#rolling over the hill

The chemicals that flood your brain when you orgasm are a short lasting truth serum, the kind of barbiturate that forces the words that are flung from your mouth like fireworks to be nothing but God’s honest. You cannot tell a lie, because you cannot think, little girl. 

I’m not going to pretend that I learn any hard truths here, except whether you still believe in God, even if only when you’re in that foxhole of the body, when your conscious thoughts are forced into hiding while your subconscious shells it with endorphins and misfiring synapses. Or maybe I’ll finally know whether you’re the kind of girl that says ‘Fuck!’ or 'Shit!’ or just 'Yes!’ over and over. Maybe it’s a combination of all three.

What I’m keeping my ears perked for, though, is the names that you call out. It might not happen every time, but the first time I hear my name, whichever name it is that we use, I’m going to start grinning. My hands are going to start moving faster, or, if you’re lucky enough, my thrusting hips are going to start pummelling you with increased vigour. Because that, right there, is a victory cry, a white flag raised between your teeth, hovering above your head. 

Because once you call out my name, in that specific moment, I know that I’ve conquered your subconscious just as I conquered the rest of your thoughts.