Empty Conscious

Empty Conscious

“I love you,” he says to me as the scent of our latest 2 AM session lingers in the air like clouds of smoke.

I don’t believe those words, but I turn over to kiss him—one rooted in a lie that spills from my mouth and says, “I love you too.”

He draws me into him, allowing our energies to merge in addition to our bodies. A mixture of weed, cologne, and musk invade my nostrils. The sensation of wandering fingers gliding down the arch of my back leaves traces of his being. I shiver in erotic anticipation that they’ll stop, cup my ass, and spread my cheeks. That feeling overrides the knowing that this man is spiritually marking me as his property. In retaliation, my hands move through his kinky hair, casting a spell of intention on each strain that’ll make him think of me and only me.

The truth is that this is a game—a winner takes all entanglement—and the stakes are higher than our bodies. Tonight, he has succeeded in this match, and his prize is the possession and infiltration of my body, my vessel, to sail into physical enlightenment. The win will provide a moment of relief in his fight to feel more like a man and less of a failure. For me, it shall satisfy my need to feel wanted and my desire to be seen. If love is present, then what fuels it is our insecurities, our need to feel whole, to fill spaces within ourselves because individually we don’t know-how. That is what prompted this game. We are men and women trapped in a vortex of using sex to masquerade our inner child’s hurt.

My pussy awakens from its slumber. I squeeze my ass to give the signal that I am ready to fulfill my role—prepared to open my chakras and expose my light so that he can devour it. He does so without a word and a thick, wet tongue maneuvers along the railroad that is my mocha colored body. His thoughts invade my own—his trauma intermixes with mines. Every stroke holds anger as he bites my ears, neck, nipples, and thighs. Our rhythm increases to the fires of ecstasy rampaging through our spirits. I smile, invoking the names of entities unknown to seal this moment of sexual greed. He succumbs to primal desires and is no longer human. We are monsters dining at the table of sexual codependency. And as he releases the seeds of life inside me—purity tainted and contorted into darkness—the hooks have anchored. Our pact is complete.

“I love you, baby,” he says, staring me in the eyes. There’s sadness in them—a longing to know and feel love.

Unspoken between us is a helpless understanding that we’re powerless to end this and too stubborn to choose something else. But this is a game, and we’ll continue to play believing the lie that there are no losers.

“I love you too,” I say, knowing that these words are as empty as I’ll feel come morning.

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