realize your stencil is long-gone for the tracing.

Sometimes I know I shouldn’t have depended on you so much to rein me in. I wish you hadn’t bothered to take control. I wish I hadn’t bothered to struggle to let you have it. I wish you hadn’t bothered to command, I hadn’t bothered to obey. I wish you hadn’t troubled yourself with words like ‘own’ or ‘for me’ or ‘now’. I wish you hadn’t taken the time to talk with me, to read my words. I wish you hadn't stopped to make me tell you I want you, to let me know for even a moment I was yours. I wish I was better at role-play. That it didn’t slip dangerous under my skin quite so much. I wish I had real reproach against you. I wish I didn’t like the sound of you so much.

Sometimes when I want to cum, I try not to hear your voice. I imagine, I dread, that this effort will go on. I will pause to not hear you even with other cocks slid down my fist, throat, cunt. I know it can’t be. I just wish I knew why I always liked your breaking breath so.

Sometimes when I want to cum, I can’t.