Time and time again he whispered into my ear and tugged on the loops of my jeans.
“I want to give you a baby.”
The driving force of growing into your thirties has its perks, but the craving of a child is unstoppable and at most times inconvenient.
I’m not sure what led to our passion that night, but it was sexy; the kind you read about in books and tighten your legs to during movies.
Bodies covered in salted steam, hips swinging from the pendulum of momentum.
The release of him into me was enough to remind me what I was after. I absorbed his sperm with my subconscious like a mushroom blooming in the dark.
I held him there, refusing to let him slip away.
All that was wrong would be wrong again.
You see, we were no longer dating. We hadn’t been for months. But as you age, you see yourself very differently alone. There’s a sudden need for routine; a craving for the familiar. One thing was for certain: I wasn’t curious anymore. I’d been with many men, hardly one more surprising than the next. And it wasn’t the need for sex. Sex was more laborious than ever and I was aging. Twisting the skin on your neck and near your underarms is enough to make someone reevaluate habits and reaffirm self-doubt. One thing is for certain, if you are aging, so are your eggs.
Many times over the past few months I had decided I might be alone and old forever. Selfishly, no one to give me the gift I desired most; to create a life.
All I once I sat up in the bed and coughed to release his life from entering mine.
Is this what I have come to? Hormones become a Human?
My not-yet-thirty year-old body is not yet ready to be responsible for the passion of a one-night stand with an exhausted lover!
…But maybe tomorrow.