On consent and corporate dinners

Love flows in fractals. That means, creating chaos as it overlaps itself.

She stretches. I strech. I’m not mirroring on purpose. It just happens. She just reminds me of how tense my back gets in this chair.

Well I guess we’re both tense.

I feel sorry. Not guilty anymore, never again guilty. Synchronicity is a funny thing, that’s all.

That night he didn’t own my mind because that night she talked to me at that corporate dinner.

We started talking on the way there and we kept talking for 3 hours, almost non-stop. We sat side by side at the huge table and we chose our food together. I fed her a cheese filled potato with my own fork (“you have to try this”), curling my lips as she ran hers through it. Watching her face change with the flavor was one of the highlights of the evening.

When the girls in front of us we’re fighting over what to order next, she said “you guys look like a couple”. In my mind I said “we do too”.

Later that night, all the time I held his body it felt too big. His soft lips were those of a boy, so they felt hard anyway. Every time he hurt me he brought me to the present, out of my mind. I used to love playing with pain exactly because of that. That night I hated it every time, because my mind was full of her and I didn’t want to get out.

Of course I did get out and played my part. Out of courtesy, out of compassion, out of love. Telling him what my body really wanted would hurt us both. How could I tell him that all it wanted was her soft curls, toned muscles, cool lips on my cheek as she said goodbye? Her gaze eager, her smile wide. Her words so telling. Her flirting tips so wise. Her fingers so soft as we shared that extra cigarette before going back to the table.

How was I to tell him to let me just lie and dream, and to only caress me soft enough so that I could picture her doing it?