M is for Molester
Baby, my love. I was so ashamed. Ashamed for me, and ashamed for you. Ashamed for me that I was powerless. Ashamed for you that he tried to take away your pride. But you were never proud of me, were you? And I was so proud of you. I wanted everything for you. But the pain was so much. It was very hard you see. I’m so sorry I failed. I didn’t meet your expectations did I? But what did you expect? For me not to feel anything? For me not to care? For me to watch you touch her, and kiss her, and do everything we did once, and not feel something? Because you said the same things to me once. You kissed me once, and called me pet names. And one very special night, you watched in awe, and I felt more beautiful than I ever have before. And not for my sake, but for you. For once, it was enough. As long as you were happy, I was content, and unafraid.
I still love you. Even though my friend says I should let go.
It’s so difficult. Every day I say I don’t, I see you or hear your voice or someone talks about you, I remember that I love you. I remember the sound of your breathing in a car on a dark night. I remember the smell of your skin lingering on mine. I remember the way you taste. I remember that your hands are a bit rough, but are so gentle when you want them to be. I remember your weight on top of me, and how much I miss it. I remember listening to your heart beat on a cold morning when I was scared. You put your arm around me then, and said it would be okay. I believed you, and it was. I remember that you were always half-shocked then when I kissed you. It’s only because I kiss you like I want you to kiss me. And I touch you like I want to be touched. I wish I could make love to you the way you make love to me, but I don’t know how yet.
And I make mistakes. I know. I wish to goodness I didn’t.
And you are so strong, and so…..male. It scares and overwhelms, and thrills me at the same time. Bakura. Your name rolls around my tongue like cotton candy, disappearing as fast as I say it. But it’s like rum, or hot spirits. Fire in my belly. Baby, you’re like that. And I would be so happy to just follow you around in wonder. Like a puppy, I know. But you do that to me, and funny thing is, because you make me feel that way I don’t feel it’s bad.
And if you suggest something, it sounds great. Bakura. I want to type it over and over again. It helps this pain you see. Because I have these images of you touching her. You were both naked, and I hated her and loved you at the same time. And the only way I could tell myself it was not a nightmare was to touch her too. And when I felt that she was real, I had to hurt her. I’m sorry if it upset you. I don’t know what you wanted. Me to make love to her too perhaps? With you? Us, together? Maybe I would have if it was just her, somewhere else. Maybe I would have if I found her appealing.
Mustapha Audu, King of Pain
His Queen of Bruises, me.