You Know You're in Lust When by Jessi Lee Gaylord
“the earth moved and you saw a glimpse of the heaven that leads men to hell”
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You know you’re in lust when after ten hours of dry humping, he ends up boning you right through your panties until the elastic is wedged against the side of your twat and he’s grunting with a wild look in his eyes like he’s having a seizure and you probably have a blissed-out look on your face like maybe you discovered the meaning of life, and you both have whiskey-cheese breath but it feels amazing until he rolls off and whispers, “That was good” and you’re like, “Yeah, all 45 seconds of it.”
You know you’re in lust when you survive gross shit like something’s caught in your mouth that might be pubic hair or butt lint and you’re trying to spit it out at the exact moment he kisses you.
You know you’re in lust when everything he says sounds like innuendo. What train stop are you getting off at? You want cream in your coffee? Sausage on your pizza?
You know you’re in lust when awkwardness doesn’t faze you; like when your friends steal your phone and pretend to be you and text him things like “come on my face” and “I want anal” and he just LOLs that shit like a good sport.
You know you’re in lust when you find all the pervy things he says to you funny: “Do you need more caffeine before I put my dick in you again?” Or, “The least I can do is drive you home after you let me try and fuck you in the ass.” Or, “I’m pulling this car over and we’re going to sit here until you tell me your sex dream,” and he pulls the car over and says, “I’m serious, we’re not getting pancakes until you tell me your sex dream.”
You know you’re in lust when you start having conversations during sex. And you find yourself saying stupid stuff like, “Your pheromones are totally penetrating my pheromones.” And he’s got your ankles over his shoulders and he’s staring into your eyes all deep and serious and then he says something like, “I had a really good weekend with you.” And you’re all, “Yeah, pig-facing that pizza and watching Homeland was amazing.”
You know you’re in lust when you don’t care that he embarrasses you by yelling, “Pineapple is supposed to make cum taste good,” at the Whole Foods. On a Sunday.
You know you’re in lust when you keep sleeping with him even though he doesn’t listen to a word that comes out of your mouth. Like when he wakes you up by pulling down your panties from behind and stabs you with his hard on and you open your eyes and there’s a cat in your face. And you’re like, “I’m asleep and there’s a cat in my face,” but he’s gone deaf, because men go deaf when they have sex. So you have to slap his dick away and turn your head around until your neck hurts to glare at him until he understands that dick plus cat in close proximity is not going to happen. So instead of nudging the cat off the bed, he just reaches over and picks up a corner of the bedspread and holds it up in front the cat’s face even though its paws are almost touching your nips and he just goes ahead and humps you even though you are still asleep and there’s still a cat in your face.
You know you’re in lust when you don’t take offense to messed up shit, like when he wakes you up at 6:30 in the morning just to hump you and his mouth tastes like old chicken broth and he doesn’t even try to get you off.
You know you’re in lust when it’s so good it hurts. You’ve been screwing so long and hard the skin around your vagina feels like it’s been scraped on a cheese grader and the whole world is enveloped in the old potatoes smell of his balls and the armpit smell of your vag and the comatose way he’s lying across the sheets makes him look like he’s been murdered, but you’re pretty sure the earth moved and you saw a glimpse of the heaven that leads men to hell, but it doesn’t matter because you’ve had an orgasm and are, therefore, fucking invincible.
You know you’re in lust when you wake up in his arms and the first thing you want to do is to kiss him, but he’s asleep so you smooth his hair back over his ear and peck him on the forehead like a sentimental a-hole, and not so suddenly, you realize you’re falling into something more than lust, something heady and murky, because it has a deep end and a dark side and you know you have to swim out to the cold, rough ocean beyond the shallow end where the water is as hot as the inside of your cunt.
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Jessi Lee Gaylord is an editor, college instructor, and smart ass. Her chapbook Sharked will be published in 2014 by Dulcet Dancing Girl Press. Her work has appeared in Pool, Another Chicago Magazine, Knee-Jerk, the Denver Syntax, and other publications. She writes the blog On Chicago Avenue.