I pretended not to care because I knew that what I was feeling was wrong.
How could this feeling inside me be right, how could the sound of your voice calling my name send erotic pleasure down my vertebrate as vibrating ideas of you touching my skin melted my heart.
I kept these ideas at bay because I knew they were wrong. I couldn’t fall for the magnetic man, your posh English accent accentuating every last syllable of my name as the others watch not knowing the tension building within me.
I smile and pretend there’s no sexual interest in the poetry you assign to me. They call me your pet and you call me your innocent star. You place me on a pedestal, but you have no idea of the horrors that unfold behind these virgin eyes.
When you look at me, what do you see? The innocent little girl who pretends she’s not good enough or have you cracked the facade because we both know your intellect could fuck me to death.
I cross my legs and pretend that I’m your worst student and your far from my best teacher of life and toxic addiction.
But what am I addicted to? Is is your raged manly looks or is it your fucked up mind filled with so many stories of life and the unknown. Maybe my addiction is the feeling of guilt and inappropriateness.
Maybe I just can’t give up the feeling I get as your eyes gaze upon my inexperienced youthful body knowing I’ve trapped myself a man.