My Mama Warned Me About Boys Like You

Your silver tongue whispered sweet nothings and empty promises in my ear as you moved inside my body. In a moment of weakness, I let myself believe every word you said. The thing is that I knew better. I knew better long before I let you inside me, and I knew better after it was already done. Mama warned me about boys like you.

Your wicked way with words worked me over from the second I met you outside the bar. You had this amazing ability to make me feel like we were the only people in the universe. It was unsettling because in reality, a sea of nameless faces surrounded us. Even then, I could see only you.

You asked me questions about my life, my family, and my experiences, but the questions got deeper and deeper as the night went on and the empty glasses piled up. Until I was falling down the rabbit hole, mistaking interest and attraction for a real connection.

And I made up my mind. I decided I was going to let you take me home that night. And I did. You took me home and took me to bed. You drunkenly kissed every inch of my face before you moved onto my neck and lower still. You lavished me with strings of words that only sound lyrical coming from a musician’s mouth. And with that mouth, you showered me with more kisses and more compliments than I could handle until I dropped all my clothes and inhibitions at your feet.

You were made of milk and honey and pretty words dipped in ambrosia, sweetness too good to be true.

So, it really wasn’t much of a surprise when you tore away like the gray storm you turned out to be after the mess you made of me.