I Love Blurring The Lines Of Friendship.

i love blurring the lines of friendship.

placing my hand on your lower back while we walk to keep you close, make sure people don't bump into you. leaning in close to confirm a suspicion— you're using a different shampoo. ("how'd you know?" you laugh, surprised that i even remembered what the old one smelled like. i just noticed. i always notice.) bumping my knee against your thigh under the table and smoothing over the spot with my palm, and you don't say anything, still smiling as we talk so i leave my hand there, let it ride higher, closer and closer.

it's only a matter of time before i'm kissing your neck, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other slides down, down, and your breath catches in your throat, eyelids fluttering. it shouldn't feel so good, should it? our other friends are in the living room, probably wondering what's taking us so long, and they'll definitely notice the hickey i left just above the collar of your shirt. but you like it, you like the thrill when i stuff my fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet, other hand working underneath your underwear.

maybe you like it too much. follow me around like a stray, desperate for another taste— of what it's like to skirt the lines of less and more, of what it's like to be mine. and you know what? i'll give it to you. what are you waiting for? come over. that's what friends do, isn't it?