Disclaimer: I’m posting about sex. So if you work with me, are my mother, or are any one of my ex boyfriends you should just skip this post. Okay? Awesome. Cute fuzzy feel-good posts with pretty pictures are back on Wednesday. Come back then.

It about comfort, I think. And as he wakes me all I can think of is how his shoulders aren’t quite like The Boys. The way his muscles sit and the way he lies next to me aren’t quite right.

He’s nice, in his own way. Hot enough to get me going, an all round dream for a girl not me. But he doesn’t smell like The Boy, or taste like him. And the quiet laugh he makes as he moves his tongue along my shoulder is not one The Boy would make. The way he nips my earlobes with his teeth, sliding his arm around the small of my back, yanking me to him . . . that’s not how The Boy would do it.

I remind myself it’s comfort, the rough sex we have, the way he bites my neck and grabs my hips. Cold comfort.

I don’t say his name, because it’s not his name I’m thinking of. I close my eyes for a moment. I hold The Boys image in my head and in a weak moment I pretend. It doesn’t last long, he pulls me back to reality with the things he’s doing with his fingers, and my eyes open with gasp, and I get that tingle that makes me arch my back.

It’s a different tingle than I’d wanted. A physical something that doesn’t start from butterflies in my stomach. The butterflies don’t fly anymore.

Still, you take what you can get, and I’m jolted back to here and now. I grab him, claw my fingers into his shoulders and wish him to move faster, and harder, for things to be more brutal, and urgent and NOWgodamit.

I live in the moment, because now it’s all about feeling what you can, grabbing on to it and not letting go, because right this second you feel a fleeting something. An anything.

It’s not love. It’s not tender, or sweet.

It’s rough, and meaningless. It’s comfort, but its empty. Still, I hold onto it, because it’s better than feeling alone, feeling nothing. It’s better than feeling the overwhelming emotional wave that exists in every other moment. Because it’s something that makes sense. It’s something I understand. It’s physical, and meaningless.

We cuddle, after. And before I drift back off to sleep, I know that I at least am thinking of other people, of other places and other times. We find comfort in each other, I think. But it’s empty, and it’s not really what I want. In the dark I hope that the next day might be just a little bit better, a little bit easier to live through. That perhaps tomorrow I’ll find my feet, and find some way to move forward.