nina semen.

we haven’t spoken in a while. that’s normal for us, but different this time. the silence is so loud. it’s heavy. i’ve been keeping busy; being alone with my thoughts has been troublesome these past few days. i miss you. i miss you because you’re not there. you’re not waiting. i want to talk to you so badly, not to reconcile, or hash anything out, but to soothe your anger, your pain. i know i can’t, though. only time can do that. will time do that? i have to believe it will…

you wonderful, perfect man. each time i speak of you, it’s the descriptor i fall back on. perfect. you are everything everyone wants in anyone. my fluctuating level of contentment in our relationship causes me to question my sanity. i feel so inadequate by your side. you make me hate myself, i think. you make me doubt myself. you are so full of love, so compassionate and caring. you give your all. i am not; i cannot. i’m too afraid. i always will be.

how you have managed to be so brave i don’t know. you gave your heart to me. a fickle ambivert with scars on her ankles. you never took it back, even after all the times i spoke unconscionable words, did unconscionable things. at one point how much you love me gave me hope, and it made me believe that i could be a better person. then, i started to resent you. resent you because i couldn’t be a better person. resent you for loving me.

where does he get off, dealing with my bullshit? never telling me to go fuck myself? never walking away…

you ask me why i push you away and i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t know. maybe i don’t trust you. no, that’s not it. i trust you. i know that you would never hurt me. i don’t trust myself. i can’t. you know that. well, you know that you can’t trust me. the reasons you can’t are the reasons i can’t. i took you for granted. i take you for granted.

each time i told you that i would try harder, that i would do better, that i loved you more than anything and i was sorry for being stupid, i meant it. i promise that it wasn’t a lie.

my intentions were pure, when i asked for a break. there’s no one else. there will be no one else, for the foreseeable future. i am just in pain right now, and i am unable to lean. i can only lash out. you don’t deserve that. you want to be there for me, but being there for me can only hurt you. i am not someone who understands how to be supported, emotionally. it makes me uncomfortable; it makes me mean. i don’t handle stress well, and being under a mountain of it right now…it’s not a good thing. i know i am flawed. i know i am more than complicated; i am impossible. i know that i have treated you badly.

you are the best man i have ever known. you deserve everything beautiful, no more pain. and because i cannot promise to not cause you anymore, and i cannot promise that i will ever figure out what makes me so awful, it was only right to end it, although i only meant temporarily. i understand that you could not give me what i asked for, and that you have given me everything. i am both happy about it, and sad. happy that you are putting yourself first, finally; sad that it’s over. i didn’t want it to be over.

it needed to be over. i decided that it was over, for our sake. i am sorry.

i think about you and the woman that you will inevitably meet in the future. i think about how she will appreciate you and love you and be so much better to and for you than i ever was. than i am capable of being. i think of her, this someone that isn’t me, making your ever changing eyes turn that electric shade of blue that they do when you’re happy and it makes my stomach churn and my nerve endings turn cold. i picture you on your wedding day, smiling and fulfilled and finally - after all this time and all of these women who tore you to pieces - whole and i…fold in upon myself and gasp for air, because i want so badly to be that someone. i want to be someone else.

i am too…not good enough. i am too not good enough. i never have been. i have never deserved you, and i never will. my metered emotions and cold touch aren’t enough. you are fire and sunlight, clouds and sex, film noir and krabby patties. i should be proud to have been able to call you mine, but i am not. i am ashamed. because you will be my one regret, i can tell.

i want to be someone else. i want to be what you need. i want to be who you deserve. i want to be good enough. i want to be someone who deserves you. i want to be someone with free emotions and an open heart. someone who cries when she’s sad, and sings when she’s happy.

but, i’m not.

so it’s better to let you go. it’s been so unfair of me to place you aside while i try to figure out how to be that someone else. i know you hate me right now, but i hope with every ounce of me that it’s only temporary. that maybe one day, maybe years from now you’ll call me and tell me that you forgive me. or at least that you’re not angry with me anymore. that you didn’t mean it when you said you wished you never met me.

i write this here, and hope that you will see it. part of me wants to email it to you. or pull out one of the Pacman moleskines you bought me, scribble a few pages. mail it. but i know you don’t want to hear from me right now, so i can’t. i was so selfish in our relationship, i can’t bring myself to continue to be after it’s over. i write this here, and hope that you will see it. i don’t even know if you remember this place exists. please, do.

Weed always made Giselle…friskier than she usually was. It lowered her inhibitions, and she loved it. After she returned from the kitchen with beers for the boys and handed Charlie his, instead of returning to her place on the floor between Nic’s feet, she settled down on his lap, her breasts in his face while she opened the beer behind his head. He kissed her cleavage, lightly, and looked up at her, smiling. He glanced over at Charlie on the other end of the couch, but she pressed his face back with her shoulder. She placed his beer on the end table and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. His hands searched her body, settling on the curve of her ass and squeezing.

She felt him start to stiffen beneath her, and when their mouths finally broke apart they were both breathless, her lips burning from his stubble. Giselle turned her head to the right to give Nic better access to the spot behind her ear that he loved the kiss, and her eyes met Charlie’s before he looked away sharply, ashamed to be caught watching.

A tingle went through Giselle. Charlie was sexy; as sexy as Nic, but in a different way. Where Nic was long and lithe and graceful, Swedish to the core, with pale skin between his tattoos, silvery blonde hair and wide eyes as deep blue as the Pacific, Charlie was shorter, by at least half a foot - though he was still a bit taller than most men - and he was thickly built, with broad shoulders and forearms you couldn’t close your hands around. He tanned easily, and his hair was dark brown; his eyes, evergreen, framed by blonde lashes thick and long enough to still be evident. His lips were his most noticeable feature - bright pink and plump, like bubblegum. Giselle wondered, for the first time since she’d known him, if they tasted as sweet as they looked.

She reached over and touched Charlie’s shoulder, letting her fingers trail down a protruding vein in his arm. He looked back at her, curiously, and she brought her hand up to his face, slipping a finger between those thick lips. He opened them and sucked her fingertip, reaching up to stroke her wrist, lightly. She let out a slight little moan and bit her lip, watching him. She pulled her fingers from between his teeth and moved them down to his chest, gripping one of his pecs tightly as she began to grind on Nic, who was rock hard by then and biting and sucking on the tendon in the side of her neck as if trying to draw blood.

She looked down at Charlie’s crotch, lifting an eyebrow when she saw his member struggling to rise under the tight denim along his thigh. She leaned over more to reach it. He gasped when she began to stroke. Nic released Giselle’s skin from his teeth and looked over to see what was wrong. It was obvious to Giselle what she wanted by this point, and she tilted herself backward, so that Nic could see what she was doing. His gaze followed her arm to her where her hand was and darted back to her, confused. When he saw the question in her eyes, this new, hesitant hunger he didn’t quite recognize, his face fell blank and she worried for a moment that she’d done something terrible, but then he pulled her face back down into a kiss and lifted them both up, scooting over until Giselle’s thigh was trapped tightly between his and Charlie’s.
 
Immediately, Charlie reached over and squeezed Giselle’s leg. It sent a tremor through her. When Nic’s kisses trailed from her face back to her neck, she took the opportunity to bring Charlie’s lips to hers. They weren’t sweet; he was tart from the beer, and a bit spicy, like cinnamon. He kissed her carefully, but deep and sure. It wasn’t long before his hand was tangled in her hair and his tongue was in her mouth. Then, Nic was lifting her shirt above her head, and her breasts were bouncing free for a moment before each man had a nipple in his mouth. Nic held one between his teeth, flicking his tongue over it, while Charlie sucked and pulled so hard on the other that it hurt. Giselle caressed the backs of their heads and moaned, arching her back, pressing herself into their faces.

Then there was a hand beneath the elastic of her shorts and then inside of her underwear, searching between her thighs. She knew it was Nic’s when he gasped, his fingers disappearing into how slick and wet she was, probably more than she’d ever been. The thrill of it all heightened every bit of pleasure she felt; this fantasy come to fruition. Not that she’d ever fantasized about Charlie in particular, or a threesome with Nic. Just…two men, at once. It’d always seemed delicious.

She reached down to free Nic from his jeans, lifting herself up a little. He sprang from his open zipper, long and thick, and she wrapped her hand around him tightly, pumping just the way he enjoyed it most. With her right hand, she started to unbutton Charlie’s jeans but couldn’t; he took the hint and did it himself. She craned her neck to look down and found his cock not quite as long as Nic’s, with a bit more girth, and uncircumcised. She smiled at how their dicks paralleled their other differences in appearance. She took it in her hand and stroked them both at the same speed and rhythm. Charlie seemed to like it just the way Nic did.

After a few minutes, she pulled herself away from their groping hands and mouths, and sank down onto the floor, onto her knees. She looked from one cock to another, deciding whose to taste fist. She decided on Nic’s - because she was his, after all - never moving her hand from Charlie’s. Nic moaned gratefully when she wrapped her mouth around him and gathered all of her hair into his fist. Just when she had built up a pace and his body started to tighten beneath her, she released him with a pop and moved over to Charlie. He throbbed with anticipation on her tongue, saltier and saltier each time, and she closed her eyes. She reached over to get Nic back into her hand but he stood and she tried to lift her head, see what he was doing, but Charlie held it firmly in place, and she didn’t struggle. She heard clothes rustling and then a few moments later she felt hands on her hips, pulling her bottoms off, and then her body was being pulled down. Her pussy dropped onto Nic’s tongue and she bucked up for a moment, startled, then settled herself onto his face. He lapped at her, sucked at her clit and as he moaned into her, she moaned into Charlie, their three bodies one as the sounds reverberated through them.

She came quickly; Nic drank her and continued on, more gently. She felt Charlie grow even harder and larger in her mouth and then he pulled away and lifted her gently beneath the arms. She climbed onto his lap and he held his cock upright. She cried out as she sank down onto it, her body spreading to accommodate him.

He fucked her deeply at first, not thrusting but only gyrating, and she felt him in the very base of her. It seemed he’d push past everything. Then, he was fucking her with the entire length of him and her face was being turned to the right. She found Nic’s cock there. She took it in her mouth, struggling to keep a steady flow on both of them. It proved difficult, bouncing and bobbing all at once. In porn it looked so easy; she had a new appreciation for those women.

It wasn’t long before Charlie was coming, warm and thick, deep inside of her. He gripped her tightly, nails digging into her back, his deep groans fading into a soft whimper before just a whisper of “goddamn” in her ear. She stood to give him a moment to compose himself and he leaned forward, cupping his mouth around her clit, and his nonchalance at tasting his own come excited her so much she trembled with orgasm as easily as before, her knees giving way. She didn’t fall; Nic held her upright and then he was picking her up by her waist, wrapping her legs around him and thrusting himself deep in. He kissed her. “Good?” he asked into her mouth as he pulled away. She tucked her chin into her chest and looked up at him, nodding shyly. Her head was swirling, from disbelief, from coming, from the weed, from excitement. He smiled and carried her to their bedroom; Charlie followed them, where it all continued.

because he writes me love letters: lustful and vivid love letters that are almost angry and violent in their intensity. because he leaves them everywhere: between the pages of whatever book i’m reading; inside my pillow case; in the cigar box that holds my jewelry; pinned to my bath towel; between the cushions of the couch.

because he speaks to me in obscure movie quotes and kisses me happily when i recognize what they’re from. because he makes me laugh by singing “I Wanna Be Your Man” and dancing like The Beatles in A Hard Day’s Night whenever i’m upset with him. because he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like i weigh nothing and carries me where he wants me if i refuse to go of my own volition. because he asks to wash my hair for me. because he watches me sleep and admits that it’s more creepy and embarrassing than romantic.

because his nose is pierced. because his fingers are long. because his voice is so deep and rough. because he has a great ass. because, so many things.

he has me hemmed up beside my car. i don’t have enough space to slide away from him without us touching, that’s what he’s after. call me when you leave his place he whispers. i smirk; i tell him no.

it’s been so long. he’s inching even closer to me, breathing on me. that used to do something for me — to me. no longer. he doesn’t see how pathetic he is to me now, this man that i used to love.

his left hand is against the hood, beside my head. i tap him on his wedding band. i have tried over the years to get across just how over him i am, how over me he needs to be. he doesn’t get it.

i’m done, i say. i shove him away, harder than i meant to, and get into my car. i drive away with him standing there, that pitiful longing look on his face.

fuck off i mumble as i turn up the stereo, not to him, but to the old me that i no longer understand. the one that would have melted for that douche.

for a while it was delicious to kiss him through his tears. his lips would tremble pitifully beneath mine; his fingers would grasp so tightly at me, searching for the invisible tether that could keep me from leaving. and i would smile.

it felt good, to be the emotionally sadistic one this time. it was how i healed: feeding off of his misery. a succubus, role switching in this new “relationship”. tearing him apart and sucking him dry in an effort to put myself back together, fill myself back up.

i did it until i felt healthy again, realizing deep down that i was even worse off than before. of course it felt much better to be on the dispensing end of the pain this time, but only until i began to hate myself for what i had become. and then —