Unravel

Some mature/sexual content. Read at your own discretion.

Your shaved head glistening with sweat, a foreign body among the whiteness. I want to know what your skin feels like against my fingertips. I want to rub your sweat onto my skin until I smell like you. I want you to grab me by the hair and push my head down, down, down. The cool sticky floor against my bare knees, sending shivers through my limp body. Goosebumps on my arms and shoulders. The taste of your come in my mouth. I want you to claim me, like you own the space around you. Can you feel me looking? I move slowly in the changing room. Try to make the minutes before class last longer. Pretend to be looking for something. A clean pair of socks. Stalling until everyone else is gone. I’m aware that you’re aware. Suddenly uncomfortable in my nakedness. Too exposed, too obvious. Is it safe to admire you from a distance. To think about you when I’m lying in bed at night, allow my mind and hands to wander. Re-creating the fluidity of your moves in the studio. The way the light plays on your dark skin. Something stirs within me when we dance. I can feel myself unravel. I come. Loose. Undone. Unguarded. The whites of your eyes and teeth gleaming in the half-darkness when we leave the building at night. I wait for you to catch up. I try to act casual, like I’m waiting for someone else. Skin and hair damp from the shower, shirt sticking to my back. Too nervous to make eye contact. Too nervous to say anything at all. Music pumping in my ears, too loud for comfort. The noise creating a wall between us. Pretend, pretend, pretense. I want to lick the sweat from your upper lip. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to move me to the point of crying. Your muscular arms resting on top of mine. The weight of your body restricting my breathing. Face buried in the sheets. Everything smells like you. Short, shallow breaths. Replace the dull pain with something else. Something tangible that I can touch, see and smell. Can I trust you? This otherness, this sense of being apart. Separate from everyone else. Do you ever doubt yourself? The way you navigate the world so effortlessly, like everything belongs to you. A proud young man. You’re nothing like me. Always the quiet gay kid, trapped in his anger and insecurities. It will destroy me. I watch as you’re paired with a petite brunette. Jealousy raging inside me. It hurts to be this close to you, not being able to touch. I can’t focus on my partner, my hands on her skinny waist. The tension is making me nauseous. I can’t stand to be in the same space, in the same room. The choreography tells the story of a man who destroys the only thing he loves. His love for her is unrequited, her heart belongs to someone else. But if he can’t have her, no one else will. I want your angry gaze to tear me apart, the way only a man can look at another. A look that says I’m ready to fight, I want to challenge you. I want you to hurt me, leave your mark on my body as a permanent reminder. The only language we speak is a physical one. Please, stop resisting. I parade around the changing room, making a spectacle of myself. Your stare burning imaginary holes in my naked skin. You cocky little shit. Stomach tight like a clenched fist, face flushed with want and anger. I love you, but I don’t know how to love myself. The first time I danced I cried from relief, because at that moment I knew. Why didn't exist then, only how.