The water is so hot… too hot. Maybe I should tone it down, maybe it’s so hot to match the burning sensation still lingering on my skin. My skin… the water droplets are rolling off it, over my hard peaks, down my navel, leaving fiery trails all the way to my core. I move to scrub away the sensation but my hands are lost in the memory of a night past.
I can still feel him on me… in me. His weight barely there and yet so… there. Filling me, stretching me… Ugh! I should stop, forget the whole encounter, but by now I’m leaning against the wall; eyes closed, breathing heavy, my hands roaming, retracing the path his fingers and tongue burnt into me. I want him.
Him. His playful smile, the twinkle in his eye. I want him in every way possible.
But it’s not possible goddammit! How can something that feels so good be so “wrong”? Is it because I took the envelope? Because of the “exchange factor”? I don’t know why I took it really, it’s not like I need it. But I couldn’t not take it. It’s just not the thing to do. Stupid trends. Can’t love somebody without a price to it, a label to it.
Love? Lust, definitely. Affection sprinkled in there, but love? With time maybe. Most likely, actually.
I’m calm now. I turn off the faucets, breathing steady, and step out of the shower. First thing I see is my reflection in the mirror. Is that how he sees me perhaps? Dripping with sweat instead of water? It’s getting warm again, goosebumps forming to negate the fire rekindling within.
I look out into the bedroom and my eyes fall on my purse. The envelope is still in there, unopened. I wonder how much is in there. Should I return it? Return to him? Would he take me as I am? All of me? Would it even work? Could it last forever? Would my mum… Oh God! My mum.
I let out a cynical laugh. How could I even consider it as though mother would accept it. The age difference, the social implications, the sheer “wrongness” of it all.
I mean, he does have a son my brothers age.