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butterflies. Then I’ll get all day-dreamy, trying to picture what it would be like for
him to take me. I’ve stopped myself from asking a few times.
Henry has never tried anything. He’s always stayed perfectly platonic. Not

once have I ever felt like he wants to do dirty things to me. I sleep with my door
locked to keep me from him. I am a bitch in heat, and I take great pains to keep
myself from scratching at his door and jumping him in his sleep. No exaggeration;
it is that bad.
Henry’s trip down memory lane also reminds me that he’s mentioned fucking
me on my desk. Another example of him saying things that fuck me up with the
casualness of talking about the weather. He has my hormones on a rollercoaster.
What he’d take as shock was me fighting the urge to drive back to the office. I
would have dragged him into my office and told him to try it and see what happens.

“I have both. Although, I was wearing these that day.” I’d quickly pivoted on my
heel and grabbed a water out of the fridge. I am partial to room temperature, but
there was no way I’d be able to cross Henry to get to the pantry. I was mortified that I
answered his musings. I threw a “good night” out with my exit and forced myself to
walk casually back to my room. My instincts told me to run like my ass was on fire. I
made it to my room in what felt like years and locked the door. I sipped the icy water
to cool my insides. I’d been seconds away from crawling over to him and begging to be
put out of my misery.
Tell me, ladies. Have you ever locked yourself in your closet in the wee hours
of the night, sunk into the deepest, darkest corner and sobbed out of sexual
frustration while lying in a fetal position hidden under your faux fur from
Halloween a few years back from when you dressed as the pimp to your best
friend’s hoe, clutching the old Pillow Pet from your childhood that you swore to
your mother you threw away when you moved?

No? Me either.