Innate

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 09:53:33

She believed many things were innate—

talents, personality, even habits.

Even though she understood the significant influence of environment,

she stubbornly believed that

these innate traits,

like genes, couldn't be rearranged or changed.

He ate with his left hand and wrote with his right,

told more lies than the truth,

and would get angrier than anyone else when exposed. He

was frugal,

only generous to those he liked,

stubborn yet kind, proud yet insecure,

lazy yet hardworking.

He was a complex and contradictory individual.

Yet, she was deeply attracted to these traits.

They slept together before holding hands,

kissed before hugging, and

only began to like each other after being together.

Sometimes, looking at his indifference,

she wondered if the order was reversed from the start,

which was why they experienced happiness before sadness.

Happy meals, holding hands, hugging, making love,

then cold wars, arguments, and silence.

"We're not compatible,"

he would often utter with a smirk. She took it as

his periodic awkwardness,

trembling with fear as she tightly embraced him, saying they were a perfect match.

Especially in bed.

She was his first love,

yet it was he who, like a seasoned warrior, had fully explored her incompleteness.

He always possessed her tenderness with gentle yet domineering force,

completely conquering her body and soul.

He knew every inch of her body too well,

and she was more than willing to explore every sensitive spot of his.

Even

after they separated,

she couldn't let go of her obsession with him.

"I just want to masturbate, not have sex,"

she pleaded repeatedly, to which

he refused with near-furious anger.

Yet, she saw through his burning desire at a glance.

She embraced him uncertainly,

with a touch of distance and wariness.

His hands touched her and then released her,

until she tightened her grip, pressing her body completely against his.

His erection pressed against her soft body through the thin fabric.

"That's enough,"

he said,

but his hands couldn't help but slip inside her bra, kneading and squeezing.

His reason seemed to be receiving poor signals; he

wanted to push her away but couldn't resist demanding more.

"Really, no more."

His hands kneaded her buttocks,

while she clung tightly to him,

inhaling the intoxicating scent of his post-shower fragrance.

Finally, they went to bed.

He frantically undressed her,

relentlessly licking her sensitive nipples.

She moaned and resisted, but

he only kissed her deeper and more intensely as punishment for her deliberate seduction.

They felt each other's breath, their tongues intertwined,

a strange yet familiar sensation that ultimately transformed into pleasure.

By the time he entered her, she was already overflowing with desire,

the tight embrace of her wetness offering unobstructed satisfaction.

He hated how her body always made it impossible for him to maintain his composure until the very last moment.

"Please fuck me to death!"

Her eyes were hazy, her voice gradually losing control.

He thrust even harder, as if about to complete a masterpiece,

holding her and feeling her contractions after orgasm.

Just before he ejaculated,

she skillfully used her mouth to absorb all his fluids.

Only after she finished dressing, walked to the door, and said goodbye

did he believe she was truly leaving this time.

She smiled and said it was really just a physical need,

without looking back.

She pretended to leave gracefully,

not thinking that he had already replaced her with someone else.

She always believed that her love for him was a gift, a personality trait, a habit,

an unchanging presence that remained even as time and space changed.

She still left his side,

even though she couldn't shake off her genetically ingrained love for him,

and understood that his habitual lying was also innate.

She preferred to continue loving him,

and then get used to the loneliness of being alone, which was also innate.

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