If We’re Going To Have Sex, This Is The Way I Want It To Happen
I want you to text me. To ask me over to your place. To convince me that it’s a good idea.
I want you to stand in your driveway as I pull against the curve and wave me over because it’s been so long and I can’t remember your house number (or did you move? have I never seen this place before?)
I want you to lick your lips as you glance down at what I’m wearing. I want you to try hard to conceal the lust in your eyes as you give me the smallest compliment, nothing too obvious.
I want to be able to read the subtext. I want to be able to tell that you’re flirting with me, even though the words you’ve said are simple. A ‘you look nice’ that means I look hot AF. An ‘it’s been a while’ that means you’ve missed me like crazy.
Then I want you to wrap your arms around me and squeeze for a second too long, for long enough for me to get the impression that you’re still not over me and for me to remember I’m still not over you. Not even a little. Not even at all.
I want you to bring me through your front door, offer me water or maybe a beer. I want you to ask me questions that seem casual but are actually layered with hidden emotion:
How have you been? (Are you happy without me?)
What have you been up to? (Who have you been hanging out with?)
Are you seeing anyone? (Do I still have a chance?)
I want us to act hesitant at first, and then get closer as the night progresses. I want you to hold my hand as we walk up and down the stairs. I want you to sit as close to me as possible on your couch or the edge of your bed — so close that our thighs are touching, that our hearts are heavily pounding.
I want your voice to get lighter as our faces get closer. I want you to flick your eyes down to my lips and back up to meet mine. I want you to wait for me to close the distance between us because you don’t want to do anything I’m uncomfortable with, you don’t want to pressure me into kissing you.
I want to feel your body relax, hear you release the tiniest moan, as I finally press my lips against yours. As I give you permission to touch me anywhere, everywhere.
I want your tongue swirling against mine. I want your jeans hard between my thighs. I want your hands on my hips, your nails digging deep into the skin, because you’ve waited so long to hold me like this.
I want your lips on my neck. On my collarbone. On my chest.
I want you on top of me. I want you inside of me.
I want you in my life again.
Holly Riordan is the author of Lifeless Souls, available here.