Please don’t do that.
Last night you tried to kiss me goodnight.
I turned my head politely so that I would kiss your cheek, but your open lips still landed on the corner of mine. Your saliva on my skin.
I did not want it.
When you said ‘oh, no tongues then, maybe one day, if I work on you a little more’, I giggled nervously, and instead of saying ‘No. I do not want it’, I said ‘Maybe’.
I don’t mean maybe. You should know that I don’t mean maybe, because months ago I told you that I had nothing other to offer you than friendship. That I didn’t want anything else.
I said ‘maybe’ because even as my heart was sinking, even as I wanted to shout ‘No! I told you No!’,I felt that I should be polite.
I said ‘maybe’ because, the last time a man came onto me and I lost his friendship because of it, and I told my husband about it, my husband said to me ‘You’ve done this twice, now’.
Me. I did it. I lead these men on because there are naked photos of me online. Because I write erotica. Because I want to talk about my sexuality.
And this must mean that I’m available.
I’m not available. I told you I wasn’t available. I wanted a friend. I told you I wanted just a friend.
No, not ‘just’ a friend. A friend.
Someone to talk to. Someone to share myself with. A friend isn’t ‘less than’. A friend is whole. A friend is special.
A friend is something I get and then I lose, because apparently my friendship isn’t good enough unless it comes with an offer of my cunt.
I’m so tired.
I’m so disappointed.
I don’t want to lose another friend because I don’t want to sleep with them.
I don’t want to have to have this conversation with you.
And I hate that part of me still feels that it’s my fault. I hate that most people will say it’s my fault.
Because there are naked pictures of me online.
Because I write erotica.
Because I want to talk about my sexuality.
I just don’t want to have sex with you.
Can that not be OK?