Last night I was supposed to wear the cherry panties you bought me a couple of months back. You expressed to me that you wanted me to make them wet and sticky, trailed by the sweet aroma of my nectar.
Just for you.
I was supposed to wear them as we fornicated under the black sky filled with white specs that twinkled faintly; like the glitter from my chapstick that escaped to attach itself to glisten onto the surface of our skins. I was supposed to wear them as we laid there, with locked eyes, becoming more than ex lovers, best friends, destroying our soft faerie skin from the harshness of the concrete ground.
I scraped my arms and bruised my knees, but every minute was worth it. I was so overwhelmed by the thought of intimacy, my body surrendered gracefully and almost without a second thought, I ignored how this might truly end.
I simply didn’t care because I finally had you again. I was apart of you once more.
And I felt loved.
I didn’t get the chance to wear those cherry panties that night, but I really wish I was wearing them now.
Doing exactly what I said I would do with them, for you.