Listening to the rain coming down heavy outside my window, I click the side button on my phone. Illuminating my locked screen. No notifications. Reaching for my glass of wine – this was my third of the night – I take a sip and lock my eyes on my TV screen. I’m not even paying attention to the plot of the movie. I fill in the gaps of what I have missed using my deduction and critical thinking skills that my 7 years of post-secondary school blessed me with. The heroine was giving a voice over about how life moves forward whether you want it to or not.

Life didn’t feel like it was moving forward, I checked my phone again. 4 minutes have passed since I last checked. Not one notification still.

I don’t know why I expect a notification from him. It’s been several weeks since I have heard anything from him. My friends tell me I’m better off without him, “he’s a royal douche” and “a fuck boy”. I can’t help myself.

I unlock my phone, click and check my social media to distract me from sending the message I want to send. Locking my phone and several sips of wine later, I watch more of the flashing pictures on the screen of my TV. It’s coming near the end where everyone has learnt their lesson and things are coming together for everyone. I hate that part. I’m generally a positive person, but movies are so unrealistic. No one talks to each other like that. It’s not that easy and neat like they portray in most dramas.

Like a bad habit I can’t kick, I check my locked screen even though I haven’t heard it vibrate. It’s just after 10 pm. I unlock my phone once more, but this time I open my messages. I cave and send a message “hey, come over”.

I get a text 15 minutes later “I’m here”. I open the door and immediately take in his scent. He’s wearing that sweater that shows off the muscles he works hard on. I am reminded why he’s the one I call at this time of night.

Arms around his neck, his strong hands on my back and hips, our lips meet. I close my eyes and the familiarity of the emotional whirlwind floods over me. I feel the shame, I feel the arousal, I feel the disappointment of rejection, I feel the longing for the man I truly want kissing me.

Hands exploring each other, I feel his flexed muscles as he feels my curves. We slowly move to the next step, that’s always been our rhythm, slow. My mind right on time begins to pulls up conversations I’ve had with the one I truly desire. I think about the hurt he put me through. I kiss harder. I think about the way I stupidly still ache for him. I begin to walk us towards my bedroom. We both know where this is going.

He begins to undress himself, and the desire in me continues to build. I begin to undress myself to keep up. Laying down on top of my sheets, he runs his hand down my breast, stopping to lick my nipple; he knows what makes me moan.

I keep my eyes closed as this man fuels my hunger. I keep my eyes closed so sometimes his hands can be yours. I keep my eyes closed to feel your lips not his. I keep my eyes closed so I don’t see the wrong colour of eyes looking down at me. His are blue. Yours are brown. He is always so gentle with me, treats me with respect. And still I keep my eyes closed so I can image what your hair would feel like between my fingers, what your skin against mine would do to me. I moan thinking more and more about you than I do about this man over me.

I’ve been here before. This man has come to fill my void many late nights. Some nights I silently let tears build up in my eyes as he fucks me. Some nights I am able to just let loose and forget your name. Other nights, like this one tonight, I just repeatedly see your name over and over in my head. Every time one of our phones vibrates while we fuck, I hope it’s a message from you.

Tonight, as he takes me from behind, I wonder what you would think if you saw this. Sometimes I can imagine you’d be upset, but more often than not I think you wouldn’t care at all. Because, deep down I know if you cared it would be you gently kissing my back, reaching around to my front while deep inside me.

The whirlwind of emotions that spin within me change in their intensity night to night. But one thing is for certain, every time he cums and we finish I am always left feeling empty. The cuddles mean little to me; these are not your arms holding me…