​Our 3rd date

Emptiness.

That is the feeling I feel on my drive home—regret making my jeans stick to my thighs, the air hot, desire’s decision leaving a trail of musk. A sad girl pop star rambles on about “happiness is a butterfly” my hair start to frizz from everywhere. My eyes swell with dry tears, that achy lump in my throat. I’m driving home from my shame.

If not a few moments before, I had been bent over his bed. I wasn’t worthy enough to be on my back, but a quick pull of my pants was enough for his wrinkled flesh to erect into the thing he called a penis. “Stick your ass out. Tell me your pussy belongs to me.” A cry that turns into a giggle, moans that turn into snorts—nothing about this man or his shaft makes me wet. I feel forced by obligation, and the void in me urges that if I please him, I can make him love me.

The swirl of his cologne and sweat drips onto the small of my pale back. Nothing in this moment makes me feel anything but regret and disappointment because I allowed someone into me. As I feel him release and his weight crash onto me, he kisses my backside and calls me his fucktoy. I bend down and kick off my frayed black lace panties, balling them into my pocket. I pull up my jeans and try to smooth the side of my hair.

I look into the mirror—cheeks flushed, mascara running. Looking over my shoulder in the reflection, I see him cleaning himself up, not asking or wondering if any of my needs were met. He puts his glasses back on and tells me, “I have to leave, but I’ll call you later.” I simply nod, like a puppy. The ache of feeling like a blow-up doll, a pocket pussy. I was just warm enough for someone I thought loved me.

I wasn’t offered the bathroom to wash my hands or wipe his cum from my raw cave. I got the boot—something I had never experienced. As I open the door to my three-hubcap, dinged-and-scratched car, I start it up. The windows fog from the heat, my breath mixing with faint berry air freshener. I’m reminded that I’m a sticky mess, just a soulless woman, as I drive past dimly lit houses and bright LED lights shining of an unpromised night—one that was never mine to begin with, yet carelessly given to a man I didn’t even like, nor truly know.

I gifted him my intimacy in exchange for nothing.

I park my car and stare at the bright red E flashing. Intrusive thoughts creep in—things I should have done, what I could have done to control my urge to please someone who wasn’t interested in pleasing me. I wanted to see the moon and stars, feel waves crash, feel something hot and frenzied—yet I sit in a puddle of his cum, still feeling the gush, the smell…

The porch light flickers, reminding me to take my time pulling myself together. Because when I walk through that door, I don’t have the option to be hurt. I have to be present and smile with certainty—say I had a nice time, that he was amazing, and hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll call.