Notes on Relating 2

2 men who touched me perfectly.

Bernardino
who rubbed and flicked my pussy in a perfect way .
He made me squirt the most ever. He talked a lot about “taking it”. He was excited by how I had sex with him, apparently enticed by how I moaned, and very excited when I screamed. His pupils darkened, his eyes greedy and passionate.
I thought later about how much he did love me, stably, and how a man’s relationship with his mother reflected even a little onto how he embraced the Cancerian.

And
Lio
whose kisses I drank , he poured them into me. He suckled me. I watched a video we took of us kissing on the night he took me to his favorite restaurant, how he pressed his face—his mouth—his mars—something invisible and weighty—into my lips and I obliged, I drank, my body limper, falling back slowly onto the curves of his audi. My upper body following the concavity of his pretty silver car. Taking his kisses, gulping slowly.
Lio’s own kind of spell casting.

His verbal wrath, his tirades.

He says to me the kinds of things a flattered man will say: Im what he lives for aside from his art-making, he likes me more than anything, he’s sick without me,
Which coming from a supposedly solitary man feels like it’d be more true.
It didnt always feel honest
He buys a drawing off a boy on the street, made with mad blue pen marks, her mad hair filling half of the paper; it has the feeling of me, he says, that’s why he bought it.
He wrote a book of poems in a leather encasing and gave it to me still with mostly empty pages, insisted on giving it to me after he’d returned from LA and there was an icy distance between us. Id called him all day on the day before he left, and he answered one time with vague explanation. While he was gone I’d wake up and cry with confusion. While he was gone he texted me dark things and unsent them. It seemed he needed me.. but again he was hesitant to truly admit things.

Lio was also electric
And he caressed and rubbed my nipples between his fingers perfectly. We met about seven times over the course of several months and had sex three times. It was the slowest burn i ever had.

Lio had the nicest body I’d ever seen. How he looked bare was a secret. His public appearance didn’t allude to it. He hid himself in black, wore hoods and crossbody bags. I saw how handsome he was once when he leaned back in his driver’s seat wearing a white tee. baggy, blank. on his face he had smooth skin which revealed everything on its surface, which is why he slept long hours and took care of his skin.

the first time we met outside of the place where we usually ran into each other was in Los Angeles. we hung out once with the night ending in venice beach around 2 am where he undresses me, he drives me to my airbnb; I miss my flight the next morning and he picks me up that night at a wine bar in silver lake where I’m anxiously waiting, calling my friend telling her I’ll just leave; dinner; he’s driving me to the airport; and in the car beside him I ask if I can go home with him instead… he left his keys with the tow company; he’s staying in the meantime at a hotel at the edge of LA. the day we leave he’s carrying my bag down the stairs and he looks the sexiest:
blank white crop top, sweatpants, yeezy boots….
we didn’t fuck that time. we masturbated together. lio was shredded

He considered me from a distance too, retold fond recollections of our special time . Much like a poet and a man sitting alone at the top of his hill. He was a man building an empire, a little bitter about his obligations, turning thirty soon.

ᛝᛝ

I had my little fun on my birthday, picked my event for the night. My birthday and halloween were days when I liked to have places to go and an artist to see. I wanted to do molly and make out with someone for my 25th. I really wanted to go to a new city, even a little one down the coast, and fuck around there. I was hoping Lio would be around although I kept having the thought that he was cruel.

A friend calls when I’m organizing my porn
A patch of his green hair hung up in a bag pinned to the wall behind him
Such strong belief
I felt that in loving him I was embracing a girl I found it hard to be once, young, with grey contacts, painted eyebrows, sunspots and fake freckles
He says, when people bring up that I’m young it feels like a fetish
I see, I say, although he was eighteen and it showed sometimes in his wrong convictions, blind confidence.
We talk for long, I slump in my bed drawing…