I should’ve known the way you warmed your palms against my back that you would kiss me, but at least your trembling lips covered the hesitancy of mine, tortured into timidity by the guy who pushed himself into me demanding that I like it. You touched me with a reverence I didn’t deserve as I remained tangled in reservations of certain caresses, positions, and the possible suggestion of *** in my bed. You nestled your chin
in the curve of my neck instead and while you slept on the prospect of contentment, I cried for trust you would expect from me, a wrecked reject **** victim who believed that maybe she was a tease who would continue to displease any man willing to lay her. I made you leave when I saw the sun’s rays, but relief didn’t stay behind.