I once made love to my then boyfriend on bar stool I stole from the fraternity boys down the corridor after a night of carefree drunken antics. He turned off the overhead florescent lights and twisted the **** of the free standing lamp in the corner. The room was partially occupied with dim light and created still life subject matter out of my roommate’s trinkets.  I lifted myself onto the mahogany wooden bar stool, elongating my torso as I leaned back onto the heels of my palms for support.   He approached me without utterance. I let my knees splay open and I followed him with my eyes from a fixed location. His fingers were spread wide on the outside of my thighs, softly sliding up and removing my dress. Tickling just above my hip bones he slipped ******* under either side of my white lace ******* . He slowly drew the ******* down and over the bend in my knees, grazing my calves and off of my left foot, leaving them to hang at the hinge of my other ankle. He slid into me easier than ever before. ******* dressed in soft light I sat statuesque and encouraged him to pummel deeper into me as rings of blood formed at the base of his *****.

“Baby, touch your toes…baby come on!  Touch your toes!”
The words slurred out of your mouth at the same speed the sweat dripped off my brow.
I let go of the chain linked fence I was using for support and mercifully hinged at my waist.
I buried my hands into some soil and cedar chips, six inches, two fists length, between my ankles.
You grabbed tighter onto my waist and created friction by tucking your ring fingers between the folds of skin where my hips met my thighs.
You thrusted harder and pulled me closer, pummeling yourself deeper.
“Tell me you love me. Tell me. Tell me I am yours.” I moaned and patiently waited for your response.
You remained silent.
You pulled out as I attempted to catch my breath on the stagnant dense August air.
One hand remained on my hip as the other used my elusive female ******* to bring yourself to ******.
We were surrounded by the trees, that shaded us from others by night and protected the playground of the catholic grade school from the sun by day.
But alone in our mini paradise, encased by bushes, standing inches from grass, on top of rocks and dirt, you released yourself onto my back, in an attempt to feel closer to me in that moment.

I do not have a daughter.

It is not because my body has not yet physically matured,
nor do I have an inability to bear children,
It is not because I have not yet been touched by a man,
It has nothing to do with my family’s religion or where we call home
But my acknowledgement of my inability to care for myself
Never mind another human being.

It would be nice to see her for the first time though.
Knowing that for nine months my body formed, molded,
and created something beautiful
Regardless of how her features were arranged she would be
just that, beautiful.
Because she would be an extension of me
Another part of my body.

I would dress her in pink with perfectly combed pigtails
And send her off to school with notes hidden in her lunchbox
To remind her that where she comes from is full of love
That the foundation her home was built on was love.

Have you ever missed the way someones skin feels?
The soft, effortless, lotion-less, texture that smells good even when he stinks.
The way his chest feels as you listen to the sound of his heart as his breast bone rises and falls as he sleeps.
So I lay in bed at night, wondering if hes drifting, longing for the skin that holds me.

One hot morning I awoke as Ted Bundy.  My bed sheets were soaked with sweat that I continued to perspire. I threw the linens off my body and sat up in desperation to find a cool bit of oxygen for me to breathe. As I gasped for air a tainted scent filled my mouth, and at that moment I thought myself ill. I leaped out of bed and ran to the bathroom but clumsily tripped over unfamiliar feet. These feet threw me to the floor and lay me at eye level with the prettiest blue eyes. In shock I sat back and pushed my body into a corner of the room. The eyes weren’t blinking and the body wasn’t moving, but a small pool of red lay by the body’s head mixing in with the blond streaks of its hair.  My eyes filled with tears and I glanced past the body into the mirror and saw a stranger staring back at me. I frantically flipped my hands back and forth in disbelief that I was who was starring back at me, but then was distracted by a blotch of red on my nail in the shape of a heart. I stopped, giggled and wiped away my tears. One hot morning I awoke as Ted Bundy, and never came back.

Days never pause and seconds are never saved and the clock
continues to tick with nothing tangible beyond its face but,
if I were to pause time, for just a moment:
vain blue violets, would blossom in the dark of my eyes.
While lawyers, counted grains of sand, during recess.
Every tick, unaccounted for, would be an eternity.
As the measured minutes would thaw immediately
until it was time, for time, to freeze again.