Monophobia

His arms cradle my neck, so tightly I think this breath may be my last. I don’t squirm though. The comfort, the security of him by my side, that’s better than life.

He runs his hands down my body and I let him. But that’s as far as I’ll let him. Do I really know him? People are onions, each layer spawning new layers.

I wonder what he’s thinking and if he’s wondering the same. I enjoy him but can never love. So is this all a waste of time? This conflicting feeling within that scratches its way to my thoughts. If there’s no future, why yearn his touch?

His lust is not my own. Mine is of another race. It’s a need for company not pleasure. I’m diseased with monophobia. This one can be different I tell myself. It can, but it’s not.

A forced kiss to preserve what we’ve become. He can’t see through. I can fake it. I’m layered too and he can believe it. Maybe we both already know but still feign love.

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