My antidepressants have stopped me from thinking and feeling in poetry. Everything used to be a poem: a look from her, a cigarette between her teeth, with the cherry hair and the American voice that sang about cherry wine. She was the sun, the polyamorous trans woman with the guitar: I worshipped her like a dog for a year, hoped and prayed and imagined maybe she could take my virginity, teach me to be like her, so effortlessly. But no one seemed to see it. My friends called me insane, I said maybe she had bad photos, but I saw through it, at who she was, and thought everyone knew it. I met her at work, and we shared polite talks, and bumped into each other a few times during term-time, and I would avoid eye contact and keep going. I thought I had seen Jesus and it was strange how no one had noticed it yet.
She was older than me by five years, and had a beard, which was maybe why I was in love with her: she had an other-worldly energy about her, while I was a scrawny nineteen-year-old. I confided in my friend and asked if the girl maybe saw me as an annoying little brother, and my friend replied that maybe I wasn’t annoying but I definitely was a lot younger to her. I felt young, too. I still hadn’t had sex, so I looked at her in an abstract way, like someone so out of my league I could hardly hope to touch them. I had to record her and other performers for the open mic event in my college, and my hands shook, hoping she wouldn’t notice that my phone had pointed at her, even if that was my job. I didn’t rewatch the videos, because that felt perverted, but they stayed in my phone. She told me she liked my outfit after her performance.
I saw her a few times, but never often enough, and sometimes so far apart that I thought my crush would fade, but then I saw her and it would be stronger than ever. Maybe I Pavlov-ed myself, but every time I saw her, I would feel deadly butterflies pool in my stomach, or maybe a pit of dread and excitement. I both dreaded and looked forward to seeing her. We danced together, once, and I was so drunk I stroked her cheek while dancing, and we went outside and smoked, and in that moment, I sensed it: she was attracted to me. Not strong enough to do anything about it, but I wondered to myself: am I not as much of a kid as I seem? I’m nineteen, she’s twenty-four, she’s a fourth year, you’re a second… I guess it doesn’t sound that bad when you put it like that. Maybe that day I sensed it, or maybe that’s hindsight, but I think I was incredibly excited about spending this time with my crush, and thought about it for a couple days afterwards. But I did feel as if something had shifted.
I think I did try and move on, and took my ex-girlfriend, then, my friend, to a craft event I was running in the college common room. My friend pulled me aside and told me that she’s hot and whispered incredulously asking if I was on a date. My ex did look good, in her long flowing skirt and the makeup she had done for May Day. Then the girl fucked everything up. She asked me how old I was, then gave me a look. We went outside, and I talked about feeling like there’s something a little bit wrong with me and that everyone can tell. She paused for a moment and gave me a smile, then a grimace, and then bared her teeth. I asked her, “what…?”, gently, and she pauses, then says:
“I’m a lot older than you.” [PAUSE] “I… kinda wanna go on a date with you.”
Of course, I softly said “I’d like that,” and that night, it was all I thought about, and I was riding that high. My friend cheered because he had liked her over my ex. I drank to that, and then when I lost control over the next few weeks, she texted me again:
“also, i would prefer there to be no romantic undertones as you are quite a bit younger than me and i’m not sure i’m comfortable with that big a gap! i hope u understand”
I had expected it by this point, so I moved on. I did. The whole summer stretched again of me, and I could think about what I wanted from this life, and who I wanted, and who I wanted to be, and how I should value myself over the romance in my life, and God, I’ve forgotten what’s in like when you’re single, how the hunger consumes you and you want want want. But I didn’t realise it was the want back then. I don’t know what I thought, I’m not them anymore. I had lost my virginity by then, and slept with four people. My first was a hookup, which I felt deeply at the time, but now I was sort of glad the floodgates had opened up and I could finally figure out what this sex stuff was all about.
I saw them again in September last year. We went for drinks the first day we were back at work together, and then, in the ebb and flow of flirty conversation and pointed chats about whether we were tops or bottoms, she asked to kiss me. I melted into it, and in that moment, I couldn’t believe I had ever doubted if what I was feeling all along was physical attraction. I wanted her, and I wanted her so much. We went back to hers, and we had sex: I couldn’t come because of my antidepressants and neither could she, but we fucked a few times and then went to our separate rooms. I laughed at her a little bit for trying to be moral about the age gap.
We then began what I referred to as our whirlwind romance. We had wine in the park, kissed on top of a ferris wheel, made out in the middle of the street at night, had sex regularly and we were only a few doors away from each other, and flirted at work at breakfast and lunch. One time, my coworker sleep-walked into her room, and she played it cool as to why I was here. When he left she turned to me and said, “I’m not trying to keep this a secret. I am just a private person,”, and she did seem genuinely ashamed. One time in the park, she confided in me that she was still worried about the age gap, but I told I was twenty, which I had turned in the time we hadn’t spoken to each other, and she said that weirdly that felt better than nineteen and twenty-four. I didn’t care at all, and I knew it was her problem to sort out. I knew she was leaving at the end of the month, and that this couldn’t be a permanent thing cos she said so. I was coming to terms with that.
She broke up with me after two weeks. I suggested we continue to fuck, she said that wasn’t how she worked, and that she couldn’t do meaningless sex. I asked her why, was it the age gap, or the sex, and she said it was neither but just because she was feeling awkwardness on the romantic side of things and didn’t know how to explain further. I cried in front of her, and never felt more like a kid. I’ve never begged before, but I did get damn close, asking for an explanation like that, not even trying to change her mind. I spoke about it to my coworkers, to my friends, even to my boss.
Since then, I’d only seen her a few times. Apart from today, where she messaged me. I suggested drinks to catch up, and she had invited her around her place. I would have preferred a pub and an open area which I had stated before, but she called me over with the promise of homemade dinner and wine. It was awkward, and I didn’t want to have sex with her. I had a good thing going with two of my friends, and it was fun, and comfortable, and was a polyamorous dynamic I was comfortable with, even if it was only casual. Anyway, I went around hers, and my friends had warned me that she was acting very suspicious, but I went anyway even though I was uncomfortable and that she had also once suggested dinner at her place with her partner and I had refused. I had said it was because of the rain, but it was because I didn’t want to come eat dinner with her and her partner.
Today, she tried to get me to go 50 minutes out of my way to buy her plantains, which I also didn’t do, after persuasion from my friends to stand up for myself. I went to hers, and I only felt a flirty dynamic only in the sense a two-week-fling flirt with each other, both dyed hair and piercings, except I am now purple instead of red, and they are red as always, gold jewelry on display with their gold eyeshadow. She makes me egg fried rice. I eat it on her floor, and tell her about my life, and the semi-official throuple I had ended up in. I mentioned I was now twenty-one. She listened to every word. We were about to go out for a cigarette when she asked to kiss me, and I sensed a NO in me, one that should’ve, should’ve, had to, come out of my throat, but instead I nodded and kissed her, soft skin grabbed under our hands. It had the clumsiness of a first kiss in a while. We kissed on the bed, and she took a viagra. Her antidepressants and estrogen had made her struggle to get hard. We kissed in a strange, cold, liminal way, me panting and moaning like an imitation of an old porn video. She didn’t eat me out because I was on my period, and she couldn’t get hard enough to fuck me. I felt empty, and I sucked her off, and she asked me to stop, and we cuddled and it was fine. But I walked home empty.
I think everything I have ever felt for this person has been flushed out of me, with age, time, and repeated offences on their part. Maybe offences is too strong. Or am I just so attractive I made them forget that they are older, twenty-five now, and hold the power: are calling me to their house, knowing they were going to try to get in my pants, a year-ish after a breakup after a year-long crush and a two-week fling that had left me shattered, and empty. And today all I wanted to do was go home, maybe cuddle with my two best friends, and watch Gavin and Stacey, you know? But maybe it was too much to think she wouldn’t take the piss. She was, after all, not God, and had no way of knowing I used to worship her. Although maybe it was obvious. Does she think I’m weaker or stronger than I am? All I feel is shame, now, for kissing and sucking off someone I didn’t want to, because I felt it’s something I should want. That sucks.
I’m not nineteen anymore, even though they seem like a baby to me. It’ll be okay, though. I just needed to write about her, before it really all washes away.
She was older than me by five years, and had a beard, which was maybe why I was in love with her: she had an other-worldly energy about her, while I was a scrawny nineteen-year-old. I confided in my friend and asked if the girl maybe saw me as an annoying little brother, and my friend replied that maybe I wasn’t annoying but I definitely was a lot younger to her. I felt young, too. I still hadn’t had sex, so I looked at her in an abstract way, like someone so out of my league I could hardly hope to touch them. I had to record her and other performers for the open mic event in my college, and my hands shook, hoping she wouldn’t notice that my phone had pointed at her, even if that was my job. I didn’t rewatch the videos, because that felt perverted, but they stayed in my phone. She told me she liked my outfit after her performance.
I saw her a few times, but never often enough, and sometimes so far apart that I thought my crush would fade, but then I saw her and it would be stronger than ever. Maybe I Pavlov-ed myself, but every time I saw her, I would feel deadly butterflies pool in my stomach, or maybe a pit of dread and excitement. I both dreaded and looked forward to seeing her. We danced together, once, and I was so drunk I stroked her cheek while dancing, and we went outside and smoked, and in that moment, I sensed it: she was attracted to me. Not strong enough to do anything about it, but I wondered to myself: am I not as much of a kid as I seem? I’m nineteen, she’s twenty-four, she’s a fourth year, you’re a second… I guess it doesn’t sound that bad when you put it like that. Maybe that day I sensed it, or maybe that’s hindsight, but I think I was incredibly excited about spending this time with my crush, and thought about it for a couple days afterwards. But I did feel as if something had shifted.
I think I did try and move on, and took my ex-girlfriend, then, my friend, to a craft event I was running in the college common room. My friend pulled me aside and told me that she’s hot and whispered incredulously asking if I was on a date. My ex did look good, in her long flowing skirt and the makeup she had done for May Day. Then the girl fucked everything up. She asked me how old I was, then gave me a look. We went outside, and I talked about feeling like there’s something a little bit wrong with me and that everyone can tell. She paused for a moment and gave me a smile, then a grimace, and then bared her teeth. I asked her, “what…?”, gently, and she pauses, then says:
“I’m a lot older than you.” [PAUSE] “I… kinda wanna go on a date with you.”
Of course, I softly said “I’d like that,” and that night, it was all I thought about, and I was riding that high. My friend cheered because he had liked her over my ex. I drank to that, and then when I lost control over the next few weeks, she texted me again:
“also, i would prefer there to be no romantic undertones as you are quite a bit younger than me and i’m not sure i’m comfortable with that big a gap! i hope u understand”
I had expected it by this point, so I moved on. I did. The whole summer stretched again of me, and I could think about what I wanted from this life, and who I wanted, and who I wanted to be, and how I should value myself over the romance in my life, and God, I’ve forgotten what’s in like when you’re single, how the hunger consumes you and you want want want. But I didn’t realise it was the want back then. I don’t know what I thought, I’m not them anymore. I had lost my virginity by then, and slept with four people. My first was a hookup, which I felt deeply at the time, but now I was sort of glad the floodgates had opened up and I could finally figure out what this sex stuff was all about.
I saw them again in September last year. We went for drinks the first day we were back at work together, and then, in the ebb and flow of flirty conversation and pointed chats about whether we were tops or bottoms, she asked to kiss me. I melted into it, and in that moment, I couldn’t believe I had ever doubted if what I was feeling all along was physical attraction. I wanted her, and I wanted her so much. We went back to hers, and we had sex: I couldn’t come because of my antidepressants and neither could she, but we fucked a few times and then went to our separate rooms. I laughed at her a little bit for trying to be moral about the age gap.
We then began what I referred to as our whirlwind romance. We had wine in the park, kissed on top of a ferris wheel, made out in the middle of the street at night, had sex regularly and we were only a few doors away from each other, and flirted at work at breakfast and lunch. One time, my coworker sleep-walked into her room, and she played it cool as to why I was here. When he left she turned to me and said, “I’m not trying to keep this a secret. I am just a private person,”, and she did seem genuinely ashamed. One time in the park, she confided in me that she was still worried about the age gap, but I told I was twenty, which I had turned in the time we hadn’t spoken to each other, and she said that weirdly that felt better than nineteen and twenty-four. I didn’t care at all, and I knew it was her problem to sort out. I knew she was leaving at the end of the month, and that this couldn’t be a permanent thing cos she said so. I was coming to terms with that.
She broke up with me after two weeks. I suggested we continue to fuck, she said that wasn’t how she worked, and that she couldn’t do meaningless sex. I asked her why, was it the age gap, or the sex, and she said it was neither but just because she was feeling awkwardness on the romantic side of things and didn’t know how to explain further. I cried in front of her, and never felt more like a kid. I’ve never begged before, but I did get damn close, asking for an explanation like that, not even trying to change her mind. I spoke about it to my coworkers, to my friends, even to my boss.
Since then, I’d only seen her a few times. Apart from today, where she messaged me. I suggested drinks to catch up, and she had invited her around her place. I would have preferred a pub and an open area which I had stated before, but she called me over with the promise of homemade dinner and wine. It was awkward, and I didn’t want to have sex with her. I had a good thing going with two of my friends, and it was fun, and comfortable, and was a polyamorous dynamic I was comfortable with, even if it was only casual. Anyway, I went around hers, and my friends had warned me that she was acting very suspicious, but I went anyway even though I was uncomfortable and that she had also once suggested dinner at her place with her partner and I had refused. I had said it was because of the rain, but it was because I didn’t want to come eat dinner with her and her partner.
Today, she tried to get me to go 50 minutes out of my way to buy her plantains, which I also didn’t do, after persuasion from my friends to stand up for myself. I went to hers, and I only felt a flirty dynamic only in the sense a two-week-fling flirt with each other, both dyed hair and piercings, except I am now purple instead of red, and they are red as always, gold jewelry on display with their gold eyeshadow. She makes me egg fried rice. I eat it on her floor, and tell her about my life, and the semi-official throuple I had ended up in. I mentioned I was now twenty-one. She listened to every word. We were about to go out for a cigarette when she asked to kiss me, and I sensed a NO in me, one that should’ve, should’ve, had to, come out of my throat, but instead I nodded and kissed her, soft skin grabbed under our hands. It had the clumsiness of a first kiss in a while. We kissed on the bed, and she took a viagra. Her antidepressants and estrogen had made her struggle to get hard. We kissed in a strange, cold, liminal way, me panting and moaning like an imitation of an old porn video. She didn’t eat me out because I was on my period, and she couldn’t get hard enough to fuck me. I felt empty, and I sucked her off, and she asked me to stop, and we cuddled and it was fine. But I walked home empty.
I think everything I have ever felt for this person has been flushed out of me, with age, time, and repeated offences on their part. Maybe offences is too strong. Or am I just so attractive I made them forget that they are older, twenty-five now, and hold the power: are calling me to their house, knowing they were going to try to get in my pants, a year-ish after a breakup after a year-long crush and a two-week fling that had left me shattered, and empty. And today all I wanted to do was go home, maybe cuddle with my two best friends, and watch Gavin and Stacey, you know? But maybe it was too much to think she wouldn’t take the piss. She was, after all, not God, and had no way of knowing I used to worship her. Although maybe it was obvious. Does she think I’m weaker or stronger than I am? All I feel is shame, now, for kissing and sucking off someone I didn’t want to, because I felt it’s something I should want. That sucks.
I’m not nineteen anymore, even though they seem like a baby to me. It’ll be okay, though. I just needed to write about her, before it really all washes away.
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