Dear Mr. Neat,
Do you know those movie scenes where the camera zooms in on a trail of clothes on the floor, leading the viewer to people making passionate love somewhere? No, I mean: do you know those scenes. Experienced them. Felt this urge to get naked, feel skin, not caring about anything else but getting as close as possible to this other person you want to taste, grab and melt into?
I highly doubt it. Or at least, I know you didn’t feel that with or for me. Though the first night we met, it did feel like there was passion between us. We kissed for hours like teenagers. You gently put my hair into place and adoringly made fun of me, as it seemed to you I started purring the moment your lips touched mine. I could see we were both disappointed you were leaving the country the next day, and because of circumstances couldn’t spend that night together. I had no expectations when you carefully straightened out my clothes after sealing our goodbye with a last kiss.
You can imagine the excitement when I received your first text message saying you wanted to see me again. For a month, these messages continued back and forth; some curious, some sexy, some supportive, all of them received with a smile. I could feel the longing building in my body. I wanted to hear your voice, look into your eyes, taste your lips, inhale your scent and feel your touch. So when it was finally time for our reunion, I was bouncing off the walls with excitement and nerves. You were even more beautiful than I remembered, but you appeared a little distant when you took my coat, shook off the raindrops and hung it on the elegant coat rack in your well-kept apartment. But I chose to push that feeling aside as you continuously grabbed me to get me closer and I happily let you pull me in. The moment was finally there. I was hungry for you, undressing you and throwing your shirt on the floor. And then it happened. You stopped to pick up your shirt and fold it before placing it on the corner of the bed. I giggled as I interpreted it as a cute gesture, and also because it made me a little uncomfortable but wasn’t sure why. I decided to return to kissing you, my lips and tongue asking you to make me purr again. But where I just wanted to tear our clothes off and make them disappear so our nakedness would become visible, you interrupted our play time after time to make neat little piles of our folded clothes.
By the time my thong lay on display on top of the pile of my carefully folded clothes, I realized we were on two different planes. I like my sex messy. I like my sex lustful, impulsive and primal. I want to forget my surroundings, and lose my bearings. I want intimacy and tenderness that makes me purr, and dig my claws in your back in throws of passion.
I do not want to feel like I need to keep my bed proper when I’m naked.
So this is an invitation to you to leave a trail of clothes next time. Who knows, messy in a sexual context might just turn out to be a lot of fun.
Big slobbery kiss and a tousle of your hair,