Belt Buckle

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:
“Neon Moon – Brooks & Dunn” ★
01:22 ━━━━●───── 04:16
ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ♡

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I always told myself that I would wait until marriage to have sex, not because I subscribe to purity culture, but because there is a generational curse that runs in my family. You see, my mom gave birth to me two months before her twenty-first birthday; my grandma gave birth to my mom two months before her twenty-first birthday; my great-grandma gave birth to my grandma two months before her twenty-first birthday. So in order to ensure I broke this curse, I pledged to not have sex until after I turned twenty-one.

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I lost my virginity when I was eighteen… obviously that pledge didn’t last long. I don’t like having sex. Again, not due to purity culture, I just don’t feel anything. You could tap me on my shoulder and I wouldn’t notice unless you said something. I lost my virginity countless times. Not because I get a new vagina every week, but because I’m a liar. They’ll never know anyway. Oh yea right, now onto Stephen.

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I told myself that I didn’t like him, that we were just two people using each other to get off. But that was a lie since I don’t get off. I like the act of sex, the act being me acting. My dad wouldn’t let me major in theatre so it’s the only time I get to be a star. Stephen came over every Friday, I liked that. Then he stopped. Then he came over maybe twice a month. 

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I still thought that I didn’t like him when I opened up to him about my diagnosis. He saw the prescription bottles on my night stand and asked what I was taking; I only told him after he shared that he was on Zoloft for his depression. I liked when he came over. But I didn’t like him… I think. Stephen didn’t speak much, or waste much time. Usually his pants were off just five minutes after I locked my bedroom door. When he stopped coming every Friday I assumed he was hooking up with someone else. 

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My room turned into a mess, I didn’t eat, and my pink sheets were turning scarlet red. 

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He came over the Sunday before my birthday. I don’t really like my birthday but I told him about it anyway, hoping he would reach out. He didn’t. I didn’t eat on my birthday or answer people’s messages.

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 Yea… I like Stephen.

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The last time he came over he left right after he finished. I couldn’t hide the tears in my eyes as he buckled his belt. He told me when we first met that he had never had a girlfriend because he was afraid of emotional intimacy, so I told myself that he left earlier than he usually does because he was afraid that he was catching feelings. Even clonazepam couldn’t stop those tears. I figured maybe he looked up my disorders and wanted to test out how crazy I actually was. Maybe if I sent him a picture of the scar leftover from his name being carved in my thigh he would’ve stayed longer.

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Oh, that wasn’t a kink thing… I just got bored of horizontal lines.