Before he said the words, I had been feeling sleepy, syrupy, like the feeling caused from several hours of drinking white wine in the sun.
I wanted conversation to flow better. It was all stunted and—
I was verging on drunk and really just making it all so difficult. Me being a woman and all. This being our first date and all.
It’s not that I care if he sees me naked.
I don’t care if he sees the mark of discoloration next to my belly button.
Or notices the thinness of my un-toned arms.
Or the hair on my upper thighs that hadn’t been carefully trimmed in preparation for this date.
Like a woman should have.
I don’t want him to see me naked because then he’ll be able to see all my vulnerable insides.
He’ll see that I drink too much.
And that I smoke when I’m stressed.
And that for the last ten (10!!!) years I’ve let too many boys purporting to be men in.
-- to my bed.
-- to my life.
-- to my ;
Published by Dkaha Tribune: Arts & Letters Vol. 2 Issue 9