I seem to be stuck in focus.
Not in a specific memory, so to speak, but more a collection of memories.
All centered around my hipbones.
Katherine used to be obsessed with my hipbones. She would do this forced striptease where she would tug down my pants or skirt just enough so she could stroke both of them and croon about how she thought they were so sexybeautifulgorgeousperfect.
In bed she would require I wear nothing to prohibit her from touching them. I was limited to just shirts, occasionally I could get away with bikini-type underwear.
Her examinations would border on clinical at times, the way she would just strokeandstrokeandstroke. And stare.
And she would flip out the moment it seemed like any weight gain would affect this part of my body.
Somehow she passed this obsession on to a part of me. Every night I run my fingers along them in a strange sort of pre-bed ritual. When I examine myself in the mirror to see if I’m losing any weight, the first place I look are my hips.
Those bones are never jutting out enough to satisfy me.
Tonight I can’t get her crooning purr out of my head.
“God, I just love your hips. Wait. Turn to the side, just a little. Perfect.”
The tone she used right before she expected sex.
I hate being stuck in this place. I just want to escape.
Why can’t I shake it?
pen, paper, and crazy 