Adult television

 

I am adult television. The bill comes ones a month, you come more often. You don’t tell your mum though she probably knows. Tune in, choose the channel, select the angle—I provide the content.

You hugged me; there was a reason for that. You didn’t let go; your choice, my choice.

 

Rewind.

You asked for tea; a usually appropriate request issued at an inappropriate time is an inappropriate request. You didn’t believe me and missed all the fun.

I am adult television while you, well, while you just don’t know any better. I fuck up your expectations, fuck up your view, fuck you. You don’t tell your mum but you do tell your friends. You play down what you’ve before only referred to in superlatives. Nobody should feel left out, nobody should get hurt.

I felt hurt. Unaware of a concept called “PAIN” while twitching from it.

 

Press pause and reconsider.

I am adult television. I am dirty only behind the screen but you didn’t dare to touch me. Just in case. You gorged yourself on the logical result of my history while despising my past. You hated everyone who ever held my remote control before you did.

Didn’t you read the magazines? The best connection between two dots isn’t always a straight line. Lubricant™ isn’t always the best lubricant. That the few inches of inflatable skin, tissue, meat—applied properly—may eventually lead to orgasm doesn’t mean that’s all it takes to please your lover. You never got any answers because you never listened to my body screaming at you. You mistook the pornographic side for my personality. Frightened. That’s what you were. Frightened. But I wasn’t frightening.

 

Play.

Choose the scenery; choose the racy sports car. Fasten your seatbelts. Assume innocence and sit back. Don’t expect anything; know that there’s nothing to know. Grind down the accelerator. Find the place where I was born. Smash the television screens. Rescue me rescue you rescue us. Maybe rescue the world, too. When there’s time. Do not expose sexual organs. Kiss. You may take your shirt off when your glasses get steamed up. Never—I repeat: NEVER—take off your pants. Continue kissing. Get closer, don’t be shy but feel free to feel shy. Feel me against you against me. Be insecure. Blush.

 

Stop.

It didn’t work. You had your cock out before I finished the fourth sentence of the last paragraph. You couldn’t even set your car in motion, the tempting “Grind” caught your attention too early. I should have chosen my words more carefully.