Summerboy

but you can stay next season too

5:51 P.M. Lundi Juin 01, 2026

It is a funny thing to come to the conclusion that nearly all of my thoughts now begin with him. Someone new, someone unexpected, and yet it makes so much sense.

In the heat of the summer, the only thing I find myself wanting is him, my summerboy.

12:07 A.M. Vendredi Juin 5, 2026

The juices of my peach’s plump flesh run down, between my fingers, and onto the shirt that my grandmother (who I hardly speak to anymore) purchased somewhere in France. I don’t know when she went to France, but it must have been before I was born. The shirt is all wrinkled and tired, a collar stretched and holy, and mysterious stains throughout.

I feel as though there is meaning in that.

The sweet nectar of the fruit lingers on my lips after it is a mere seed, which I toss off into the overgrown grass far ahead. It lingers on my lips in the same way your sweetness lingers on mine. The same way caramel flavored lipgloss stays stuck to yours, and I see you lick at it once we are no longer intertwined.

I want to lick the nectar clear off of your body. I want your sweetness to forever be a part of me, and I want you to stay forever deep in my soul, my sweet summerboy.

I love calling you my summerboy, though I don’t want you to only last through the heat. I want for you to stay next season, and the season following, so that I can watch the world change while standing by your side.

1:54 P.M. Later, though different mindspace.

I just got out of an interview, and somehow that makes me feel as though my life is coming to an end, rather than I am simply having a new beginning. I know that this will be good for me, but I am tired, and the stress of things have finally begun taking their cruel toll. I am physically uncomfortable in my own skin as I sit under a lovely dogwood, waiting for my mother to come pick me up.

I have my own car, but I am still yet to drive it. I keep putting it off, and I am not sure whether that is because of a fear in doing these things on my own or a fear in losing my youth. I do not wish to let go, yet it is slipping through my fingers at a steady pace.

I will be fine though, I am sure. Especially as I purchased a pair of purple lacy panties and a green bra with white lace trim yesterday, making me feel as though I am wielding a wonderful secret. A subtle chic sense in my soul, as if I feel scandalous enough, I could share this secret as I please. Do I dare?

And would I dare admit that someone has already seen? That a photograph already circulates of me in my lacy undergarments? That is unlikely, as I always swore against doing anything of the sort, yet here I am, thinking of the moments where I am either mostly or entirely bare, wishing I could be that way in the summer heat right now, though I cannot.

I had to put on makeup and a professional style outfit, though the lacy still stays under my clothing, and the woman with greying hair and pearls that hung like raindrops from her ears will never know of the endeavors which posses my mindspace most often.

I doubt people could pick up on my scandal, as I look most disconcerting on the outside, though if anyone were remotely aware of the flirtatious soul inside of me, one could easily assume.

Yes, don’t worry, Maman. Je vais très bien.

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Lots of love,

Jubilee xoxo

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Cups of coffee consumed during the creation of this piece: 2

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