The name had been thrown around before, I knew what it was, I knew how it worked and I had my concerns but I downloaded it anyway because, well, I don’t know. Over the course of a year I had a gallery folder on my phone dedicated to naked pictures of strangers’ (That I never got off on, I just saved them on my phone like souvenirs of successful human interactions or at least my version of one) At this stage of my life I had already solidified my brand among my peers as a perpetual fuck buddy and longtime singleton. Whenever someone brought up the idea of a relationship, I would make barfing sounds, followed by the words “I don’t do relationships”. Ironically enough, this manifested into sever loneliness and I found myself wishing I hadn’t trained my brain to wake up early so I don’t have to see the disdain on his face when he realizes the Soko and Lime must have been playing some devilish game. The truth is, I didn’t know how to interact with people after I had fucked them. I never thought I’d be able to look someone in the eye after they’ve seen all of me and be able to offer them coffee and a conversation.

My sexual odyssey was riddled with rules and restrictions that allowed me to slip and slide through copious men and women without them inconveniencing my fear of falling in love.

She invited me over to her small apartment, there was something poetic about our black dresses draped over her crisp white sheets and her red hair causing a break in the monochromatic resilience of the painting our bodies were creating that afternoon. She spoke of everything she loved, and my eyes swam in her sun honey coated hair. We listened to Fleetwood Mac and kissed and kissed until her lips were blue and our dresses creased like maps of small towns that nobody ever visits. We fucked and I left and that is usually where my stories end but she couldn’t forgive my tongue for the prayers it whispered at her alter, she wanted more of me and I’ve never been on the receiving end of appreciation.

I went from not knowing her to seeing her every 2nd day. We fucked often, the bin in her kitchen became a kin with my brand of cigarettes and just like her ugly brown couch, I melted effortlessly into her surroundings. We sat on a park bench and she told me that she liked me and I said it back, much like agreeing to the terms and conditions without bothering to read the fine print, her lips were the fine print.

Tomorrow, we will have only known each other for a month. I can paint the crevices of her labia in water colors and her body has learnt to pronounce my name in all of its languages. She wants me to watch Star Wars, I want her to watch the way she walks because she’s very clumsy. We’ve stopped fucking. We’re making love unintentionally and denying it to our friends.

We’re falling in love and she seems to be ok with it, I have a hard time sleeping. She hasn’t said anything yet but I know how grand she can be. She can’t afford to write my name in the sky but she will probably leave a note in my bag or whisper it to me while we’re making love.

I plan on replying truthfully so we can remain as monochrome as we’ve always been. I plan on trying to not let my fear of falling in love affect her. I plan on remaining the grey area she breaks with her red sun fucked hair.

I plan on staying for as long as she will have me.

—

Submitted to ArtParasites by April

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Painting by Catrin Walz Stein

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