The Crulest Thing

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Our lips collided against a backdrop of whoops, cheers and god-awful R ‘n’ B. It didn’t take long before I was swept up by the tenderness of her lips and the exquisiteness of her rooming hands, that so expertly detonated small bombs of electricity across each inch of flesh they explored. With my hunger growing, nearing on the animalistic, I desperately tried to pull her body closer to mine. But I couldn’t. She resisted. Wounded, I instantly pulled back. The spell was broken and devastatingly, I was reacquainted with my surroundings and bitter reality… a frat party and spin the bottle.
A swarm of male eyes were on us from every direction, and I could almost see the giant neon signs flashing in their minds: HOT GIRLS KISSING. The air of arousal was suffocating, and sickening. Laughter. Heartbreaking laughter. She wasn’t by my side anymore, quicker than a flash of lightning, she had stood up and rematerialized at HIS side, fingertips affectionately gliding through his hair.
The kiss felt like an awakening for me. Magical even. To her, it meant nothing. My sexuality was just a pawn. Purposely pointing the bottle at me was purely performative. For HIM. Just for his sake. Now she had what she wanted. His attention. His arousal. So now I could be cruelly tossed to the side, like an afterthought. The ugly truth stung me like a million bee stings: I was merely a toy to be used in their foreplay, and her dangerous game of seduction. I felt like being sick. I felt like projectile vomiting and spraying the entire room with my disgust. But I didn’t. Instead, I swallowed my hurt, playfully giggled along, wiped my lips, flicked my hair back and spun the bottle again. But still, the pain lingered…like the sweet taste of HER on my lips.

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