nervousaxolotl

[nervousaxolotl]

I want to take care of you. I want you to wake up in my arms every morning, and fall asleep on my chest every night. I want to be able to kiss and cuddle and compliment you every single day. I want to make you feel safe and comfortable. To make sure you always know that there is someone who will give you those feelings. Maybe that’s obsessive. Maybe I’m too much of a hopeless romantic, desperate for someone to be able to take care of like that, and who will return that effort in kind. But for now you are the focus of my mind. And I hope that doesn’t scare you away. I hope that even if it doesn’t last, you’ll let me treat you that way while I can. Because you deserve that and so much more darling.

[nervousaxolotl]

You drive me fucking wild. Just your hands on my shoulders, your fingers near my neck makes me whimper and desperately want to tear both our clothes off. I want the confidence and comfort to enjoy you. I want to feel your heart race, your skin burn as we kiss and touch. As I make you moan and you do the same. Every time I see you I need you even more. It’s like I’m drowning, and every time I surface, gasping and coughing, it’s never fucking enough.

I want to keep you. To hold you. Even when I don’t feel my mind racing with a million thoughts that make me blush just to think about, I want you. I enjoy merely being around you. But the way you’ve teased me has made me want so much more. All of you. All the time. Until the reason I can’t breathe isn’t from too little, but from being so overwhelmed with you in the best way possible.

[nervousaxolotl]

I avoid mirrors as often as possible. I don’t like them, for much the same reason as cameras. All they seem to show me are my worst qualities. The parts of me I despise feel magnified in the reflection. The things that make me want to cry and hide from the world or worse. But when I’m with you, I don’t feel as ashamed. Something about you manages to wash those worries away, for but a moment. You call me cute. You call me pretty. You say these sweet words and I struggle to believe you aren’t simply lying to make me smile. Sometimes it doesn’t help. Sometimes when I feel your hands on me, or see you looking my way, I panic. I grow nervous, worried you’ll see me for what I feel I am. Nothing worth being around, let alone loving.

But despite the way I feel, I want to believe you. I want to believe that you don’t see me the way I see myself. Because the way you see everything seems so much nicer. So much sweeter and better and perfect in almost every way. I want to see myself the way you see me. I want to see myself the way I see you. I don’t want to listen to the voice that treats me so harshly. So instead I’ll accept your words. I’ll believe that you think I’m pretty and cute. That you enjoy me, and aren’t merely pitying me. And if I do that long enough, if I continue to try, one day I know I will be able to believe that too.

[nervousaxolotl]

You say the cutest shit sometimes. Things that make me wanna squeeze you in my arms and cover you in kisses until you giggle and squirm. Other times you say depressing things. Words that make my heart ache for you and want to cuddle you all the same. The kind of sadness I can’t cure with my presence despite wishing I could. The kind of sadness that I wish could be wiped away by gentle kisses and sweet words. By loving touches and time spent with each other.

But that isn’t how this works. That isn’t how most things work. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try for you. That I won’t do all those things, even when you’re sad. Even when you’re mad, or disappointed, anxious or any of the far too many emotions we all have. But I will do it. I will make sure you know I’m there for you. That no matter how fucked up things feel, someone cares. That there is someone who wants you happy. Who wants to see you smile and hear you laugh. Even if one day that person is no longer me, while it can be, I so desperately want to do so.

So next I see you, happy or sad, rain or shine, I’ll be there for you. I’ll praise you, cuddle you, treat you with as much love as I could possibly give. And I’ll enjoy every moment I get to be with you. I’ll kiss every last inch of you if I must, just to make sure you can’t ever forget that I care.

[nervousaxolotl]

I love being a pathetic mess for you. Whimpering, begging, almost in tears from how frustratingly horny you can make me with just a few words. A good girl here, a sweet compliment there, and next thing I know I’m leaning against you, biting you for any sense of control and as an excuse to hide my bright red face. But I want more than that. I want to grind against you, my noises getting louder and higher pitched as you tease me. I want to feel your hands on me, your nails gently scratching my skin. I want you to push me down. To lean over me and stare at me with those gorgeous, overwhelming eyes of yours.

And despite the fact I doubt I could ever say this to your face, I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you thrusting against me, using me like a toy. Gentle, rough, slow, fast it doesn’t matter. All that I need is to listen to your noises as you enjoy my body. As you lean close and whisper in my ear that you’ll fill me. Breed me even. Make me yours in a way that can’t be forgotten. To cling tightly to you, my nails digging into your back as your teeth tear into my flesh to leave even more marks. The thought of it all makes me whine. It makes me press my legs together and shudder with desperate need.

If you did that… it would never be enough. I’d want you even more than I already do. I’d want to feel you every day. To make you so happy you forget what sadness is like. And of course I’d enjoy it too. I’d love to be nothing more than your pet. To belong fully to you, for you to enjoy and tease and do anything and everything you want. To serve you every day and be showered with affection in return.

[nervousaxolotl]

I want to believe you when you say you enjoy our time together. But no matter how much you say it, I can’t seem to trust you. That’s horrible isn’t it? Your own mind considering you so unworthy of attention or the smallest crumb of affection that you make everyone a liar instead? Even saying these words feels wrong. Like I’m trying to guilt you into doing something, rather than what I intend to do. I just want to explain why I act so strange sometimes, why I struggle to accept your compliments and such. My thoughts and emotions have been cracked by those before you. Not shattered, but forever scarred nonetheless. It shows me the twisted reflection, the bitter lie my brain turns to, even as you try to give me sweet truths. Even as I crave them and wish for them to be real. Because how could one such as I deserve any attention from someone like you?

So please, don’t take these words to heart. Because I’m trying. I want to do better. I want to believe you, to not second guess when I hear your voice. I want to become a person who can enjoy and appreciate your affections for what they are. Someone who can return that as well. Not someone who pushes you away in fear and self-sabotage. So I merely ask you have patience with me. I know that sometimes I’ll say something stupid. That I may hurt your feelings or say something that isn’t true. But give me just a bit more time, and I know I’ll be able to trust you the way you deserve. To know that you mean it when you tell me you enjoy things. <3

[nervousaxolotl]

I found it incredibly funny, in a painful sort of way, that the first ‘crush’ I developed in so long was on someone I considered completely unavailable. He was smart, and pretty, and a joy to be around. But over the course of our many conversations, it seemed hopeless. The more he spoke, the deeper I sank into this feeling that I wanted to kiss him. But what he spoke of made that seem a distant dream. He spoke of broken hearts, of unrequited love. Of dreams long gone, and flames still burning, even if small.

I laughed and teased him for his pining, for being unable to get over this person whom it seemed did not care for him the same way. Part of me hoped he was wrong and this person would return his affection. That seemed like a sweet outcome. A more shameful side of me formed though. A part of me that hoped they would not. The entirety of our time together, despite my words to him, I was doing almost the exact thing he was. I wanted him so bad, I thought my hunger could be satisfied with merely a hug, the slightest hint of attention. And then one day the teasing grew bolder, and I would never be happy with just a hug again.

Feelings became words. Words became actions. And before I knew what was happening, his lips were pressed against mine. Soft, sweet, and so perfect beyond compare. And the pretty boy I craved became so much more. He went from something unattainable, to a real possibility. From someone I was scared to touch, for fear he would vanish, to a handsome man I wake up missing every day. Even now I cannot believe I worked up the courage to ask him for that first shy kiss.

Now every time I see him, I grow even needier. Every kiss leaves me wanting to stay with him. Every time he lets me touch him, I want to cry with joy that I am allowed to witness such beauty. I want him to make me his. To tell me I cannot leave, that he will keep me and I will love it. Yet every time, he leaves. He has to of course. Life doesn’t work like the movies or books. And so he leaves, despite my wanting to make him stay. Despite his own desires. So I follow him like a lost puppy, kissing him deeper, holding him tighter, trying to find the right words to earn me just five more seconds… Five more seconds is never even close to enough.

[nervousaxolotl]

I switch wildly between wanting to submit entirely to you, and having my way with you. The only constant is needing you so badly I forget everything else. Part of me wants to be gentle with you. To make you feel loved and taken care of. Another part wants to bite and scratch until you are sore and bruised, so that every day for a week you are reminded who did that to you. I want to sit in front of you, sliding my hands down your sides, feeling you shiver in anticipation as my fingers reach the waistband of your pants. I want you to know how I’m desperately craving every part of you. To grab at your clothes and rip them off if I must. I want to kiss your stomach, taste your bare skin as you squirm and grow more excited. To find every sensitive spot that makes your lovely noises louder before I stop at your underwear, kissing you gently and so so teasingly. I want you to beg me to keep going. To hear your breath catch in your throat as I pull that final bit of fabric down. As I spread your legs slowly and lean close once more. I cannot promise to be the best, but I want to learn, all for you. I want your hands in my hair, holding tight while your moans guide me in worship of your body. I want to please you until you cannot stop yourself from pressing your thighs together against me, shuddering and whining in pleasure. And maybe if I’m lucky, maybe if I hope hard enough, you’ll want to keep me for yourself after so I can do it again every time you ask or command.

[nervousaxolotl]

I thought I was desperate before. I thought you had pulled me to the furthest level of want and desire I hadn’t known. But that was only just a small peek into what you can do to me. I thought I was in heaven when I sat there beside you, leaning against you while leaving marks, inhaling your scent and tasting your flesh. I felt my face burn when I managed to hold your gaze, nearly panting as my eyes kept sliding a little lower, staring at your lips before I managed to pull my view back to your wonderful, piercing eyes. And then we kissed again. And again. And you grabbed me, you held me close and it felt like we would both die without those desperate touches. The way you moved, it made me feel wanted and I loved it. And I wanted you. I still want you.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be satisfied. I think I could wake up next to you in the morning, kiss you until the sun faded beyond the horizon once more, and still be just as eager to do it again the next day. Holding you in my lap was the best feeling I’ve ever had. Gazing up at you, my hands on your thighs as I tried to remain composed before we embraced once more. The entire evening I felt like I needed another set of hands to keep grasping at you, never lingering on one spot for too long because every inch of you deserves and demands my attention. The soft sounds you made, the way your body reacted when I kissed and nibbled your neck, working my way down to your shoulder or up to your lips was intoxicating.

Even all these hours later I’m struggling to even form the words to describe it all. There is almost nothing to describe it. You were there of course, you know what was done. But I desperately wish I could somehow put into words every emotion I felt. Because each and every one was amazing. The worst part of the evening was standing outside the house, watching you settle into your car and desperately wanting to just pull you back out of the driver’s seat. To carry you back inside and keep you close until exhaustion took hold and I could fall asleep in your arms, feeling your heart close to me, feeling your warmth to comfort me. I woke up thinking about you. I’ll probably fall asleep doing the same. But the little flickering images my dreams leave by dawn, will never compare to the best evening with you. And I hope, I pray to any gods that may be real, to just give me more time with you and I’d do anything in return.

[nervousaxolotl]

It’s strange, the way family feel they own you. My mother will grow upset with me for avoiding face-timing her, always asking why I look so upset or uncomfortable once she wears me down. Yet my answer always seems to upset her no matter how many times it’s repeated. “I hate my face” leads to a strange response. Not comfort, nor sympathy. Instead, she claims ownership. She says that she made me, and she wants to see my face. My own mother won’t validate my emotions, instead using some strange sense of my belonging to her. Another tally mark that reminds me why I struggle to tell people my wants and desires. She used to take my photo constantly. For example, when I was young, almost every time I fell asleep she’d snap a photo because she found me “cute”. And even when I was that young, I knew something about cameras made me uncomfortable, especially the expectation that you let this person pose you however they desire, and not how you want.

Yet my maternal family cares not. If I reject the camera, I’m treated as though I’ve committed a cardinal sin. As though my desire to not be pictured, is somehow morally wrong. My opinions are worthless to my family, if they aren’t the opinions they expect or desire of me. My emotions, no matter how raw, are swept under the rug and best left forgotten. Even sitting in a doctor’s office, being told that I need help, my mother ignored the path I preferred to get that help. And so nothing came of the biggest mental breakdown I’ve had so far. Life continued, and I grew more sure that her love for me wasn’t because I was a person that deserved love, but because I am her creation. She loves me for what I can do for her, and for what I represent in her mind. And despite her efforts and my own, I can never be that person.

She thinks we are close. She thinks I trust her. And while sometimes I make the mistake of giving her information, maybe out of a hope that one day she’ll be better, I don’t trust her. I don’t believe she won’t use my hurts and fears against me the moment it suits her needs. And I don’t believe she wouldn’t deny that she’s ever done such a thing. So as I grow older, I try to detangle myself from her. To find out who I am, and simultaneously keep her from knowing me.

[nervousaxolotl]

I wasn’t sure what to think when I met you. At first you were shy. You were seemingly innocent, and I wondered what on earth could’ve brought you to meet our mutual ‘friend’. They didn’t seem to be anything like you, where they were boisterous and rude, you were polite and soft spoken. And as they rather quickly vanished from my life, you swiftly filled their spot with something so much better. Where before was a person I never quite believed was a friend, it was almost instantly clear with you. We relate over more than we should, but it’s nice to speak without having to ponder over every little word, and still be understood.

Beyond that, I found you incredibly attractive. Physically of course, but mentally too. I felt drawn like a moth to a lamp, warm and comforting, but unlikely to burn me as open flame would. And as I worried that our time together would soon end, I felt myself growing more comfortable in your presence. I promised to see you, and as that month drew to a close I worried I had lied. But then we saw each other again. And just a few days later once more. And every time, I caught myself staring a little too long.

The flirting started properly about then. I still found you cute, and it felt fun and easy to make you blush. It was nice to be the reason you did. But at some point you flipped the script. Where before I imagined myself as the one in control, now you were pulling all the strings so effortlessly. And I am enthralled by how nice it is to let someone have that control. And the more you pull, the worse my need for it grows. Every time I think of you, my head swirls and my legs shake. We can go from a normal, friendly talk to something much different. And I love that about us. Yet even now, part of me fears it. What if I make a mistake? What if I ruin everything and you want to toss me aside?

But while I can have this, I will enjoy it. I’ll let you have control, because it feels safer that way. If the story ever switches once more, I’ll play my role happily. Because you are incredible. You’re strange and fun and so different from the majority of people I know. And I think that’s exactly what I needed. So even though I know you may see this, and I’ll be embarrassed to have my thoughts about you read, I write. Because I cannot express myself this way when we talk. Whether because of this power you have over me, or because sometimes I just need to collect my thoughts over the course of an hour or three.

I’ve already turned this into a novel, yet I feel I haven’t said all that I wish. But if I continue this might scare you even more, or I might lose my will to put this where it can simply exist beyond my mind. So instead I leave you with a promise. Whatever happens, I’ve loved being your friend, and I hope that we can stay that way forever, in whatever form you decide is best for us.