Steve

I've decided to outsource the overwhelming anxiety I've been feeling of late. I can't decide if China or India would be the right choice for my anxiety. Whom we will call Steve.

My anxiety's name is Steve.

I fucking hate Steve! Steve needs to go! Steve, you're killing me!

Steve!

You need to go to India, Steve. Put your less than 3 ounce liquids into a quart bag and head out of Terminal E on a jet plane!

Steve is super attentive to me. He likes to hang out next to me in the early hours of the morning so he can be right fucking there when I wake up.

I think some of you know Steve, too.

I remember there was a stretch of a couple years when Steve hung out with other people. But he's back and, for the last 2 weeks, he's been kind of a super hero in his devotion to me.

Super Steve!

If you read this before, now you know it's me. (I hope you're not dead, Patrick.)

I’m lying on his bed facedown and breathing in his smell and I love it. I fucking love it. Even the smell of those silly clove cigarettes he smokes.

We are both fully clothed.

I turn my head and look away from him. There’s a bloodstain on his pillow three inches from my face and I wince.

“You have to stop piercing your ears. Isn’t seven times enough?”

He laughs. I’m exhausted. We’ve been tussling, tangling, writhing, wrestling on his bed for two hours. Door closed. His mom just up the stairs.

He crawls over the bed until he is on top of me. A six foot tall boy nearly grown into his broad shoulders.

He grabs my wrists and presses them to the mattress. I smile. He’s not done playing yet.

“Tell me you love me,” he says.

Before I can answer, he has both of my wrists caught over my head with one of his hands. His free hand slides down my side to my waist. I know he will tickle me senseless.

He pauses. Waiting.

I rebel and try throwing him off me but he outweighs me by pounds and pounds and he’s far more strong already than I’ll ever be. I begin laughing.

He leans his head down to mine. I go still.

“Shhh…you wouldn’t want my mom to come in, would you?”

We stay like this for half a minute. I’m panting. I can feel his heartbeat against my back. It’s racing.

“Come with us Friday night. I swear the bars over there are safe. The worst part is walking back over the border but I’ll watch out for you. I always do.”

“Will Cindy be there?”

I feel him smile, his lips touching my neck now.

“She’s my girlfriend. You know she’ll be there.”

I frown and wonder how many times he’s fucked her on this bed.

“Don’t you dare pout.”

His hand tightens on my wrists and he gives them a hard, little shake.

“You know I love you. Long before her, I loved you.”

His hand moves away from my waist and carefully pushes a lock of my hair from my face.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispers.

My resolve rolls away from me as it always does with him. His grip loosens around my wrists and he rolls over on the bed. Facing me with a knowing smile.

I’ve just turned sixteen years old and he’s seventeen and I’m still a virgin and my panties are soaking wet.

That cough isn't productive yet. Is it?

I'd wake up hours before him everyday. It didn't matter when I went to sleep. Four different 4-star hotel rooms in less than a week and every fucking morning the sick, gray midwest light slid around the curtain to greet me. Sometimes I walked over to the window and sometimes I didn't. I was too lazy to put clothes on and a little shy about peeping around the curtain.

He hates it but I like to watch him sleep. Years slip from his face and I know the man he was when he was 22. I think up my dirtiest fantasies when I watch him sleep in the mornings.

In the night, it's all different. I hate when I wake up in the night and cling to him and he sleeps and he sleeps. I feel divided from the outside and alone because he's turned away from me. On his stomach with a million pillows. I have to be careful because he's one of those boys who tends to wake up ready to fight and I want to keep my nose unbroken and lovely.

But, if I'm careful, I can wrap most of myself around him or next to him and breathe the best part of a boy. Where his neck and shoulder meet. I try to feel like I'm not the only one up in the entire world but it unsettles me when I'm so awake and touching so much of him and he sleeps on and on and on. Dude, why do you feel so far away from me then?

Occasionally, if the girl gods shine on me, he wakes in the middle of the night and he holds me. He tells me how small I feel to him. How little I am.

Back in the hotel, I woke up remembering him holding me in the night and it's terribly, terribly girly but I really smiled about that shit on those silver mornings.

I know for a fact he's totally asleep while I'm writing this and he's been asleep for hours. I'm several states away from him and my night has been a bit pathetic for those reasons.

Hotel

It’s 2:02am and the hotel sheets are expensive.

I’m waiting for him. I’ve fretted for three hours in this bed, in the dark, on these high thread count sheets, in a black bra and panties. Three hours.

His flight should have landed hours ago but I stop myself from calling the airline.

He gave me explicit instructions. He wants to find me in bed when he walks into the room.

So I wait for him in silence and the bed is beginning to feel like an island.

Mercifully, ten minutes later, I sleep.

Click. Click. Snick.

Waking up on my stomach, my heart beats so hard I slide my hand to my chest.

But I keep my eyes closed because I know he is in the room with me.

I hear him put something down and I hear him taking off his clothes. I don’t hear him breathing and I can’t smell him yet but I know it’s our time. Finally, my time with him.

Many weeks of him in my head. Imagining him next to me when I fall asleep. Wondering what he smells like. What he tastes like. What his skin feels like. What he looks like when he sleeps, when he wakes up, when he smiles, when he laughs, when he eats, when he cums.

And the guilt is pushed all aside because I want him that badly.

The mattress gives under his weight and I’m shivering now.

Trembling.

The sheet is jerked away and the secret girl muscles inside me clench and twitch. I press my hand harder to my chest.

His hand touches my hip and I jump.

It’s the first time he’s ever touched me.

Grabbing my hip, he pulls me over onto my back but I keep my eyes closed because I can’t look at him yet. I’ve run through this moment a thousand times or more in my mind but the reality of it pushes at me so hard tears fill my eyes.

He lowers himself over me and I can feel him. I can feel his skin stretched over his muscles and I can feel his thick, hard cock settle against my thigh. I concentrate on not moving my hips. Not letting the tears spill out of my eyes.

So carefully. So gently. He puts his hand on my cheek and pulls his thumb across my lips.

“Open your eyes for me, baby girl.”

My lips twitch and I nearly smile because I know it’s him for sure now.

I open my eyes but any smile falls away.

Because he’s pinned me down to the bed with his own blue eyes and he is better than any imagining of him.

And I want him so much. He knows this but I also know how much he wants me. The features of his face are taut with it and, for the first time, I have no words for him. No words.

He drags his cock up and down my thighs and I stretch out under him, under his hard body so different from mine. I’m wet for him now and he knows this, too.

I breathe him in and my hips move in a slow circle underneath him. He leans over me and touches his lips to mine. He kisses me softly, no tongue and we kiss like this until I’m limp. I lose track of time.

When I finally reach for his forearm, he grabs my wrist and loops a long piece of leather around it.

He looks down at me. His expression tells me nothing. He could be gentle. He could be cruel.

All I can say is his name and he answers me. A small smile on his face now.

“Keep your eyes open. Unbroken eye contact, ok?”

And I know I will keep a piece of this man with me forever.