Subtle details

You might not think it matters, that little x at the end of your texts. After all, we’re grown-ups, aren’t we, and we’re fucking for fun. But I know you understand its power. If you didn’t, why would it disappear every time there’s a hint of conflict between us?

I thrive on affection. I hug my friends, my parents, my colleagues. An x from me is basically a ‘Meh.’ When I really care, and I want you to know it, you’ll get three.  It’s why with you I don’t thrive. Did you ever see The Little Mermaid? I’m Flotsam, or Jetsam, all sunlight-deprived, bitter and manipulative, because you won’t hug me as hard as you fuck me.

It’s not just your texts, either. Foreplay leaves me indifferent – I like that sting when you push in hard and I’m not quite wet enough, not quite ready. All foreplay apart from your kisses, that is. Am I indifferent about them? Am I fuck.

Just think about the power they have in real life – the way that your lips on mine can stop me half way through anything – a sentence, a glass of wine, an argument. When we first met, I didn’t fancy you, and, were you not an amazing kisser, you’d never have got a second date. Your kisses have that power on the screen, too. No matter how I felt about you before I received your message, the presence (or not) of that x can change the whole tone of my response.

My point, I guess, is to ask you not to use that x as a punctuation mark. I like full stops, question marks, exclamation marks, even – they’re a sign of good grammar and good grammar is hot. But when you sign off with an x you don’t mean all it tells me is that you’re confusing desire and affection, and I don’t need that. I’m confused enough as it is.

x

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One thought on “Subtle details

  1. It is not often that I read a blog post and instead of agreeing with it and identifying with it, I want to leave a comment because I actually learn from it.

    You could be writing about me. I do that. I had not examined myself doing so. I am that guy. Fuck. I don’t want to be that guy. I must try harder.

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