i like danger

She took me to an Italian restaurant in Santa Monica. I should have known that our first proper date would also be our last.
In the parking lot outside, Monica lit a joint, and after smoking she called her husband and finished the phone call with sweetie.
THAT felt like a paper-cut. 


Our nervous hands fidgeting above the starched tablecloths, our stocking-feet seeking contact below.

Pot makes me horny. I couldn't help but imagine me, Monica and the panna cotta starring in an R-rated movie.

But Monica had other plans; I have never done something like this before, crossing the line, that is.

And then; I am not even gay.

And later; You are so young.

After we finished pushing our food around the plates I begged her for a farewell fuck. She wouldn't. She said she would give me a referral to another clinic. And that she would work on her marriage and on being a better mother.

I came home and cried and cried.

Why do I let myself get so carried away? So tangled up in happy-ever-after-daydreams?

Daddy tried to comfort me. My wailing interrupted his yoga session. Dressed in tank-top and shorts he came and put his arms around me. But his hug felt like wrestling with a monkey, he's so goddamn hairy.

I texted Monica. No replies.