Skin on skin
That’s what I need right now. Some warm, human contact. Some of that human touch.
I lay awake last night for a long while, all kinds of interior narratives running through my head. Too much caffeine was the culprit. As I lay on my side, feeling my heartbeat in my pillowed ear, I wrote a letter to my mother in my mind. A letter of gratitude and thanks. I talked to him, articulated everything I needed to get off my chest perfectly. I listened to the faint booming of a stereo from a nearby frat house – Won’t Get Fooled Again, followed by You Shook Me All Night Long. I philosophized on how I felt my ‘id’ was taking over my rationale. I lamented on having read Freud at all (damn him). I wondered how my brother was dealing with his jetlag. I’ve been collecting bottlecaps for him.
I’m used to taking half an hour to hours to fall asleep, though. Another ADD-like attribute. Always trying to organize my thoughts and make sense of them, make peace with my mind, during the only time I have completely, irrevocably available to me. The time I need to be resting the most.
An effect, most likely, of my hormonal cycle, but my desire to be wrapped in the warmth of another human body has increased tenfold lately. I always get cold feet this time of month, too.
I suppose that’s because all of the heat is going where it most wants to go right now – my womb. And while finals and post-finals work has drained me, I’ve been hungering for sex. For a male. I am overcome with the need to be connected, made complete, made whole, filled to bursting, feeling him bursting inside me. The hunger has my eyes (and my eyes only) stalking those who could fulfill that desperate need.