may 15th 2024

my sex is polite. a conversation in the grocery store with a stranger. hello, where’re you from, like reading sides at an audition. neither of us really want it, but we know it’s right to eat; prepackaged dinners make more sense, take less time. too bad if bodies are cold. afterward i can throw away the plastic.

sex for them is about pity. she asked me to lay down across her couch. she went to the bathroom, left me there. my chest was heavy. is this how it goes? i always dress for them—which takes me hours—then i remove it myself as they watch, which takes two minutes. quiet, unclasping that white lace blouse with the bell sleeves. rolling down my skirt. should i leave on my socks if my toes are unpainted? in these moments as a doll, details matter. bare in her apartment, my hands shiver more than usual. she frowns, wonders if i’m alright. of course. she thinks i must not like her. i think the ac is too high and the vent is above her bed. she’s careful with me and i keep my eyes open. i don’t know her brother’s name, just her major and the strain she smokes. sometimes they talk, or i do, but i can’t remember what we say. i don’t know her hands on my waist. i don’t think i’m human. i’m sick when she looks away. i won’t do this again. i do it again. 

it’s a teenage fear, to see and be seen. i don’t mind it. i’d get naked for anyone. i let them touch anywhere as long as it doesn’t hurt. after this they don’t want me anyway. they never see me twice, unless for pity’s sake. or maybe i’m easy. not easy enough—she says, why don’t you touch me? sorry, let’s try again. i must’ve forgotten. i like to be explored and not the other way. i hate when they say i’m pretty—i don’t care, i know that, i made it that way. it’s worse when i’m “hot” because it’s kind of pedophilic, even if they don’t know i’m not very old inside. i sometimes wish i didn’t have a face at all. 

i can’t get off unless they think i’m riveting. real sex was keeping someone up at night from another room. no high is like it. i could feel when our thoughts of each other coincided; they felt rather castrated. too bad. my love needs clothes on.