Shame

Shame. 
Disgust. 
Disappointment. 
These are the feelings that well up inside me whenever the event comes to my mind. That happens far too often, any little seemingly insignificant thing can set it off. It fills my mind. I can still feel his hands. Brushing softly over my lips, across my stomach, 
searching, 
exploring, 
touching; 
and I did nothing to stop it. I just lay there with my eyes closed, convincing myself it was fine, consumed with frustration and pent up desire, though none of it directed at the one I was with. 
No. 
Everything came from Him. From the one who constantly invaded my thoughts. The one I knew would never feel the same way, but always hoped. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I hoped he could one day see me as I saw Him, feel the jolt and thrill that I felt when I was near Him. How I long to be able to give Him the same rush he gives me, but I know it won't happen, know it's not meant to be. But even though I know all of that, I can't help but wish for it still. I can't stop the desire from entering my mind, usually at times when I least want it to. 
That night was one of those times. 
Those thoughts filled my mind with an intensity I had only experienced a few times before. I desperately wanted Him to protect me, to fight for me, to not leave me there; but He did.
It wasn't his fault, He could never have imagined anything like what happened could occur. I know all of that, yet at the time I still blamed Him. I used Him to justify what I did, or more accurately, didn't do. My passive state of acceptance, and while I could forgive myself for that, that isn't what consumes my thoughts.
The thing that stops me cold every time, is the deeper truth, 
the underlying emotion that takes a hold of me whenever the event comes to mind. 
I wish it was disgust, 
disappointment, 
shame. 
I wish that was all I felt, that I could deal with; but that's not what's underneath, not what's scratching at the surface. 
That isn't what scares me and keeps it on my mind. What scares me is the desire. 
I feel a lust within me, a secret wish to experience it again, to feel it. Just the sweet parts, mind you. The soft, careful touch across my lips, my cheek. The hand holding mine with such care. I felt protected, felt safe, even though the situation was far from it, though afterward it made me sick. 
I wish everyday that all of that could have come from another, come from Him. 
Yet, I know it can't, it won't. 
That is what pushes me downward into shame, lust and confusion. I don't know how to fix it. 
How to fix myself.