CuriosityKilledtheCat
I don’t remember the moment that my sexual curiosity developed. I don’t remember a distinct day when I wanted to kiss my best girlfriend in the 5th grade. I just remember kissing her. I remember sleeping naked next to her – our 10-year-old bodies not understanding why we desired to do so. I remember stolen kisses in laundry rooms and provocative dancing at underage parties. I remember using booze as an excuse, but knowing full-well what my intentions were. I remember kissing boys cos I was “supposed to.” I didn’t mind – but I don’t remember enjoying. I remember being jealous and feeling guilty. I remember wanting. I don’t remember feeling like I shouldn’t “feel things” but I remember knowing that I shouldn’t tell.
I remember and I forget and I erase and I imagine.
I remember the first time my roommate touched me. My
entire body tingled. I’d stifled my desires so incredibly that her fingertips seemed to burn my skin. I remember
aching for more – but burying my hipbones in the beige carpet to avoid turning and allowing both of us to acknowledge how little control I had. I remember
wincing in agony as she traced the back of my ribcage. I remember my breaths coming merely from the back of my tongue – the depth of my existence had been captured by her hands. I remember when she
finally kissed my shoulder and the surrounding carpet turned to undulating, warm liquids. I remember shadows and darkness and panting and rubbing. I remember
yearning and knowing. I knew that she held all the cards. And remember giving them to her.
I remember opening my sleepy eyes to the note on my pillow:
“
thank you for the night.”
I remember feeling like all the things I should or shouldn’t, have or hadn’t, want or waited for
made sense. Reality had set in. Those naked nights in my awkward pre-teen body – those lip-locks on the washing machine – those shirtless grinds to Ludacris: they’d been nothing to be ashamed of. I’d known all along that I shouldn’t be. I remember knowing. I remember feeling set-free and released, though. I may've never felt stifled – but I felt like shouting, now. Curiosity hadn’t killed
this cat – it had released the soul inside of me. I remember wanting everyone to feel what I was feeling. But I knew that that’s irrational. Curiosity can break a person down – ruin the life they’ve been happily leading – boggle their mind and jumble their spirit. I was lucky that night on the floor. I remember knowing that I was
meant for that moment. Not everyone is meant for those moments.
The key to remembering is
not needing to forget or erase or imagine.
I remember. And I thank
her for the night.
Luckily my office doesn’t have much of a dress-code. On my first day of work I ran into a barefooted girl at the copy machine and counted at least 3 people wearing hoodies over their business attire. I think I’d be a lot more motivated if I started dressing like a professional person again, though…
I got my first tattoo when I was 18-years-old. 3 little stars right at the top of my butt crack on my right butt cheek. Since then, I’ve gotten 4 more tattoos – 3 more on my right butt cheek and 1 on the right side of my crotch. All the ones in back have blended together nicely – eventually I’d like one big mess of things I love tatted on to look like undies. As of right now – I’m still leaning toward only having one side of undies on.
I dislike clothes.
