We Accept the Love we Think we Deserve.

We are on the roof of the firehouse. It’s freezing. My hands are shivering holding my can of beer. My jaw is grinding from the lines of coke we did earlier. I’m wearing a huge oversized red jacket that I found by someone else’s gear. We sit on a ledge on the roof. Looking at the stars. He kisses me intensely. My heart flutters. I’m a little warmer. He gives me the eyes that let me know it’s time for me to blow him. My eyes smile back at him because of course I will oblige. I was just waiting for him to give me the okay. I warn him that my hands are cold, he says it will feel good. My head goes up and down and my beer hand goes down and up. His noises let me know I’m doing a good job. He approves. I can feel him tense up in my mouth, so I stop. I tell him “Not there”. He says “Ok, then where?” I give him the eyes this time. We stand up and my hands start to explore him more. Strong arms, muscular neck, big hands, lean back. I try to kiss him but he politely resists. He hates kissing me after I’ve been down on him. He pulls me close and I love the way it feels. I love his hands on my body. The way he smells. The way he tastes. He touches me just long enough so that I melt, but not any longer – he doesn’t have to.

He pulls my pants down and tells me to bend over. I do as I’m told. I’m leaning over the edge of the roof, in the stupid big red jacket. My ass is freezing. He puts it in. It’s amazing. It feels good, and it feels extra good because it’s him. He asks if he can put it in my ass, but doesn’t wait for me to answer. I fight through the initial pain that comes with the surprise. I’m screaming, on my knees, on the roof, in January. He does this thing where he pushes my head down. His hands push my head into the cold rooftop and every thrust makes my ribs pound against the concrete. It hurts, but in a good way. I try to steady myself and he keeps going while he speaks mostly to himself, telling me to “Take it”. When he’s done he lingers for a second, hugging me from behind and then pulls out, stands up and pulls his sweatpants up. I take a minute for my legs to stop shaking, my heart to beat a little slower, and my hands to unfreeze from their white knuckle grip of the ledge. I slowly stand up and pull my black leggings up. I can’t get my footing and almost fall. He catches me. A gentleman. He asks me if I’m ready to go back down. I nod. He brushes my hair out of my face lovingly, and leads the way. I grab my beer and follow, like a good girl.

I put the red jacket back where I found it. He gets his keys from the office. He waits until I finish my beer and we leave. He doesn’t kiss me goodbye. I drive home and run into my bathroom to clean up. The beer in my stomach is sloshing. The coke is still making my jaw tingle and my mind and heart race. I clean his remnants off of me. I feel a smile spread across my face. I catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror, my ribs already bruised and red and irritated. I know it will be worse tomorrow. I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. Can’t meet my own eyes. I might be in love with him. Did I mention he has a girlfriend? I text him ‘thank you’. He responds ‘No, thank you.’ I’ll wait, longingly, until he calls for me again in a week or two.

We accept the love we think we deserve.