Love Stories

Kiss Me Like You Miss Me

Dear Diary,

We got into a petty argument this morning over nothing. I blew up and he dismissed me like he always does to avoid confrontation. I was livid. I was almost ready to block him and delete our entire text thread- but it was exactly 5 days since the last day of my period.

I was pining for him deep down. I sat at my desk aloof and distracted all day; thinking ways to elicit his attention. Flashbacks of the last time he touched me, haunted me all day. My pride ultimately won and I abandoned any ideas of reaching out. 

My phone finally buzzed late in the afternoon and his name flashed across the screen. My stomach fluttered as I crossed and uncrossed my legs, squeezing them tightly back together again before opening the message as if to contain the wild cat purring between my legs. I could feel the blood rushing through my vessels as I opened my lock screen.

“I’ll see you later. I know what you need for that attitude,” he wrote. He did. He knew exactly what I needed. He always knew.

I rushed home that evening to prepare the dinner. He often promised to join me but found himself too busy. I didn’t even bother making his plate. 

I  showered and shaved meticulously. I spritzed his favorite fragrance for these nights, Marc Jacobs Daisy, behind my ears, behind my kneecaps and under my breasts. Shortly after 11pm, I sent the confirmation I knew he was waiting on. “The door is open” I replied and turned on the ID channel to kill time while I awaited his arrival. 

As the minutes passed, the butterflies in my stomach grew more intense. “It’s been 5 years girl, still?” I thought to myself. Yes, I still got butterflies, while anxiously waiting for him to stroll through my bedroom door casually as he’d done thousands of times before. 

I have always noticed when his shadow is approaching from the hallway. His complete figure appears inside my bedroom door frame, his phone always in hand. He immediately undresses down to his socks and boxer briefs. On tense nights like these, we don’t even exchange a greeting. He just joins me in bed, caresses me momentarily, and then buries his face between my thighs as an apology.

With each flutter of his tongue, I forgave him. Arching my back and cradling his head, I spewed my apologies back at him. I composed myself just in time to watch him ascend while wiping away my “sorrys” from his coarse beard. I lay on my back weakened and defenseless, staring into his smug expression. 

He sat back on his heels and propped my legs back up to my chest. His favorite position? Or mine? In the heat of the moment, there’s no telling. He taps his swollen piece against the entrance as though waiting for someone inside to yell “Come in.” I thrust my hips forward granting him entry. He slides in just as sleek as when he strutted into my apartment. 

Then I hear it. I hear the soft moan and gasp for air that escaped his lips only a few strokes in. I reached up and gripped his neck. I found myself breathing heavily and moments away from another climax. He leans forward, collapsing onto my chest, my legs still pinned to his shoulders, and changes his rhythm. He was now the vulnerable one. I take this brief shift in power to whisper in his ear, “Mmm you’ve missed me huh?”