Boy 2

Of course I knew what would happen. Deep down, I knew I wouldn't be closing the phone to elation or the answer yes.1

It was between Thursday and Friday. He was on the other side of the phone, in a house a three minute walk away. The lack of response to my confession left me too tired to feel defeated. I said "I like you;" he said "I kNOw."2

Suddenly everything he said seemed less interesting. Anime? No thank you. Maybe if there was a chance his black eyes burned for me. Maybe if there was a chance his blood rushed when I walked into the room. Maybe if there was a chance he was going to press me against the couch.3

The trouble is, there wasn't a chance. There wasn't even close to a chance.4

Or maybe there was. I knew he was, at least a little, attracted to me. And I'd heard stories of random sexual encounters between friends. I didn't need it to go that far. I didn't want it to go that far, not necessarrily at least.5

My feelings had progressed from school girl crush, to pining, to infatuation. Not that nice, want to talk infatuation. (Im)purely carnal infatuation.6

But the most interesting parts of the story were in my head. Where his hands found their way under my clothes as he pinned me against the wall. Our clothes found their way to the floor; our bodies found their way to the bed.7

He became a thing of fantasy. With tall, dark, and handsome he already fit the description. Take away his words, add mine. Add a little distance. I had something to really imagine.8

It was so perfect in my head I almost attempted action. I'd tell myself to kiss him then I'd savor the thought and put it with all the other innapropriate thoughts.9

And I still want to.10

So it's a lesson that there isn't one. Life after denial isn't different than life before it. I don't want a boyfriend anymore. Now I want a fuck or maybe just a make out. Now I had new distractions. New plans of actions.11

It hasn't really changed, just evolved.12

And I still want fuffilment.13