Intimate Stories

***When My Body Forgets to Say No***

The way he looks at me unravels something deep inside.

It’s not just a glance, it’s a claiming.
Like he sees through the skin, past the practiced smiles, down to the wild, beating animal underneath.
And when his eyes catch mine, the world stutters, stops, breathes in and forgets how to exhale.

The way he touches me is worse, and better.
A slow burn along my skin, like a secret only he knows how to tell.
Every brush of his fingers feels deliberate, reverent, cruelly slow, like he's memorizing me one trembling inch at a time.

And my name,
God, the way he says my name.
Like a prayer. Like a curse.
Like he’s tasted it and can't ever spit it out.
I hear it fall from his lips and everything inside me folds, melts, kneels.

When I’m around him, time becomes a useless thing.
Minutes stretch and collapse.
Reality fades.
There’s only him, only the way my body reaches without permission, the way my breath catches without warning, the way I ache without shame.

Around him, my brain forgets how to think.
My body forgets how to be patient.
It begs, shameless and raw, for his touch, for the fire of it, the weight of it, the right-ness of it.

I am glued to him.
By want.
By need.
By the sacred, unstoppable gravity of his hands, his mouth, his gaze.

There is no world without him.
There is only this
us,
this endless ache,
this sweet, helpless surrender.

And I never want it to end.