the first time i wanted to so badly, like i was really hungry. someone was finally offering some food, even though it was underripe, i didn't care. and it hurt very badly, and i bled.

i liked for it to happen fast, for my hand to work like a some terrible tool that was moving too quickly. i liked to close my eyes and think about something else, sometimes disgusting, like kissing a smoker. mere minutes and it'd be over and i never knew how to other person felt.

with the second person, i taught and taught well. i was still a little clam, begging to be pried open, but one night, i opened all on my own. our voices were small and i was there, my feet firmly on the bed, my body naked and shearing. i felt like a sun was rising inside of me, like the spirit was hovering over my waters, urging every droplet to feel the touching of my own pleasure.

that was the last time.

with my bearded man, the man i love still, it became a chore, a pitied activity. his body didn't work like i recognized, like some great machine i had lost the manual too. i struggled to enjoy myself, sometimes hoarding great pains so he would think that it was beautiful. but it never was. and the more it happened, the more i hardened into a difficult plastic. he didn't want me, he wanted it in general. my skin toughened, like the skin of meat when left out in the cold. he touched me and i squealed, but my mind felt every fiery embrace like the first stab of a limitless murder. and he, he looked at like i were a piece of fruit, covered in fruit flies, and he was the biggest one, ready to finish me off.