From Whispers to Wisdom

She said, "I'm going to take care of you," and my thighs became the mouth of the Nile River. Suddenly this body was separate from my brain. Arched back and starving hands gripping her collar bone, my nails, and teeth became chisels, etching thank you notes into the soft of her neck and shoulders. I thought to myself, "she told me she couldn't dance," but her tongue performed perfect jazz circles in my mouth, drawing my chest in closer. I felt her hands push my panties to the side, and she looked to me for consent, (which just made me want to fuck her even more.) I whispered a soft, approving murmur, and in an instant, I realized what pleasure really was! Were those her hands, or did I fall into  a heated pool of ecstasy? An unfamiliar sound escaped my lips. It startled me, and I felt slightly embarrassed for a moment but there was a fire in her eyes suddenly as if to say There's gold in you, honey, and I'm going to find it. I ...

1. During the first few weeks, keep wearing the promise ring she gave you and her old band t-shirts. Make it so none of it feels real. When your mother asks about the shirt, lie and tell her it’s laundry day. Don’t mention how they still smell like her whipped shea butter and cool-water incense; how you pretend that the loose thread on the sleeves are her fingertips feather-dancing against your skin again. & When your mom asks about the ring, don’t tell her it is the anchor that is keeping your hands from shaking. Keep finding excuses not to put the trinket away. Eventually your hand will learn to accept its new nakedness. 2. Eat everything. And I mean Everything. Even the food on the diabetics DO NOT CONSUME list. Ignore your blood sugar. Lay in bed with ice cream and leftovers while the fatigue seeps into your limbs like melatonin, lulling you into a sleep that will surely delay the pain. Open the snack wrappers quietly so that your roommates don’t hear you eating crap at 3a...