The Question.

"Would you date him if he asked you?" 


I don't know. I honestly don't know if I would. I mean, we've never really been the relationship type. Part of me wants to at least give it a try. He doesn't see me like others do. I called myself a slut in front of him the other night, and he told me I wasn't. He told me that he didn't want to "carry that." Why? It's the truth. Not every girl goes around giving head like it's not a big deal. Normally it's something that's shared between people that actually care for one another. Not something that's hastily done while I'm kneeling on top of my pillow on the floor, done before I end up locking myself out of my building and my suite. I'm too comfortable with what we are now to try and ask if we could be something more than this. Part of me just wants to keep the status quo and just keep doing what we're doing, regardless of how awful I feel afterward. I miss the days when it was more than just the oral. When we'd take the time and lay together in bed laughing at something one of us did or said. It was calmer, more relaxing then. It made me feel better, almost as if you actually did care, at least a little bit.

Basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss. If there's anything I have right now, it's that. I counted the kisses between us Monday night. There was one, then the cute one you placed on top of my head. I swear, my lips are tingling because they long to be with yours for longer than five minutes.