I protected you from boys, when there were boys. It should have been me when you lost your virginity sophomore year – you tried to make it sound amazing but I could tell it wasn't amazing. I would have made it amazing. I wasn't great at protecting you at first. I was still learning. It should have been me all the times after that when you were still trying to feel... whatever it was you knew you didn't feel the first time. I would have made you feel it.
I protected you from girls, when there started being girls. I didn't let you go home with the first girl I found you making out with at that club near campus; I didn't let you go home with a lot of the ones after that. When I finally couldn't stop you anymore - “I am eating someone's pussy tonight, goddammit, or I swear I'm going to kill myself,” were your exact words – I could never decide whether I wanted you to go home with the ones who would call the next day or the ones who wouldn't, so you got both kinds. I'm sorry for that. But I was always there when they didn't call, and when they stopped calling even if they did the first time. We watched movies I didn't even like in my bed, where you could never sleep unless you were heartbroken, and I tucked you in when you started to snore and moved to the living room, so I wouldn't accidentally spoon you or something gay like that.
I protected you the night I didn't sleep on the couch, even though you didn't think I was protecting you. We had just graduated, remember, and (Sandy? Sadie? Sarah?) took you “someplace nice” (tiny, expensive food), such a girlfriend thing to do, then went to the bathroom and never came back when you listed your girlfriend amongst the things you felt were falling into place for you. I picked you up and paid the bill, and smoked you out in my car, and bought you chili cheese fries, and you ate them in my bed, and asked to use my toothbrush after, which was weird because you never had before.
Looking back, I guess you didn't want to kiss me with chili cheese breath, because that was the first thing you did when you got back into bed. I was panicking as I kissed you back. I was high, and suddenly it was becoming desperately important that I not be high for this. Not this. Oh my god THIS. You pulled me on top of you though, like you knew it was were I supposed to be, and everything is crystal clear after that. Pulling my old t-shirt (do you even realize how much you treat me like a boyfriend?) over your head, those beautifully crescented breasts you always bitch about at last there for my touch. And I made it last. Couldn't you tell that I was memorizing you? That I never wanted it to end? You never sweat but your skin is always salty.
You wrapped your legs around my thighs before I could move any lower that night. I don't know the names of the bones our swollen clits founds, through pajamas and skin and contracting muscles, but my hips hit their mark again and again, grinding like an animal in heat. You didn't moan. You whimpered into my mouth with every thrust of my cunt against yours. You whimpered, then you screamed, and I felt your juices, my juices, ours, soaking through our clothes. I told you I feel it, moving my lips from yours and licking up to your ear to whisper it, in what you blushingly called my “sexy voice” after that. Yes, I can you feel blush over the phone. I can feel everything you feel. I told you that I wanted to drip into your pussy. That I wanted to come all over and inside of you. I was marking you when I said it, mine, but you didn't notice. You just thought it was hot and kinky, and it was, my come in you. You dug your fingers into my ass and I swear I felt the hot flood of your wetness between us too. I started to shudder uncontrollably.
“Oh fuck. Yes,” you panted, and held my shaking head against your neck. “Come for me sweetheart.”
I did, and I kissed you again, and when you fell asleep at sunrise I moved, past the couch this time, and hid at the coffee shop across the street until I saw you leave. You waited all day. You were crying as you turned the corner. You've cried, you've yelled, you've hit me, you've done it all before, because you never understand that I'm protecting you. And it only took a week for us to be friends again, and the next time we fell into bed together you knew the score and we didn't talk about it the next day. And I still never know who to let you go home with, so I keep letting you take off with both kinds of girls, and when they don't call or they stop calling we watch movies and I make love to you, and we both sleep in the bed and I spoon you all I want until morning, and then we don't talk about it. And life goes on.
After all, if I let you break my heart, who would protect you when I was gone?