Somehow over time, we matched in one that wasn’t where we first were, but it was the first time meeting that I remembered.
Ahead: I walked home from his house, looking up at trees that lived with the houses along the street. One, in particular, was stripped of bark, clean and smooth looking, so unlike the texture of a tree trunk. I thought it was special; I took a picture. Later that summer I saw a bunch like that tree all through my neighbourhood - maybe it was a tree disease that was stripping its bark.
I was calm that morning, walking home from Joey’s house. I had woken up at 7 AM (it was a Sunday) and had been aroused by his penis brushing against my thighs. Sun was cracking through the curtains; even the North-facing windows were bright. Satisfied by daddy’s cock at an early hour, he kept going and got up and I fell asleep again, dreaming of coffee as he brought a mug to my side of the bed. By the time I woke at 10 AM, it was cold and delicious. I drank it like my throat hadn’t been wet in weeks.
This was the last time we slept in the same bed. Months passed and he got busy, and my life had the same rhythm but skipped past him. We grew apart; we had awkward encounters at my house one Tuesday at noon. It didn’t repair, and neither did we. He left me in a void, I left him. I couldn’t do it; I had to do it over text. It was hard to hear him on the phone a week after it was over.