(This is my first. Written as part of processing some childhood trauma, emotional neglect, and desire for a nurturing relationship. Feedback welcome).
I slammed the door violently behind me, threw my bag down, and headed for the stairs. How? How could this have happened, after two years? How could — my thoughts were interrupted by Mom, who was using her slightly amused, slightly miffed tone.
“What’s with the attitude, first thing in the door?”
I paused to think. What could I tell her? If I was really being honest with myself, I knew that Sarah and I had broken up because of my own insecurities. We’d been dating since our Senior year of high school. Two full years. I was in love with this girl…she was my reason for getting up in the morning. The feelings in my heart were matched only by the feelings in my body. Our relationship had progressed from simply making out, to letting our hands wander over each other’s bodies. It was just… hot. The anticipation. The feel of her tits separated by a thin piece of fabric. That warm, moist feeling, whenever my hands would rest on her jeans over her pussy. That last was my favorite part.