Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been almost two months since my last confession.
Like a predator I wait
for the smallest noise,
differentiating between the creaks of the floor boards and the seated weight.
Like a predator I stalk,
sniff the air for something vibrant
long to catch a whiff, the leavings of my prey.
Like a predator I follow,
steps behind my prey I watch and smell intently
catch moments of serenity in her absentmindedness
Unlike a predator of the animal kingdom in my kingdom I am detested
I am not watched on tv with so much excitement for the kill
but with animosity, the viewer self righteous and I the contemptible
I am feared
made a monster for the biological drives I give in to,
despised if I am open, humiliated if I am not
Readily identified as inhuman for following the scent,
attuning the ears and enjoying the possibilities of my attraction to another.
When we are little we play games like hide and seek, wait and listen for the approaching footsteps, love the intensity of the silence, the nervousness and exhilaration of the anticipation. I still do, on the other side of the door the subject of my affection relieves herself. The simple process and each sound so distinct... but the door muffles it. So I wait and listen intently. I pretend as if I am not listening. I pretend as if I am not concerned or wondering. I pretend as if I don't wish I was along side her, or if not that then recording the process. I pretend as if I haven't fantasized about her in the act, or with me. Watching, touching, tasting.
I pretend as if every part of my true self doesn't want to call out to her and say "I love you and everything you do, and want to experience it with you..." but I am reluctant, I pretend, for I know she would be disgusted. Would never look at me the same. Would feel nervous and scared to do anything natural around me. Would feel objectified and used. So I pretend... as if I wasn't a predator or a passionate lover (though perverted), and pretend to be normal. "Ick, girls don't use the bathroom."
A second confession.
I have been sneaking into her room. Carefully pulling and pushing aside the wrong garments to find prizes in her dirty laundry basket. I learned to do this so long ago. I must have been 11 or 12. I thought I had moved on.
I thought I had self control. I know she would be freaked out and hurt if she found out. I continue to sneak, like a child, like I am ashamed, like the world has taught me I should be.
I seek out the most strongly odored items. The shorts and underwear. Sometimes I can't contain myself and my tongue reaches out for more. I am glad she sweats, I love her smell, I love the scent of the room when she sleeps, I love following her when we walk.
