The fried rice that I ate at dinner is turning in my stomach from hearing, "No, I don't want to have sex."
I tell him, "Pretty sure I let you stick it in my ass this weekend AND gave you a fucking blow job while you played Final Fantasy. You got yours, where the fuck is mine?" We laugh it off because I don't want our last meeting until next week tainted by my own insecurities. I kiss him goodbye, hug him tightly and walk towards the house. My eyes are starting to get wet because 1000 thoughts are flooding my mind. The longer the thoughts linger the more I start to believe they are true.
He doesn't want to have sex with me because I'm fat.
Fuck, I am so ugly.
My thighs are too big.
My stretch marks are fucking disgusting.
My boobs are not perky.
Holy shit my arms are HUGE.
I am fucking fat and ugly and probably stupid for thinking all of these things.
I know, deep down he thinks I am beautiful and there are some parts of me that want to believe that I am over reacting, but I'm just so hurt and want to feel pleasure (from sex, or from love... from ANYTHING) that when I finally make my way to my bathroom, tears streaking across my face, I lean over and feel the ecstasy I was searching for with my boyfriend, that he was unable to provide. I feel empty. I feel good. I feel at peace.