They’ve all kissed my forehead.
Such a small, innocent act. Whether I’m lying in bed or standing in front of them, our eyes meet, and slowly, they lower their gaze until their lips touch my forehead. It makes me want to believe that I mean something—but the only thing I should believe is that I’m a fool.
Sometimes I think they need it more than I do. And by that, I mean that men want to feel wanted just as much as women do. So, I let them kiss my forehead, just so they can feel like they matter—even if it’s all fiction.
I’d be lying if I said I’ve never used men. I still do. I use them to fill voids every once in a while—more emotional than physical now that I’ve gotten older. It was a bittersweet day when I realized sex no longer filled the emotional void of being desired, even if only for one night.
Now, the void I try to fill is the need to be known. So sometimes, I spill random facts about myself to men just to see how they react—some are shocked, others underwhelmed. Some remember the things I say, and that makes me feel like I matter.
Ugh. Just reading this, I reek of the need for male validation…HOW GROSS!